PARTIAL EXCERPT (Chapter 8)
“Perhaps,” she said as she reached over and put her hands over his hands. “Thanks for sitting with us, Father. It’s been good seeing you again.” She turned to me, getting up slowly. “Let’s go, Jimmy,” she whispered. As she walked passed the priest she brushed him slightly, then turned to face him. “Forgive me, Father.”
They looked at each other for several moments. “Find peace, Carol. I’ll pray for you.”
“Thanks, Father. I hope I do,” she said softly.
I walked passed him as he nodded at me, and I in turn nodded back.
Carol turned toward the alter and genuflected as she left the pew. I let her precede me feeling that she needed to be by herself for a little while. When she reached the entrance area, she reached into the font, faced the alter, and crossed herself with holy water again before exiting. I could feel the priest’s eyes following us but it was not a feeling that made me uneasy. There was nothing in this place that made me feel uneasy.
When I reached the door I could see Carol slowly making her way down the many steps taking her away from the church. For a brief instance I thought I was watching a bride who had just gotten married, exit the church, but there was no groom next to her, only me trailing behind.
At the midway point of her descent she stopped and turned back toward me, waiting for me to catch up, then took my hand again. We went down the steps and walked toward the Fairlane where she let go of my hand again.
She stopped in front of the car, standing between the passenger door and me as if blocking it. “It’s time, Jimmy,” she said in a soft low voice.
“Time?” I asked.
“Time for that struggle to end -- one way or another.” She looked up the street and stared in that direction a few moments. When she turned back around to face me she had tears in her eyes. “Your home is up there, Jimmy, just a few minutes away. Do you know what home is?”
I looked at her not knowing exactly what she meant, puzzled by the tears in her eyes.
“Home is where that special feeling overtakes you when you go in the door,” she continued. “It’s where those favorite things like books, toys, even cold chicken in the refrigerator wait for you. It’s the place where those special people who love you -- like your mom and dad, are. It’s where all those happy memories, like holidays with your family, live with you -- in every room. It’s where you belong.”
“Why are you telling me this Carol?” I asked
“Because you should always cherish your home, Jimmy, and never treat it lightly or threaten it.”
“How could I threaten it?” I asked.
She ignored the question. “We can say goodbye here, this time for good, Jimmy, and you can walk up that street and be home in just a few minutes.”
“I don’t understand, Carol. Don’t talk that way.”
“It’s so easy for you to go home, Jimmy. No one’s stopping you….or…or…”
“Or what?”
She struggled to get it out. “Or you could get in the car and go with me in another direction for a little while….but our relationship will change forever if you do.”
“Will it?”
“Yes it will.”
“For good or for bad?”
“That’s a question I can’t answer, Jimmy. I only know that it will change.”
“What would you like me to do, Carol?”
“I can’t decide for you, Jimmy. It’s your decision.”
I looked up the street and then back at her, wishing I could stop her tears. “That’s not a big decision to make, Carol. You’re right about home. Guess it’s all those things, just like you said. But sometimes it’s not where you should be -- sometimes it’s just not time to go back there. Sometimes you just gotta be somewhere else.”
“And where would that be, Jimmy?” she asked, wiping tears away from her eyes with her hand.
I looked straight into those tearful eyes. “With you.”
She put both of her hands up to her face trying to hide more tears, then pulled them away. “Are you sure? It’s an adult decision. I don’t want to hurt you or change that precious attitude you have about life.”
I looked up at the priest who had emerged and was gazing down at us by the door, exchanging glances with him for a few moments. He seemed at peace and I felt at peace watching him. I remembered the words he had spoken inside about not judging people. Then I turned back to Carol. “I’m sure,” I said. “As sure as there’s no such thing as plain vanilla.”
Her body suddenly relaxed and for the first time that afternoon I saw her smile. She took the scarf from her head and shook her head slightly, letting her brown hair blossom around her face and caress her shoulders.
Placing the scarf back into her purse, she motioned for me to get into the car, then walked slowly around to the driver’s side and got in. I watched every step and motion – that graceful and elegant walk heading for a new and uncertain destination.
Her fingers firmly pushed the key into the ignition, turned it and the familiar throaty sound of the V8 announced it was ready to take us on our journey, wherever that was to be. Her foot gently pressed on the accelerator and we pulled away from the front of the church where the priest still stood and watched us drive off.
She spun the blue steering wheel to her left and we went up a side street, shooting through several blocks, then merged onto Route 1, taking us far away from Lakewood and its peaceful exterior.
Carol didn’t speak as she drove. I glanced over at her periodically. I could feel that whatever that struggle within her had been, she had come to some sort of resolution, at least for now.
The Fairlane cruised up Route 1 for five miles until Carol pulled off next to a roadside phone booth. “You’d better call your mom and tell her you won’t be home for a while, Jimmy.” She reached into her purse and handed me some change.
“What should I tell her?”
“Whatever you feel comfortable with, Jimmy. Whatever you feel comfortable with.” She smiled but then turned and stared out the windshield.
I got out and called my mom telling her I was going somewhere to work on a term paper with a friend. Before she could question me I told her that someone else had to use the phone, not to worry, then hung up and jumped back into the Fairlane.
In a few miles we turned onto Route 40, then headed north another four miles. When we approached Randolph Way, a one-lane road, Carol turned right. I had been in this area before, but never on Randolph Way. It turned out to be a scenic road that traversed several small stone bridges and gradually wound its way upward toward a higher elevation.
It was 1958 in a Conservative Town
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Frank V. Arcilesi
