I was sitting in a hotel lobby in Barcelona,
Spain waiting for my traveling companions.
A woman approached me, someone I didn’t know.
“Excuse me,” she said, sitting down in the empty chair beside me. .
“May I ask you a favor?”
“Certainly,” I said out of polite curiosity.
She leaned toward my left ear and whispered,
“I have something I need to confess.”
“I’m not a priest,” I responded, intrigued.
“You are a stranger.”
“Indeed I am. You can trust me,” I assured her,.
“Years ago,” she began, “I did something I shouldn’t have done.
It’s been troubling my conscience ever since.”
Just then a man came up to her. “Hi honey. Sorry to interrupt.
Continue your conversation.”
She stood and began walking swiftly toward the hotel door.
The man followed, keeping up. I never saw them again.
I wondered if her intent to tell another person of her misdeed
was enough to ease her guilty conscience.