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"That'll be $1.29, son..."
The middle-aged clerk held his hand out, palm up. Sidney looked up at the man, and then dug into the front pocket of his Levis. Several crumpled bills appeared and the boy straightened them as he checked their denomination. He handed two $1's to the clerk, who had already started to count his change from the register. The clerk dropped the receipt inside the paper bag and handed it to Sidney, saying nothing as he turned to walk away.
"Excuse me, aren't you forgetting something?"
The clerk stopped walking at the sound of the voice and looked back over his shoulder. The boy was holding the bag with both hands, looking up into the man's eyes with a detached, trance-like stare. There was no edge to his voice, yet when coupled with that stare, made the clerk uneasy. It was more threat than request.
"Oh... uh, yes, I guess I did. Thank you, please come back."
Sidney pivoted abruptly, said nothing, and walked out the front door. The clerk stared at the boy's back, wondering if he had actually heard or merely imagined the deep, resonant voice that said, "That's more like it."
*****
The rhythmic beat of the windshield wipers offered a downbeat for Sam Renton's drumming fingers. The radio was off, but that was no hindrance for Sam, as he unabashedly gave his best rendition of Jim Morrison singing Riders on the Storm. He was in that sort of mood, due only in part to the steady drizzle blurring his vision while he drove. The brakes on his Targa coupe squealed a little as he turned the last corner into the parking lot of St. Marks. The sound was foreign to him, and he made a mental note to get his brakes checked. His beloved Porsche was his only indulgence, but lately he had considered trading it, even though the vintage car was part of him. The fact that he used it to get from point A to point B was coincidence, he would have bought the car even if it had no engine.
Sam coaxed it gently into a space away from any other vehicles, in hopes that no one would park next to him. He wasn't really anal about protecting the paint, but he felt that it didn't hurt to find a place that gave him as high a percentage as possible of not getting a set of keys scratched across the door. This was not a problem, the parking lot was virtually empty.
The walk across the lot gave him an opportunity to look around the shadowy commons that served as a gathering place and walkway for an inspirational stroll. Tucked into one corner of the yard was a statue of St. Francis of Assissi, with a fountain in front. In another stood a somber marble depiction of a young woman in a long robe, her hands folded in prayer, and her head bowed slightly. Sam was not Catholic, but even he knew that it must be Mary, mother of Jesus. The dusk and the rain caused the shadows to fall heavily across the terrain, yet he still felt strangely comforted by their presence. The porch light was already on, and over the door was an elegantly engraved sign proclaiming "Rectory".
The mat on the mosaic floor tiles proclaimed welcome. Silently, as he wiped his feet, Sam hoped that the sentiment on the mat was true. The doorbell button, once pushed, produced a shrill buzz. He’d expected maybe a harp or some other angelic tone, but the buzz disappointed him a little. Well, another myth shot to hell. Sam smiled, amused by his foolishness. Through the lace curtain, he saw a female form approaching whom he expected would be Esther Overstreet. As she opened the door and made eye contact, Sam noticed a polite smile when he introduced himself, but her eyes betrayed her uneasiness. He knew she was nervous. Feelings mutual.
The petite woman ushered him to a simple office behind a side door. There was no connecting door to another office, either. He was a little surprised at that. Sam figured that she would sit right outside the priest's door, waiting for him to beckon. He removed his jacket and she hung it on a hanger behind the door. They were alone and she gestured for him to please make himself comfortable. As he sat on the small divan, he watched as she turned away from him and peered out the window.
"Thank you for coming, Mr. Renton, I appreciate your concern, I really do. What have you come to tell me?" Her voice trailed off at the end, as if she were fighting tears. Sam considered saying something to break the mood, but decided against it. It would be easier if she were able to communicate her true feelings, without his intrusion, but looking at her now, he suspected it would be difficult.
"Mrs. Overstreet, has Sidney seemed more distant or detached, lately? I know that he's pretty reserved, but have you seen any signs that might cause you to be concerned?"
Esther turned and made eye contact with him for the first time since entering the room. She folded her arms in front of her, as though she were suddenly very cold.
"Yes, honestly, I have. Lately, he's withdrawn almost completely. I've tried to talk to him, but he doesn't confide in me anymore. At first, I thought it was just normal teenage rebellion I've read about."
"What makes you think it isn't?"
"I'm not sure, really, he hasn't acted out in any way. I figured that if it were rebellion, he would curse me out, or give me the finger, or tear his room up, or something!"
Now, she threw her arms out if front of her, animatedly. "But nothing! He's even quieter than usual, and honestly, I'm afraid of what might happen!"
Sam Renton looked down at the couch, as he shifted his weight and crossed his legs.
"Mrs. Overstreet, have you ever considered family counseling?"
"I've given it some thought, in passing mostly. Sidney's always been a quiet boy. Actually, since his third birthday, I'm not sure I can ever remember hearing him cry. Father Tom has spoken to him on several different occasions, but he hasn't shared the conversations with me, since he's a priest. I thought he would have talked to me if he thought there were serious problems. You have to understand, Mr. Renton, over the years, I've gotten used to Sidney's reserve."
Esther walked from behind the desk and sat next to Sam on the sofa.
"What happened at school, Mr. Renton, please tell me."
The woman's eyes implored him. All her defenses were down, and she wanted straight talk.
"I saw your son being abused by some of the other boys in the lunch room, and he never made any attempts to stop them, nor did he have any reaction as they humiliated him in front of his classmates. I saw no anger or rage, no real emotion of any sort. He resigned himself to it without comment or reaction. Mrs. Overstreet, after twenty years of teaching, I can honestly tell you I've never seen anything like it. I'm no psychiatrist, but I have been observing kids for a long time. That's why I'm here. I wanted you to know that, in my opinion, Sidney needs professional help. He's very bright, maybe even genius. Unfortunately, that can be a formula for disaster, if turned inwardly. In class yesterday, I challenged him on an answer he gave me, I thought he was being a smart-aleck. But when I called him on it, he launched a diatribe that could only be described as brilliant. He cut me up, let me fall, and left me to die, without raising his voice or showing any emotion whatever."
Sam stared into Esther Overstreet's vacuous eyes, imploring her to give him some indication that she understood. Instead, he saw the same faraway gaze he'd seen on Sidney's face.
Now, Sam understood the problem. It was guilt. Esther had been projecting her remorse onto her son for God only knows how long. It was now abundantly clear why neither mother nor son had ever been to counseling. She was repressing some unspeakable act that had influenced her life for a very long time. All the signs were there. No man in her life, working in a cloistered environment, no social activities to speak of... how could he have missed it?
"Mrs. Overstreet, I've said what I came to say, and I can't pretend that I have any answers for you, but I felt I should inform you of my observations. The next steps, if any, are up to you. Thank you for taking the time to listen. I'll be on my way, now."
Sam stood up and looked at the woman as if seeing her for the first time. Deep lines had appeared on her face during the last few minutes. He reached for her hand, and when she offered it, he noticed it was cold, and she shuddered when he touched her. This poor woman was entering some private hell, and Sam didn't have a clue as how to help her or her son. He'd played the only card he had. Now he could only stand and watch.
"Are you okay?" he asked, realizing she wasn't. He felt stupid for asking, he wasn't her friend or confidante, and he hoped it wouldn't be misunderstood.
"Mr. Renton, have you ever held anything inside for so long, you feel the weight of it keeping you from doing anything at all?"
Esther’s her expressionless face was becoming a bit more animated. The ice had been broken and Sam felt she might be ready to make an effort to save herself. Her hands squeezed his and he felt the electricity pass through his body.
"Would you mind calling me Esther? This would be much easier for me if I didn't have to be formal."
Tensions eased with the words, and Sam Renton sensed that she was ready to talk.
"Esther it is, then. Please call me Sam..."
When the words were out, he felt her squeeze his hands again. She shut her eyes briefly, and said... "Oh, thank you, it's nice to be able to call someone by their first name, again. Sam, I haven't had anyone to really talk to in a long time. I know I've been no help to Sid. I try, but it's difficult to bring a male perspective to our relationship when the only man I know is a priest. Sid never got to really meet his father, we were, umm, separated quite early on."
Esther was now looking down at her hands, and absent-mindedly picking her fingernails with the nails of the other hand. Even now, she couldn't admit the truth to anyone.
The entry door opened, and Father Tom walked in, staring at the papers in his hand. "Esther, have you had a chance to---"
He stopped when he acknowledged Sam’s presence. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know you had a visitor. Please forgive my intrusion." The priest started to back out the door.
"No, it's all right, Father, please stay. I'd like for you to meet Mr. Sam Renton. Mr. Renton is Sidney's Biology teacher."
Sam stood up and shook the priest's hand, smiling weakly.
"Welcome to St. Mark’s, Mr. Renton," Father Tom replied, turning to Esther. "Esther, when you're finished with your meeting, could you stop by my office, there's a matter that I'd like to discuss with you."
He was smiling at Esther, but she knew that it was anything but friendly. This was more an order than a request, and she already knew what he was going to say.
Sam watched silently, wondering about the dynamics existing between the two associates. He could have sworn that he saw jealousy flash across the priest's face. Surely he was mistaken. A jealous priest? It was as if he had violated the pastor's inner sanctum, the feeling one gets when walking through a cemetery; be careful not to walk on any graves. Sam looked away, in an effort to reassess. Surely he must be reading too much into it, but yet---
"Sam?" Esther's voice brought him back to the present. He realized he must have missed something.
"I'm sorry... please forgive me... I was lost in my thoughts for a few seconds. Mrs. Overst---- I mean--“ Sam closed his eyes to compose himself, his hands in front of him, as if to ward off an intruder. “Esther... listen to me, please. I'm probably overstepping my bounds. You have no obligation to discuss your son's welfare with me, but I did want to let you know what I observed."
Sam took his pen out of his pocket and scrawled some numbers on a slip of paper, extending it towards her, expecting her to take it from him.
"Please take this, Esther. It's my office and cell phone numbers. I hope you'll call me if I can be of any service to you. As I told you, I think your son needs some help, and I'll do whatever I can to help him find it."
Sam stood up quickly, symbolizing the end of the meeting. Once again, he took her hands in his and patted them gently. As he moved, he quickly grabbed his jacket and slipped his arms into it.
"I don't know what to say. You must think me a total fool." Esther was looking him right in the eye and he knew she meant it.
"No, I don't. You need some help, but all of us do from time to time."
"Yes, I know. Thank you for listening. I'm sorry we were interrupted." Esther opened the door for him, and Sam once again felt the electricity as it flashed between them when their eyes met.
"Me, too... Look, I feel like a fool asking you this, but would you like to discuss this some more, maybe over dinner? I hope you don't think me too forward, but I don't have anyone in my life either, and it's possible that we could help each other. No strings attached, of course."
Esther was now fondling the amulet on her necklace, but she smiled a little as she blushed. "Uh...well, I guess that might be possible. It’s nice of you to ask." Before his eyes, she was transformed into a sixteen-year-old being asked to the school dance.
The Biology teacher waved to her as he backed into the court yard, and said, "Great... I'll call you tomorrow." Abruptly, he turned and walked into the darkness, not waiting for a reply.
As he unlocked the door of his car, Sam saw the note taped to his steering wheel. Carefully, Sam extracted it from the leather, and opened it. It read:
Sint pura cordis intima,
Absistat et vecordia;
Carnis terat superbiam
Potus cibizue parcitas.
Ut cum dies abscesserit,
Noctemque sors reduxerit,
Mundi per abstinentiam
Ipsi canamus gloriam.
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