Sanctity

by S. M. Bowles

  Danielle and I had nearly all our classes together. We went to Literature first. The class was currently studying the Renaissance and I was really quite interested in it. I had always favored all things medieval and the romantic idea of kings and queens and court. Our teacher, Mr. Harris was nice though he could be a little weird at times. He always seemed to make it a point to greet everyone by name – and it was never just Good Morning Lily or Good Morning Danielle but instead Good Morning Ms. Donovan or Good Morning Ms. MacDowell. He had a lot of odd little quirks like that. He could never be very hard on anyone either and was very forgiving. If you were late or you were doing something you shouldn’t be, more often than not he would toss you a frown of disapproval and overlook it.

  I sat next to a quiet boy named Charlie. He was good friends with Zach who Danielle was carrying a desperate crush for at the time. Though I had known Charlie since freshman year, I had only spoken with him once or twice. Since Dani liked Zach I felt as though I needed to make a little extra effort to be nice to Charlie. I tried to offer him a friendly greeting before class got started but Mr. Harris was looking at us with a tsk, tsk expression so I quickly dropped the effort and refrained from any other attempts at repartee.

  The class began with Mr. Harris running down his checklist of the things we would be studying that week. He was making his way across the room putting copies of the weekly syllabus on the first desk of each row. As each student took their copy they would turn and hand the remaining stack to the person behind them.

  “Nice break?” The girl in front of me whispered as she handed me a copy. Her name was Missy and she sat with us whenever she bothered to take lunch. She was very studious and usually spent her lunch period in the library catching up on homework or projects or whatever else she could get her hands on.

  “Yeah, you?”

  She smiled, nodded and turned back.

  The day was pretty standard, Danielle and I had Chemistry together then she went to Spanish and I went to French. After our language classes Dani found me and we headed to the Art Room. Jake’s girlfriend Brooke unfortunately shared this class with me. I never understood why she had such a remarkable disdain for me but when I walked down the hall she always seemed to make it a point to turn and snicker. She made it a point, too, I thought, to talk to her friends about me whenever we were forced together but I couldn't begin to imagine what she could possibly be saying and I never bothered to find out. We had hardly spoken two words since we started high school and we moved in completely different circles so whatever had caused her animosity was completely beyond me.

  There was no assigned seating for the class and that day I sat at one of the workstations just behind and to the right of her. Danielle plopped down beside me and sighed, “Lord, am I hungry.”

  “Me too,” I muttered.

  Our position gave me a good opportunity to study Brooke without being obvious about it. If she wasn’t assuming such a narcissistic air all the time she would probably have seemed very pretty, maybe even beautiful. She had pin-straight blond hair that fell nearly to her waist and a distinct, elegant face with arched brows, blue eyes and high cheekbones. She also wore a lot of makeup that I thought would do her more justice off than on and tended to smile a lot, too but in my opinion it never really reached her eyes. To me this made Danielle infinitely more attractive than Brooke, even though they were such opposites on the beauty spectrum.

  Mrs. Sheldon, the art teacher seemed distracted that day and gave us some busy work that everyone quietly got to. Our instructions were to simply make a print of our names but instead of using ordinary letters you needed to choose an object to symbolize each; like a mountain for an A or a baseball for an O, that sort of thing. She told us to use a mixed-media format and left us to it. There was an unwritten rule that it was alright to talk in class as long as everyone kept their voices down so most days there was a constant though somewhat muffled dialogue going on between all of the workstations and their inhabitants.

  Danielle and I fetched a few supplies together and got to work on our projects while talking about our vacations and how we spent our time.

  Eventually she changed the subject and asked “So are you going to ask anyone to take you to the Spring Formal?”

  “Uh, no, I’m not even sure I’ll go.”

  “Not go!!” Danielle’s voice took a blasphemous tone.

  I laughed a little out loud. Brooke tossed us a what’s so funny look. I don’t know what prompted me to do it but I gave Danielle a little nudge and covered my mouth as though the funny thing we were talking about was Brooke. She rolled her eyes and turned her focus back to her project. Danielle and I got back to ours. I was not feeling very inspired and hadn’t gotten very much done.

  Just a few minutes before the class was about to end Brooke got up as though she were going to get something from the storage cabinet on the other side of the room. On her way back she pretended to stumble and somehow the paint she was carrying managed to take a nose dive right onto my project. She must have loosened the cap, because as it hit the workstation the paint splattered all over my paper and began to trickle onto the floor. Luck kept it from hitting Dani’s paper or either of our clothes but I was beside myself with anger knowing that the act was deliberate.

  I masked it well and twisted around to face Brooke, “Oh no Brooke, are you alright? I hope you didn’t get hurt tripping over yourself like that,” I made sure my voice was loud enough for everyone to hear and said it with the utmost sincerity.

  She was furious imagining that what I had said had made her look like a ditzy klutz to the rest of the class. Mrs. Sheldon came over to check on Brooke and the carnage her paint had done. There was so much of it on my paper that you could not tell how much work I had or had not completed.

  “Sorry about your paper Lily. How about I give you an A- for the effort you must have put into it.”

  The bell rang marking the end of the period. Everyone hurried to turn their projects in and leave, everyone except Brooke that was. She and Mrs. Sheldon were busily mopping up the mess Brooke had made. I felt a hint of regret and a twinge of guilt so I asked if I could help.

  “No, no,” Mrs. Sheldon said, “too many cooks in the kitchen. It will be easier with just the two of us.”

  Brooke had an I’ll get you for this look in her eye. So much for my guilt; I sent Brooke a bring it on grin and marched out of the room.

  “So what’s up with you and Brooke?” Danielle asked innocently enough.

  “Beats me.”

  We meandered on toward our Trigonometry class. Though most days I glanced at the clock a dozen or more times wishing lunch would hurry up and come, I actually enjoyed the Trig class. Mrs. Vesa always reminded me of Margaret with her no-nonsense, systematic approach but to teaching. She went through each day’s problem solving process step by step explaining each one in a simple and easy to follow method. Once the lesson was over she assigned our homework and left us to ourselves for the last few minutes of class.

  When the bell finally rang there was an audible sigh from the class and I imagined everyone was looking forward to their lunches as much as I was. Danielle dropped me at my locker and said she would be right back. I stashed my books and grabbed my bag. I would have liked nothing more than to follow the herd to the cafeteria but checked my patience and waited for Dani.

  The lunch room was jam-packed by the time we got there but Danielle and I had a regular table and she made a beeline straight for it. The other students slid along the bench and shuffled either their bags or trays and made room for both of us.

  “Hey everyone,” Danielle sat down satisfied with her greeting and began unwrapping her sandwich.

  I said a hasty Hello as well and followed Danielle’s lead and got started on my lunch. I took the lids off the containers with my veggies and greens and quickly assembled my salad. I was about to put the dressing on when Brooke walked by. She jerked her head back just as she was about to pass and sneezed all over my l
unch.

  I was still livid from the incident in the art room and hungry as I was my anger went beyond recall. I stood up and grabbed her arm, drawing her back to face me but touching her gave me a jolting mental image of someone else, very much like Brooke but decidedly older. Then I felt like I suddenly had a complete understanding of who Brooke really was. I realized that she was acting out of her own fears and insecurities, along with her petty jealousies of everyone else and her utmost desire to fit in. I didn’t know who the woman in my mind was but somehow she triggered the impressions I was getting of Brooke.

  “Let me go freak!” She shouted.

  I was shaken by the phenomenon and just stood there for a moment holding Brooke’s arm until she yanked herself free. She couldn’t seem to pull her gaze from mine and I could see the fear swimming in her eyes as she shrunk from me. “Enjoy your lunch,” it was all I could think to say. There was a physical release of the tension between us and she stumbled backwards. Visibly shaken she two timed it to the table where Jake was sitting and put her head on his shoulder.

  Charlie gave a low whistle, “Interesting, very interesting,” he nodded his head in contemplation of what he had just witnessed. Everyone at the table started talking at once. I didn’t catch any of the various conversations taking place but I did perk up when Danielle offered me half her sandwich. As though her gesture were a cue, each of our friends that were sitting nearby took a little something from their lunches and placed it before me like an offering.

  It quickly brought me back to reality and I thanked everyone for being so generous. I enjoyed my smorgasbord lunch as best I could but I was dazed by what had just taken place and only managed a few bites here and there.

  Chapter 11

  I never told Margaret about the incidents with Brooke at school. When she picked me up at carpool she asked me how my classes went. I gave her as colorful a description of the day as I could muster. Margaret was a good listener and always seems genuinely interested in everything I had to say. She asked if I had any homework and before long we were pulling into the driveway.

  As soon as I walked through the door I got bowled over by Kaley. I bent down and her kisses washed away all my hard feelings from the school day.

  “She has been mourning your absence. I swear she must have searched every nook and cranny of the house hoping that she would find you somewhere.”

  “Aww, poor Kaley. I’m sorry I have to go away like this so much. Would you like to go for a walk?”

  She ran to the kitchen table which was where I usually left her leash and beckoned with her wagging tail and happy eyes.

  “OK, but just a short one, I have homework you know.”

  I took her to the greenway and back and tossed her one of her biscuits once we were inside. Margaret was fixing me a snack in the kitchen.

  “I missed you too,” she grinned and handed me a plate with slices of apples and a ramekin of peanut butter.

  She poured me a glass of milk as I took the plate to the kitchen table. It was one of my favorite snacks. Margaret never understood my sentiments but I always told her how comforting it was whenever I had it. I decided to get started on my homework while I enjoyed my little treat. I finished the apples well before my assignments but it didn’t take as long as I expected. For someone who had never considered herself a scholar, I did fairly well in all my classes. That day’s homework seemed pretty easy.

  When I was done I put my papers in the appropriate books and put the books back in my bag. I left it by the front door so it would be ready to go in the morning. Margaret was looking over a sales flyer in the family room and asked me how the work went.

  “Fair enough, I think. Everything was pretty easy and straightforward.”

  “That’s good. What are your plans now, then?”

  “I’m just going to e-mail Danielle. We’re trying to make plans for getting together over the weekend.”

  “OK. What time do you think you would like dinner, 6 or 6:30?”

  “Six would probably be better, I feel a little hungry already.”

  When I got to my room I found that Margaret had folded all the laundry and left mine in a number of stacks on my bed. I methodically put everything away before sitting at one of the window seats with my laptop perched on my knees. I logged into my e-mail and was excited to see that Danielle had already rattled one off to me.

  She mentioned a few highlights from the day and asked about the weekend. I was sure Aunt Margaret wouldn’t mind dropping me off at Dani’s either day. I quickly tapped out a response to Danielle asking which day and time would be best so I could let Margaret know.

  When I was done my e-mail I put the laptop aside and picked up a copy of some fashion magazine Margaret had left for me. It had a little post-it note stuck to the cover, “Does this interest you at all?”

  I began to peruse the pages and found little worthwhile amongst them. At about the halfway mark I was about to put the magazine down when I came to an ad featuring a man in a beautifully tailored suit. He had barely the hint of a smile playing on his lips. He must have been looking directly into the camera when the picture was snapped because it seemed as though he was staring back at me from the page. I couldn’t stop looking at him. There was something…something… familiar about the man; his dark hair, expressive eyes. I wracked my brain trying to figure out if I knew anyone with similar features.

  I couldn’t seem to come up with anything and decided to pull the page out before returning the magazine to Margaret. I wasn’t sure why I wanted to hold onto it but I told myself it was in case I had some sudden inspiration as to who he reminded me of. I folded the page into quarters and tucked it into my nightstand near my other little treasure.

  It was getting late so I decided to head downstairs to see if I could help Margaret with dinner. Her love of cooking was starting to rub off on me and I had really begun to enjoy it, too. It was a nice way for us to spend time together and she was always eager to share her knowledge with me. Our dinners were always pretty simple – usually chicken, beef or pork and a side of steamed veggies. Occasionally Margaret would make a second side of rice or potatoes but so much would go to waste because it was generally just the two of us. I didn’t mind that it was never much more than that, though, because no matter the recipe or cooking method she chose (roasting, grilling, frying, etc.) Margaret always seemed to bring out the best in whatever it was she made. To me it was always different and was always satisfying.

  When I got downstairs I found her still in the family room. She was reading a book and looked up as I came around the bottom of the staircase. “Oh, I forgot myself, what time is it?”

  “A little after 5:00,” I replied.”

  “Did you want me to start dinner?”

  “Actually I was wondering if I could help.”

  “Of course you can dear. I would love that,” she always seemed legitimately charmed with the idea. “I found a recipe for Black Peppercorn Chicken that looked interesting. Would you like to give it a shot?”

  “You haven’t given me anything I haven’t liked yet, so I’ll trust you to it.”

  “Well, you’re going to help me, so you’ll trust us to it.”

  We went to the kitchen and washed up. Margaret began setting out all that we would need to get started then gathered a couple of aprons for us from the pantry.

  “So let’s have a little vegetable medley with it. How about cutting up some carrots, broccoli and zucchini?”

  “Sounds good,” I fished them all from the refrigerator and lined them up by the sink. I put a light towel next to them and began peeling and rinsing the carrots then placing them on the towel when I was done. I rinsed the broccoli and zucchini and left them with the carrots.

  While I got the veggies ready Margaret started taking down the spices she would need and arranged them along the kitchen island. She measured each of them out and began to mix them all together.

  I fetched a cutting board and the heavy knife we used fo
r chopping and put them on the kitchen island where I planned to work. Afterwards I got the steamer out and tucked the attachments and bowl into place and started chopping, slowly chopping, since I was not that comfortable with the knife. I made it through the carrots and onto the broccoli but just as I was about to finish with the florets I somehow nicked my finger.

  “Oooh,” I said and then I was awestruck by the little drop of blood on my fingertip. The man in the ad came to mind but there was something different and more familiar about him. Before I could delve any further into what appeared to be some long lost memory Margaret had me at the sink rinsing my finger. When I pulled it from the icy stream of water she had me holding it under there was no trace of the nick. I could not for the life of me see where I cut myself.

  “That’s odd,” said Margaret. “It must have been a very small cut and closed right back up.”

  “I guess so,” I frowned.

  “Maybe I should finish the chopping.”

  “Sure,” I smiled, “but not because I need you to.”

  “No, of course not,” she gave me a reassuring smile.

  She had me finish up the seasoning. Once I felt I’d gotten the consistency of the mixture right I put it aside and brushed the chicken breasts with some olive oil. I took a pinch of the seasoning and began rubbing it into first one of the chicken breasts then the other. I made sure to coat each of them evenly then placed them both in a baking dish.