Portrait of a Girl Running

by J. B. Chicoine

  The reasons he was then unable to admit to himself now came with full admission. He was afraid of failure, of not being good enough, of his father’s chastisement for chasing a silly dream. It was so cliché. Bad enough that he had abandoned his father’s plan for him to be a doctor, but to foolishly forfeit a good job and solid strategy was unthinkable. According to his father’s plan, dreams were inevitably sacrificed on the altar of real life, rendering the safety of a pre-plotted course to all who submit. Worse yet, Ian’s immobilization and fear of disapproval from a man in the grave had deprived him of real purpose. What did his father, a drunk, know of living life to its fullest? Furthermore, not all dreams were foolish any more than all women were self-serving. In fact, none of the woes or injustices of his lot in Millville were of any lasting consequence. Ian had never been struck with such clarity in any moment—clarity of mind and purpose. With his eyes to the stars, he drank in all his senses could bear until the cold and elation nearly overtook him.

  Back in the cabin, as Ian lay alone, he no longer pushed away the idea of Leila. Resisting the possibility of her was pointless. He closed his eyes and freely envisioned her face. He had never known a woman experienced in so many ways yet still innocent. He had to wonder if part of the draw was the virgin he imagined she was—pristine as an unconquered mountain—encompassing the innocence he had experienced for only a few pre-pubescent years. What would it be like, to be free of his past, to make love for the first time and to make it with someone he truly loved? Then to share it with her and her alone for the rest of their lives?

  Only time kept him and Leila apart, and, if he allowed, his own stubbornness and fear of moving forward with his life. The months ahead of him dwindled in view of the long term.

  Chapter 25

  As Mr. Myles assisted Leila from his car and up the front steps of the courthouse, the firmness of his arm at her back quelled her nerves, but only until he pushed open the doors. Feinberg and Leila’s social worker, Mrs. Greene, stood in the lobby below the large clock. Eight-thirty. They shuffled through folders of paper.

  “I don’t feel so good,” Leila said.

  Myles patted her back. “You’re fine.”

  “Are you sure I look okay?” She smoothed her new denim skirt.

  “You’re perfect,” he said as they approached their counsel.

  Echoing footsteps and slamming doors punctuated the atmosphere, heavy with hushed drama as several other groups huddled in corners. Myles directed her to a long bench under archival photographs of judges. Feinberg and Greene conferred off to the side. Leila sat, scrutinizing each cluster of litigants and tried not to obsess. She fidgeted with the stitched edge of the sling still strapped to her shoulder. Her worst-case scenario was, in reality, only a huge inconvenience for her, and temporary. Not so, she sensed, for all the other plaintiffs, petitioners, and defendants. Put in perspective, and compared to the school-board hearing where Ian’s future had also been in the balance, this was of greater material consequence to Clarence Myles than to Leila.

  She studied his face and the flexing tendons of his neck. He met her stare. Neither spoke reassurances, yet an awkward and tender version of a smile passed between them. They each wanted this. They wanted—somehow needed—a judge to validate it, to tell them it was alright to want a father—to want a daughter.

  Greene approached and sat beside Leila. “Judge Moore will be hearing your case this morning. I’ve dealt with him before. A reasonable man. He’s not so much a stickler for rules as he is at getting to the root of a matter. He’s fair and very thorough.”

  Thorough. Leila braced herself for more embarrassing questions. “How long before it’s our turn?”

  “It’s hard to say. The docket almost always runs behind.” In fact, two hours late, the bailiff called them in.

  Myles claimed a seat beside Leila at a large conference table. Each counsel sat beside their client or charge. When Judge Moore stepped into the room, they rose with the bailiff’s call. The judge made immediate eye contact with Leila.

  “Good morning,” he said, glancing at all present. Even while she stood, Leila had to look up at him. His dark, deep-set eyes peered through heavy eyelids. Creases engraved his forehead. He gestured toward the seat in front of him.

  “Please sit, Miss Sanders.” His voice resonated with mellowness. “May I call you Leila?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  He leaned forward, casually crossing his arms over the paperwork in front of him. “How are you today?”

  “Fine, thank you.”

  “I’m terribly sorry about your father’s death.” He shook his head. “That’s very sad.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Without referencing the notes, he began. “I understand you’ve been living independently for over a year now, and you moved from New Hampshire about six months ago?”

  “Yes.”

  “How has that been going for you?”

  Leila thought before answering. “It’s been challenging, but I feel like I’ve been successful.”

  Leaning back in his chair, he cocked his head. “Tell me about the ways in which you feel you have succeeded.”

  Moore drew out his words, not in an unnatural way, not the way Myles did for effect. Nonetheless, his question spurred apprehension.

  “It’s not a trick question,” he said with a kind smile. “I’m simply curious about your successes.”

  Leila inhaled. “Well, I moved to my own apartment just after my father died. Then I moved down here on my own. I’ve had a steady job ever since. I worked full-time all last summer and saved a little money. I work after school everyday, but I have weekends off. I earn a little for looking in on an elderly man who lives downstairs from me. I meet all my expenses. I maintain my own car. I’m passing all my classes and I’ve made a few friends.”

  Moore nodded. “You certainly have a full plate.”

  She shrugged. “I suppose.”

  He smiled again. “How much sleep do you get?”

  Embellishing the hours from eleven to six, she said, “Seven or eight hours. More on the weekend.”

  He nodded slowly without taking his eyes off her. “And Clarence Myles is your math teacher?”

  “I had him for trigonometry last semester. Now I only have him for homeroom.”

  Moore nodded, pushing back into his seat. “How did you do in his class?”

  “I was failing, but he assigned me a tutor and brought my grade up to a B.”

  “How would you describe him as a teacher?”

  “He’s not popular. He’s very strict and gives a lot of homework. He makes everyone work for their grade, even if math is easy for them. I’ve had a lot of teachers in all the schools I’ve been to. He’s the best one I’ve ever had.”

  “How so?”

  “He doesn’t care if he’s unpopular. He seems to know what’s in a student’s best interest, and if he can do something about it, he does.”

  “Could you give me an example, aside from the tutoring?”

  Leila did not have to think long. “He knew the one-year anniversary of my dad’s death was coming up. Since he sees me practically every day, he could tell I was having a bad time. Well, he knew that I was just going to sit at the movie theater all day, so he showed up with popcorn and drinks and sat with me.”

  His eyes narrowed.

  A pang of protectiveness rose in her chest. “I know that sounds kind of weird—that is, I know teachers don’t usually get involved with their student’s after-school lives, but you have no idea how that helped me. I don’t know how I would have got through all of that if he hadn’t been there.”

  As Leila spoke, Moore glanced at Myles. Again, Moore nodded. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  “No.”

  “You mentioned you have friends. None of them knew you were going through a difficult time?”

  “Well, Artie who lives below me—he’s pretty old and we mostly just play music together. And Kyle, well he was going thr
ough his own thing with his girlfriend.”

  “No girls you consider friends?”

  “Well, there’s Maryanne, Kyle’s girlfriend, but like I said they were going through some stuff and weren’t really available.”

  “And how would you feel about having Mr. Myles as your guardian?”

  “He already feels like my guardian. He’s very protective of me, but I can tell he respects me as a person. He irritates me sometimes because he doesn’t let me get away with being stupid. When he thinks I’m off base, he calls me on it. To tell you the truth, Your Honor, I’ve learned how to sidestep or evade people when I need to, just for my own privacy and protection. But I’ve never been able to pull anything over on him. In some weird way he makes me feel accountable.”

  “Accountable to him?”

  Leila shook her head. “Just accountable in general.”

  “And what do you think of the stipulations he’s proposed?”

  “I think they’re fair. Besides, I’ve never really been in a hurry to violate any of them anyway.”

  Moore continued nodding as he paused and studied his notes. He then addressed his entire audience.

  “I’d like a few minutes alone with Leila.” He then singled her out. “Would you be comfortable with that? You may have Mrs. Greene stay if you’d like.”

  “Just you and me is fine.”

  The room cleared of all but the bailiff who faded into the background. Moore pushed back in his chair, removing his glasses and smiled. The pounding in Leila’s chest slowed.

  He exhaled. “I guess you’ve had a lot of embarrassing questions asked of you lately, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  “I guess you also know I would be remiss in my duties as a judge if I did not also ask some of those questions.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  “The track coach, Ian Brigham—would I be accurate in saying that you feel attracted to him as a man, in a romantic kind of way?”

  Her eyes widened. Although her cheeks warmed, she did not look away when she replied, “Yes.”

  “Probably you’ve had crushes on other teachers before?”

  Was he leading her, trying to establish some pattern? “Not since ninth grade.”

  “Have you ever had even remotely similar feelings for Mr. Myles?”

  She shook her head adamantly, looking him straight in the eyes. “No, sir.”

  “Have you ever had even just some funny little feeling that Mr. Myles might have those kinds of feelings for you?”

  “Absolutely not, sir.”

  Moore stared her in the eyes for several long, probing seconds before continuing. “You must miss your father very much.”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you miss most about him?”

  “His music. He played the piano and sang—I miss that.”

  He squinted. “You must miss the security of having him around—having someone to take care of you?”

  “Sir, I mostly took care of him. And I feel as secure now as I’ve ever felt.” Leila sat through another long stare.

  “Do you want me to assign Clarence Myles as your guardian?”

  “I’d rather you emancipate me. But if you have to assign me a guardian, he’s who I want—very much.”

  He replaced his readers and scribbled a few lines. “That’s all the questions I have for you. Would you mind stepping into the hall?”

  “Thank you, Your Honor.”

  The bailiff opened the door and she exited. The judge summoned Mr. Myles.

  Myles inhaled deeply, bracing himself as he entered the conference room.

  Judge Moore stated, “You are, of course, welcome to have your counsel present.”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Please. Sit.”

  Myles took his place, sitting rigidly compared to the Judge’s continued informality.

  “You are fifty-two years old and employed by the Millville School District for eight years and have been teaching for almost thirty years. Correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Moore referred to his notes. “You’ve been married only once. Divorced for fifteen years, with a daughter resulting from that marriage.” He looked up. “Correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How many relationships with women would you say you’ve had in the past fifteen years?”

  “I’ve dated several. One was a serious relationship.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “About nine years ago.”

  “Are you involved in any relationships currently?”

  “No.”

  Moore’s brow rose. “When was the last time you dated anyone?”

  “Several years.”

  Moore now squared his shoulders and looked directly into Myles eyes. “You appear healthy. Is there some reason why you do not date women?”

  Myles restrained his hand from loosening his tie. He wished to challenge the relevancy of the judge’s questions, however, he knew better. “I am a—that is, I have been told, that I’m not an easy person to be around. I have a tendency to push most women away.”

  “Is this characteristic of your relationships in general?” Moore pinched his chin.

  “Yes.”

  “And yet you have not pushed Leila Sanders away. I have to wonder why that is. Furthermore, I cannot make a ruling without that bit of information. So let me come right out and ask, do you have romantic interest in Leila Sanders?”

  Myles flatly stated, “No.”

  “Then, describe your relationship with her.”

  “We have a respectful and trusting relationship.”

  “The Millville School Board seems to feel you are overly involved with Leila.”

  “Would the Millville School Board have preferred that Leila walk three miles home in the sleet and freezing rain in nothing but a T-shirt and shorts? Or perhaps they would have preferred that no one insist on taking her to the emergency room with a teacher-inflicted injury.” Myles could not conceal his indignation. “I have no doubt that the school board would have preferred she attend their hearing all by herself.”

  As Moore again reclined, he studied Myles. “When did you become aware of her living situation?”

  “The first week in October, as a result of her lack of representation at parent-teacher conferences.”

  “And yet you did not notify the appropriate agencies. Why is that?”

  “I had the opportunity to observe her over quite a number of weeks, both in her work environment and at school—”

  “And how did you come to observe her in her work environment?”

  “I frequently shopped at Sam Goody’s—I have an interest in music—sometime in July, Leila began working there.”

  “Did you socialize?”

  “No. I’m afraid I was—that is, she might have considered me rude.”

  “Did you know she’d be attending Millville high school come September?”

  “No.”

  “And again, when you became aware of her situation, why did you keep it to yourself?”

  “As I mentioned, from observing what I knew of her, I was convinced she was capable of living independently. Looking back on it, I realize that due to my own personal and disappointing experiences with the family legal system, I was concerned that a judge might make some arbitrary ruling and put her in foster care. Nonetheless, my primary concern was that her life not be disrupted any further.”

  “And at that point, why did you not petition for guardianship?”

  “Our relationship had not yet progressed to the point whereby I would have considered it.”

  Moore sighed as he stared off into mid-space. He then flashed a look at his notes. He leaned forward again. “Tell me about your daughter. Tell me about your relationship with her.”

  Myles shifted uneasily. “I don’t have one. That is, I don’t have a relationship with her.”

  “Well, when was the last time you spoke to her?”

  “About n
ine years ago.”

  The creases in Moore’s forehead arched and deepened. “Please elaborate.”

  There was no avoiding the issue. Myles reorganized his thoughts and began. “My daughter, Bonnie, was thirteen when her mother and I divorced. We had many post-divorce issues regarding custody. My ex-wife moved Bonnie to California when she was sixteen, where they became heavily involved in a loose lifestyle—alcohol and drug abuse. In ’69, Bonnie hitchhiked cross-country with friends. Her mother and I have not seen or heard from her since.”

  Moore exhaled sharply, pushing back into his seat. “I’m so sorry. That must be very difficult.”

  Myles’ old wounds split open, leaving him raw and parched. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow.

  Moore jotted several notes before continuing, “What bearing do you feel this may have on your relationship with Leila?”

  “If Your Honor wouldn’t mind, may I have a glass of water?” He gestured toward the insulated pitcher and plastic cups at the end of the conference table.

  “By all means, help yourself.”

  Myles poured a cup and sat again, this time meeting Moore’s gaze. Sipping water did little to cool the furnace in his chest. “I see Leila as a vulnerable young woman. If I can prevent more harm in her life and allow her a situation whereby she can become firmly grounded, I wish to provide her with that, because I feel it is within my power to do so. For me to shirk this opportunity would be negligent on my part, not only as an adult and an educator but as a father.”

  “Do you view Leila as some sort of a surrogate daughter?”

  “She could never replace my Bonnie. And I know that Leila is not looking to replace her father. But neither has she experienced the kind of protection and security that I believe I can provide—that I was unable to provide my own daughter.” Myles choked, but remained stoic. “I will not deny that I have fatherly feelings for Leila.”