No, That's Not What It Means

Due to a misunderstanding, the local church’s altar boy was sent to prison for a month. But now that the charges were cleared up and Dominic was found innocent, Brother Clancy went to pick him up and drive him home. However, Brother Clancy returned to the church an hour later, when the sun was setting, with a grim look on his young face.

Stepping into the office, he met eyes with Brother Thomas, who sat at an oak table and prepared the service for the next day. Since Brother Clancy was new to the committee and planned to take over as the priest after his years of religious studies, Brother Thomas took him under his wing as an intern. For a year, he had them meet at the church on Saturdays, either to answer hypothetical questions church members might ask, engage in debate over the Bible interpretations, or simply arrange the service schedule while their priest wrote her weekly sermon. For the most part, Brothers Clancy and Thomas got along, even with their two-generation difference.

Arranging the hymns, Brother Thomas remarked, “I take it Dominic is ecstatic to be home finally.”

“Not quite,” Brother Clancy said. “The warden told me that he was shanked this morning, and he needs a few days in the infirmary before he can move out.”

Brother Thomas sucked in his breath. “How terrible news. We’ll pray for him.”

“Yes,” Brother Clancy agreed.

“And may God heal him better than before.”

“Of course.”

Caressing the statue of the patron saint of health, Brother Thomas added, “And that his trips to the bathroom will be as painless as possible.”

“We’ll definitely do that.” Brother Clancy nodded before he froze. “Wait, what?”

“You heard me perfectly.”

Brother Clancy stared at him with a dumbfounded expression. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“You said our altar boy has been ‘shanked’.”

“Yes.”

“Well, it means he was stabbed in the, uh…” Brother Thomas trailed off, unsure how to finish his thought without being crass.

Brother Clancy sighed. “Just say it, it’s only us.”

“He was stabbed in the butthole, that’s what you told me,” Brother Thomas said quickly and quietly.

“No, I said he was stabbed. Do you think the word ‘shank’ explicitly means ‘getting stabbed in the butthole’?”

While Brother Clancy was flabbergasted by the sharp turn of this conversation that was about praying for Dominic just a moment ago, Brother Thomas continued as if this was a regular chat. “Yes, is that not what it means?”

“No! Inmates don’t usually go for the butthole when they want to stab someone. Their main goal is to create more holes, not add to the one already there.”

“Hmm.” Brother Thomas wasn’t convinced, evident by his eyebrows scrunching close together. He admitted, “I find it difficult to keep up with your generational slang, especially in the last decade.”

“Don’t play the generation card, that word is older than both of us. Unless you didn’t tell me that God gave you immortality, I’m surprised you never heard of ‘shank’ to mean ‘stab’.”

Brother Thomas started to defend himself with the miscommunication. “Years ago, I traveled to Australia and was told a prison story by a native — nice man, really — and he told me the word means, well, you know. He was an intelligent and honest man, so I doubt he would lie to me about such a thing, nor be as ignorant as I apparently was.”

Brother Clancy put a hand on his mentor’s shoulder. “I hate to tell you, but he was yanking your chain.”

Narrowing his eyes, Brother Thomas asked, “Given that this was well before you were born, how would you know that?”

“Because you said he’s Australian. Australians like to mess with foreigners. It’s a thing.” With a sigh, Brother Clancy said, “The point is, Dominic is fine. So’s his butthole. Nothing weird happened.”

“Oh good.” Finishing up the service preparation, Brother Thomas stood up to collect his coat. “I can trust you to lock the doors on your way out,” he requested.

Brother Clancy slowly nodded. The conversation brought up a point that hadn’t been mentioned. “Wait, one more thing.”

“Yes, Brother Clancy. Hurry up. I have dinner waiting for me at home.”

“So, I said at least ten different times that I felt like shanking my actual brother as soon as I got home, and you just… didn’t say anything about it?”

Shrugging, Brother Thomas commented, “I thought your relationship with your sibling was just how it was.”

Brother Clancy had never looked so offended. “Our relationship is normal, thank you very much!”

“Except for the stabbing part,” Brother Thomas pointed out.

“Yeah. That’s what we do. You’d understand if you grew up with someone who liked to steal your things and then quote the Bible about treating your family with respect whenever you yelled at him.”

“Hmm. I’ll have to take your word for it, as long as you don’t mention any of this to Dominic when he comes home.”

“I’ll try not to.”

This was inspired by a conversation I had with a college friend. She thought that was what shanking meant, and I had to write a story out of it. Don't worry, I had her permission.