The Extraordinary Life of Sam Hell(46)

“You have inherited your mother’s acting skills, Samuel Hill.”





17

Mickie returned to class the following Monday. So did Sister Mary Williams. None of us ever spoke of the travesty that was the all-school Mass. Late in the morning, Sister instructed us to take out our math books, then called my name and asked me to accompany her outside the classroom. I thought for certain this conversation would be about me paying the piper.

We sat on the red lunch bleachers, the masonry wall hiding us from the rest of my classmates, who were no doubt peering out the window.

“I heard about what happened,” Sister said.

“I’m sorry, Sister.”

Her watery eyes held a kindness and warmth. “I think we both know what you and Ernie did, Sam.”

I didn’t respond.

She sighed. “Sister Beatrice has . . . some problems,” she said. “She doesn’t mean the things she says and does. Do you understand?”

I knew it had to do with the silver flask. “I think so,” I said.

“You’re a good boy, Sam. God gave you a cross to bear, just as he gave me one.”

“You, Sister?” I asked.

She removed her thick glasses, which had already turned a dark shade since we had ventured outdoors, and I noticed that her eyes, without them, were rather small, beady.

“I’m legally blind, Sam. These glasses only partially correct my vision. As I get older, I will go completely blind.”

“When, Sister?”

“Only God knows.”

I felt myself becoming angry. How could God take the eyesight of such a warm, loving person and leave such a rotten person as Sister Beatrice with twenty-twenty vision?

“Everything happens for a reason,” Sister Mary Williams said, sounding very much like my mother. “I might not have become a nun, or a teacher, had it not been for my eyes. I am so sensitive to light I have always had to wear sunglasses, even as a young girl. The other children called me Bat Girl, because I was as blind as one. The only place I found comfort, outside my home, was in church. I could take off my glasses and feel normal. Everything God does is for a reason, Sam; every cross we bear is an opportunity. Do you understand?”

“I think so,” I said, though I was becoming less sure I wanted to understand.

She slipped her glasses back on. “You and Ernie will remain fifteen minutes after school to clean the chalkboards and the erasers.”

“Yes, Sister.”

When we stood from the bleachers, I felt a compulsion too strong to ignore. It surprised me, and it surprised Sister Mary Williams. I reached out and hugged her. After a moment, I felt the warmth of her hand atop my head.

“I’m glad you became a teacher,” I said.

At recess Ernie and I found Mickie waiting in line for her chance to kick the ball.

“Did you get in trouble?” I asked.

“My parents grounded me for a month. I can’t watch TV.”

“Sorry about that,” I said.

“I didn’t do it because I like you or anything,” she said.

“I didn’t mean that. I just—”

“Forget it, Hill.” Mickie raced forward and booted the ball high over everyone’s heads, then took off running away from me, something that would become a habit for Mickie Kennedy.





18

Two years later, 1971, my parents dropped me off at school in my graduation cap and gown, which, as luck would have it, were red and only served to further bring out the color of my eyes. The class was buzzing with excitement for our big night. We would graduate in the church, then walk through the playground to the gymnasium for our first dance.

Ernie greeted me when I walked in the door of the classroom. “We made it, Hill. We are escaping this prison. I can’t wait to get out of here.”

I smiled, but I wasn’t sure I shared the same sentiment. My years at OLM had been anything but smooth, though they’d improved after David Bateman was banished, and got better still when, at the end of summer following sixth grade, we came back to school to find an interim principal—Sister Mary Francis. No one said what had happened to Sister Beatrice. Like David Bateman, she’d simply vanished, like a ghost. This meant my seventh-and eighth-grade years were relatively pain-free. While I couldn’t look back on grammar school with fond memories, I was more apprehensive about the thought of starting over again at Saint Joseph’s, the all-boys Catholic high school Ernie and I would attend, and trying to win over a bunch of kids who would once again not know a thing about me except that I had red eyes.

I took my seat at my desk as our first lay teacher, Ms. Trimball, went over the graduation ceremony one final time. Despite my screwup at the all-school Mass, I had been chosen by Ms. Trimball as one of three students to give a “reflection.” The written pages were supposed to be at the lectern, but I’d kept a copy on me, just in case. When I opened my desk to retrieve the pages, I found a gift-wrapped package. I pulled it out thinking a similar package was in each student’s desk, but no one else was holding one. I looked to Valerie Johnson, certain I would open the package and a snake would pop out, or a stink bomb, but Valerie was not paying any attention to me. She and her friends were engrossed in talk about their dresses, makeup, and the dance. I unwrapped the package. Inside I found a Bible. Perplexed, I flipped it open. It had been inscribed in flowing cursive handwriting.