An Unexpected Experience
          Nowadays, priests in Mexico are hard to find, especially if you're really looking for one. I took it upon myself to take the risky chance of actually speaking with one personally-maybe you know him,  he is commonly referred to as "the whiskey priest."
          This whiskey priest has been on the run for a long time now, so it was no surprise when I caught him running at breakneck speed towards his hometown to get away from the ever-searching police. I hoped he would stop for just a minute to talk, but he hastily replied, saying that he could only speak when at his destination; having no other choice, I followed him. Hours later and feet bloody, we arrived at a small, inconspicuous town. The air was tense and people stared at the priest as if he was a pariah when we walked into the town square. Anxious to avoid the stares and whispers, the priest and I hurriedly went to a friend's house-Maria. She graciously fed us and gave us whatever we needed from her. The priest also saw his daughter, Brigida, and it was obvious they had no real relationship. I suspect the priest's only intention for his daughter is to keep her safe. I hoped when they were finished speaking I could finally ask the priest a few questions, but after our long and tedious day, he had fallen asleep in exhaustion and I resigned myself to the fact that I would just have to get my answers in the morning. I went to the town square and slept on the hard cobblestone, annoyed that I had traveled so long for a simple story that wasn't receiving any answers.
          When I woke the next morning, the priest was gone. Utterly confused, I wandered around until eventually found him holding a mass service for the whole town. I observed the service in the corner, hoping I could talk to the priest and get my answers to the story I needed after he was done so I could be one my way already! Suddenly, men burst into the room, screaming that the police were close by. I expected the whiskey priest to bolt, but he waited until the last possible moment to leave. By then, it was too late: the police had surrounded the town and were investigating everyone. I thought for sure the priest would be caught, but he wasn't. The police told everyone in the town square to give them information about the runaway priest or else they would take hostages. No one spoke, so a hostage they took indeed. I was personally disgusted at how the priest spoke up for the hostage a moment after it was too late. The police left, and the whiskey priest returned to Maria's house, hoping for consolation but only receiving a strained and forced goodbye. I watched as he spoke with Brigida one last time, and how she mocked him to his face. The pain in his eyes was unmistakable.
          The whiskey priest left in the same direction that the police did, but I didn't follow him, even though I had no direct answers to my questions. As I dutifully began the long trek back to my hometown, I realized that I now know all I need to about this man.