lisabowmanLisa Bowman is an unemployed software engineer living in Lakewood, CO.  She hopes to someday (soon!) transition into writing as a full-time career, and be a stay at home mommy for her two German Shepherds.  Lisa has written other poems and short stories which can be found on her personal website:  http://www.lisasroughdrafts.com.  She also writes frequently of her adventures on her blog at http://www.lisasroughdrafts.blogspot.com.

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s1504-altar

The Choir Boy
By Lisa Bowman

Michael was an altar boy.  Michael was a choir boy.  Michael was his mother’s favorite son.  Even at fourteen he was a smooth talker.  He always complimented the girls in his class, their mothers, and especially their older sisters.

He enjoyed being an altar boy and the prestige that accompanied that role.  His mother especially showed her joy for his devotion to the Catholic Church.  It was a credit to his character amongst the adults that he was a good Italian catholic boy.  The mothers felt he was safer with their daughters.  The fathers were never fooled.  They figured even if he had plans to enter the priesthood, he still had five or more years of carousing in his system.  Fathers never felt safe with a boy around their daughters.

The St. Helena’s boy’s choir was another matter.  The priests were friendly and kind with the altar duties.  But the nuns made the choir a dangerous proposition.  He couldn’t tell whether they were bitter, angry women naturally or if they just had never gotten laid.  He was pretty sure they’d never been laid.  Even the younger ones were pretty homely.

This was his last year as a choir boy.  Mother loved to hear his voice.  But this year the parents weren’t invited to the final performance the year.   This had caused great distress in his family.  Especially for his mother. His mother asked if she could attend their dress rehearsal for the final performance.

“No”, said the Nun bluntly.  “I do not want the boys to be distracted by anyone.  I have enough trouble keeping their attention”

Mother was afraid of the nuns.  She too had endured a full regime of Catholic school.  She sent her own children because all good Italian children went to Catholic school.   It wasn’t questioned.  But she was still afraid of the nuns.

Afraid or not, she was determined to see her darling Michael sing.  He was singing a solo in this concert.  The event in New York City was for the upper crust of society.  It was a city-wide concert and high officials would attend.  Since she could not attend the actual concert, the dress rehearsal was her only choice.  Permission or no, she was determined to hear her son’s sweet angelic voice.

She grabbed her purse and Nicky’s little hand and was out the door.   Nicky was too young to stay at home by himself and his older sister was at a friend’s house.

“Where are we going Mama?” Nicky asked.

“We’re going to see your brother sing,” she said sweetly.

“I thought sister Maria said we couldn’t.”  He was running along beside her trying to make his legs catch up to his hand she was clasping.

“Yes, I know she did dear, but we will not disturb anyone.  We’ll be quiet as church mice.  I don’t think she’ll ever know.”

“Don’t think?”  Nicky loved his mother and trusted her tremendously.  But he hoped she was right about sister Maria.  If she was anything like the sister that ruled over his first grade class, he did not want he or his mother to be caught.  He could imagine both of them being smacked by a ruler.  He hoped Mama wouldn’t cry.  He was tough so he would never cry, at least not in front of the nun.

They raced along the sidewalk toward St. Helena’s.  It wasn’t a long walk, and it seemed an even shorter distance at the clip they were walking.  The heavy wooden doors, adorned with stained glass in their center loomed before them.  Even the bright spring sunshine didn’t dispel the sense of creepiness Nicky felt every time he entered the cathedral.

His mother let go of his hand to take hold of the door.  With both hands, she gently pulled it open.  She looked like his best friend Cecilia checking the corner when they played cops and robbers.  A sense of excitement surged through him.  He followed her in on soft feet.

Now inside, he didn’t know where they would go.  What did his mother intend?  Would they hide out in the confessionals until the choir arrived?  What if a priest came in?  What would he say?

“Bless me father for I have sinned, it has been a week since my last confession.  My mother and I are sneaking in to see my brother’s concert even though sister Maria said we couldn’t.”

Would he be guilty by association?  Was lying to an official of the Catholic church a cardinal sin?  Would they be excommunicated?

“Psst!” His mother waved her hand for him to follow her.  This was exactly like cops and robbers!

Mother was leading him to the stairs to the balcony.  They crept up the winding staircase and walked down to the balcony railing.  His mother crouched down.

“My mother is afraid of the nuns too,” he realized.

It made him feel better for his own fear.  He’d never told his mother of the punishments meted out in his class.  He was never called to the front of the class, like Cecilia.  He still remembered the Nun pulling up her skirt to administer punishment with her ruler.   Cecilia was his girlfriend and he hated to see her cry.  Nicky’s knuckles had been smacked many times already for various offenses that he didn’t even grasp.

Very soon after they’d settled down in their hiding, Sister Maria herded a group of boys and girls to the front of the church.  Mother crouched down even lower as Sister Maria scanned the church for intruders.  Then the choir began.  They ran through each of their songs, with only an occasional pause for correction.  Sister Maria demanded perfection!  The Lord Jesus Christ himself would have gladly submitted to his suffering on the cross if he had been given the choice between that and grueling afternoons of choir practice with Sister Maria.

Many sweet-sounding songs were sung over the course of the afternoon.  Finally the moment arrived.  Michael took center stage.  He began singing with that sweet angelic voice, the high voice he had before his hormones caused it to change.  Nicky looked at his mother, whose eyes were wet with joy.  Michael was half way through his performance now.  He sounded wonderful!

Then it happened.  Nicky felt a hand on his shoulder.  Not his mother’s familiar strong but loving hand.  This was a man’s hand.  He slowly turned his head to see whose hand it could possibly be. Father Merrelli was looking down at them, an amused smile on his face.  Nicky poked his mother to alert her of the intruder.

“Father Merrelli,” his mother whispered in surprise, half standing.  But a whisper in the cathedral was like a shout.  St. Helena was built before the age of electricity and therefore possessed excellent natural acoustics.

The entire choir, including Sister Maria raised their eyes up to the balcony.  Nicky hung his head in shame and tried to edge around his mother to hide himself from view.  He didn’t want that nun to know who he was!

His mother, clearly embarrassed, was making up a story for Father Merrelli about leaving her gloves at the church.  The story didn’t make sense, even to little Nicky.  Why would she feel the need to retrieve them a week later, just before a day of mass?  Nothing added up.  It was a weak lie and worse it projected for the entire building to hear.

The conversation with Father Merrelli, a very nice priest indeed, was finished and mother rushed them down the stairs and out the door.  His mother had succeeded in seeing half the concert and pleasing her favorite son.  He rushed alongside his mother as before.  She was smiling from ear to ear.  She didn’t seem to care that they’d been caught.

“I was caught alright,” she thought to herself.

But she had seen what she came to see; her boy, her Michael, singing his solo.  And she’d won another victory that nobody else knew about.  She’d defied a nun!  And she had gotten away with it!  No marching off to a beating behind closed doors.  No humiliating punishment in front of the class.  Finally, she had taken on a Sister and walked out of it, with her head almost held high.  It was a beautiful springtime afternoon, and the song birds were in full chorus.

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