The Lesson

"The Lesson"

The wall was painted a cold grey. Patrick's eyes focused on an image reflected off the gloss finish. He imagined that the form was a dark ghost trapped beneath the paint's surface.The ghost moved to the left at a slow, calculated stalk, while Patrick silently watched. He wondered whether he would be first or second. Patrick felt the tension build in his body, as he anticipated the pain. From what he had heard, they were very good at making it painful.

WwwicK!! The sound of the blackboard pointer reports. The boy standing to Patrick's left jerked sharply forward. Patrick caught a quick glimpse of the boy's face. His eyes were slammed shut with pain.The boy's lips were formed as if he were trying to whistle. Air left his lungs in short, strong bursts making a sound similar to a slow moving locomotive. WwwicK!! Another report rang true, as the thin wooden stick cut through the air and violently landed across the young boy's thighs.Patrick listened for any sign of crying but heard nothing. How many is he going to get, he thought.  Whatever the amount, Patrick figured he'd get the same.

He wished he had never got into the pushing match with Michael earlier that morning. The small class had just finished prayers when the scuffle started. Sister Ann led her homeroom class in prayer at the start of each school day. The sequence seldom varied; she began with an Our Father, followed by a Hail Mary and then a prayer for the young men fighting over in Vietnam. After prayers, the children would then stand for the pledge of allegiance. That particular morning, when Patrick stood to salute the flag, a small toy slipped from his fingers landing on the floor between his and Michael's desks. The toy was a green plastic soldier that he had found at the bus stop earlier that morning. He knew that toys were not allowed in school, and the thought of Sister Ann spotting it sent a wave of panic through his body. Patrick squirmed to retrieve it before she looked his way. His hand was just about to pick up the toy, when Michael's right foot swept it away from his grasp. Michael quickly picked up the green soldier, while Patrick looked on in disbelief.

“Give it back,” Patrick whispered - trying to keep one eye looking out for Sister Ann.

“Too bad," Michael immediately responded. A defiant grin surfaced on his face.

The situation erupted into a pushing match that came with total disregard to any consequence. Sister Ann exploded onto the scene - quickly separating the two boys. She took hold of an ear from each boy's head and marched them out of the class and down the dark hall to Sister Margaret's office.

WwwicK!! The sharp cracking sound shocked Patrick out of a daze. Good things come in three, so maybe she's finally done with Michael. There was still no sign of crying. Maybe it sounds worse than it feels. He watched the dark ghost in the wall slowly move to the right and disappear behind another image. Wwwick!! He heard the crisp sweep through the air a split second before the sting. The image on the wall violently jerked downward. At that moment, Patrick realized that the image was a dim reflection of himself. Patrick bit down hard on his tongue with his back teeth. He felt his throat thicken and swell, as he fought back the pain and tears. WwwicK!! The sting intensified, as the wood struck directly over the mark of the first. Tears started to seep through his now tightly closed eyelids. His throat felt as though a softball were stuck in it. He struggled to breathe. A large release of air rushed from his lungs the moment the last report rang out. Patrick slowly opened his eyes and stared at the dim reflection.

“Turn around, both of you!” The two boys cautiously turned from the wall to face their principal, Sister Margaret. Dull light poured into the room from two wide windows that were set on a wall some distance behind where she stood. Her large frame eclipsed the grey light - creating a shadow that cast across the two boys. The top of one of the windows was opened, allowing a cool autumn breeze to enter. The brisk air penetrated Patrick’s blue uniform shirt, causing a shiver to ripple over his skin. His shirt briefly puffed out like a cloth balloon being filled with brisk awakening. The coolness embraced him like a light, invisible liquid. The sensation made him feel vibrant and alive but also sick to his stomach. Silent tears streamed down his face.

Sister Margaret stood as an ominous specter before them. Her black habit appeared to weigh heavily on her rounded shoulders. The nun's headdress framed her face in a tight, black rectangle that pushed her heavyset cheeks outward. The backside of the headdress lightly whipped and danced over her shoulder  with every new breeze that rushed into the office. On her face she wore wire framed spectacles that were almost perfectly round and barley bigger than her eyes. The hands of the woman looked, to Patrick, like small, pink hams. They appeared proportional to the meaty forearms that protruded from her habit's rolled up sleeves.

Her gaze landed on Patrick. “Baby!” she yelled. “Big Baby...look at the tears from the Baby!” Her glare penetrated the boy's tear filled eyes. She slowly turned her head towards Michael, but for a few moments more her eyes remained fixed on Patrick. “You can go,” she said, as her eyes finally shifted to the other boy. “The Big Baby is staying.” Michael gave Patrick a half glance and then slowly turned and left the office. “He's allowed to go because he didn't cry – you baby.”

The nun walked behind her wide, oak desk and sat down. She opened a large, deep drawer on the right side of the desk and pulled out a stack of manila drawing  paper that had been cut into strips. The strips were all a three inch by nine inch dimension and were held together with a rubber band. She removed  the top piece and placed it in front of her. Off to one side of the desk's surface sat a red ceramic coffee mug with the words – Sacred Heart on its face. It held a wide array of different pens and markers. Sister Margaret grabbed a black marker and began angrily writing across the paper strip. The word BABY, read bold and black across the paper. She quickly grabbed a small pin from the center drawer and stood to make her way over to the boy. “You're to wear this the rest of the day,” she said, as she pinned the sign to Patrick's navy blue tie. “And when you get home, you're to show your mother, so she can see what a Big Baby you are.” Patrick watched her beefy hands fastened the paper to his tie. His heart sank. “Yes, Sister Margaret.”

The bus ride home was lonely and long. Patrick's light cotton jacket was zipped up to conceal his shame. It had only been three months into his first year of school, and he was in trouble. He didn't want his mother to know how bad he'd been. He stared out the window at the trees. Their brown leaves chattered in the brisk air. He loved their beauty. A longing to be far from where he was stirred in his soul.

The bus slowed. Kids from Patrick's stop began the ritual of forming a line in the small aisle. Standing, he quietly moved to the rear and waited to exit. Autumn's coolness splashed his face the moment he stepped off the bus. Patrick stood alone and watched as the others started making their way home. The bus pulled away and soon disappeared around a distant corner. Dry leaves swirled and rattled in the street. The wind offered a hollow cry, while a deep sensation of isolation overwhelmed his spirit. Hesitantly, Patrick unzipped his jacket and fumbled for the pin on his tie. He grasped the paper sign and held it down by his side. He began to walk slowly.The cool wind brushed past, as he released the paper. It tossed and danced - joining the spent leaves. Another secret, he decided. The fortress was growing strong.

Word Count: 1,406