Just a little scene that I wrote the other day after a story I was told. It’s been brewing in my head for weeks and it’s just a little something I put together one day to get it out of my head.
It’s a bit rough and hasn’t been really revised. Don’t expect brilliance or anything. The character whose pov this is written from is Isabel. Andrew is her brother and the others aren’t really important, as names are being withheld to protect the innocent and the mean.
I sit patiently waiting for Andrew, he is still scurrying about the office trying to get some last minute work done before we go to lunch. He sees me waiting and keeps reassuring me that he will be ready to go shortly. I flip through the day’s paper and then read Sunday’s bulletin, which reminds me that Wednesday is Ash Wednesday and so I’ll probably make an effort to come back to church for ashes. In fact, as I sit here, I listen to the secretary, who looks exhausted from incessant phone calls. She answers them politely only to tell each and every caller the very same thing, “ashes will be given out during Mass on Wednesday at noon and in the evening.”
I smile when she says patiently that she doesn’t know what time that will be, just sometime during the Mass. She shakes her head as she puts the phone down yet again. When it rings again, another caller asks her pretty much the same question. I think she fields about seven calls all about Ash Wednesday in the few minutes I’ve been sitting here waiting for my brother.
Meanwhile a young mother sits across from me trying to keep her daughter engaged. I don’t think she’s here to see my brother but she says hello to him as he passes through the waiting area and goes into the copy room. The little girl follows him with her eyes, in fact, the minute she sees him, her eyes open wide and she looks at him with awe, a look I’ve never seen any child ever give my brother.
She wanders over and stands in the doorway peeking at him in the other room. I can see all that my brother is doing, as the room is enclosed by glass on two sides. I hear him say hello to her and then tell her he’s typing an address on an envelope. She gasps and then runs back into the office and grabs at the bottom of her mother’s sweater.
“Mama, Mama,” she says eagerly, trying to get her mother’s attention, who is filling out some paperwork. “Jesus is over there and you know what? He’s typing a letter.”
Overhearing the little girl’s excitement, I look at my brother and smile. She thinks he’s Jesus.
Her mother puts down the clipboard and looks down at her with amusement.
“Mama, come see, it’s Jesus and he’s in there,” the little girl says again to her mother.
The secretary, who had a free moment off the phone, looks at the little girl and her mother, then shakes her head. “No, no… sweetheart, that’s Father Andrew. He’s not Jesus. He’s just a man.”
I close my eyes and sigh hearing the secretary’s words. I wish she hadn’t said anything. The joy and excitement on the child’s face fades away and tears well up in her eyes. I am angry that the secretary felt the need to correct the child. She said it coldly and bluntly, not even trying to explain to the girl exactly who my brother is. Obviously he’s not Jesus, but being a priest, ordained in holy orders, he acts in the place of Jesus every time he celebrates the Mass. Because of this, my brother can say the words of Jesus during the sacrifice of the Mass. I think, in some way, this child has associated my brother with Jesus and it’s a good and wonderful thing. She understands something that not many children can comprehend at her age, hell not many adults can either. It makes me sad to witness her disappointment.
The mother looks heartbroken and doesn’t say anything to the secretary. She tells her daughter that no, Father Andrew is not Jesus and tries her best to explain exactly who my brother is to her daughter, but I’m afraid that nothing she can say right now will make her little girl feel any better. Then the person they came to see comes out of her office and they go inside.
I think long and hard and don’t end up saying anything to the secretary. Ordinarily I would, as it’s my nature to butt in and contribute my two cents. Besides, Andrew comes out and tells me he’s ready to go. He hands the secretary a handful of envelopes to stamp and mail, then we go. I smile at him. Even though the little girl is unduly chastised, it makes me proud that a child could see Jesus in my brother. I don’t know if I’ll tell him this story, but I think it would amuse him.
© by MFS, 2009. All rights reserved.