Pie Town - Lynne Hinton [43]
Only when George was five years old did his father demonstrate any special interest in his son. He tried, as he put it to his wife, “to get the boy out of his shell.” For weeks he tried teaching his son how to box, goaded him into emotional outbursts, even whipped him when George refused to fight another boy who lived next door. Mr. Morris finally gave up and went back to drinking and playing cards with his friends when George stood out on the porch, locked out for four hours, missing supper and practically freezing to death, because he wouldn’t scream out what he wanted. Finally, his mother rescued him, unlocking the door and taking her quiet, unemotional son to bed. Neither parent tried to figure their son out again, leaving the diagnosis and treatments to teachers and school aides and well-meaning social workers.
At the church and the parish school, however, George blossomed. He was still quiet and even-tempered, did not have many friends, and preferred to work alone, but instead of raising suspicions from the adults, his behavior was rewarded and celebrated in this setting. He was coddled by the nuns and set apart by the priest as a special child, even one called by God to service. He had found his place at an early age, and in almost twenty years he had never regretted his childhood or the decision he made. He had even found great love and pity for his parents, and he was grateful that they had moved to that apartment and grateful that they never stood in the way of God’s plan for his life.
George lay on the cold bathroom floor, his mouth dry and his head starting to pound. He didn’t try to get up.
After seminary, when he finished his studies, he asked for a call to serve in another country. He believed there was greater reward in serving the poorest of the poor. And he relished the thought of being out of America, away from the influence of television, the Internet, and all things secular. He thought it would be a good fit for him to serve in missions.
George remembered his spiritual director at seminary, who had recommended that George stay in domestic service, noting that the young man might find difficulties in being too isolated. He claimed that George’s desire to serve in an undeveloped country was more pathological than spiritual, and he was concerned that isolation for George would be more harmful than helpful. His spiritual director had said that George should wait for a few years, have a bit more supervision, before being sent abroad. The young man had disagreed with his mentor, but in typical fashion for George, he accepted what was handed down to him.
“I wonder what Father Leon would say now,” he said to himself. “At least in Haiti I wouldn’t have to worry about somebody getting me drunk.” He sat up, resting on his arms, and waited for the room to stop spinning.
He thought about what he had said, the words “getting me drunk.” He recalled that the other time he was intoxicated it had happened in exactly the same way . . . at the hands of somebody else. He leaned back against the bathroom wall, recalling the only other time he had felt this bad.
After being harassed for weeks for not going out, not joining the other students for anything other than study groups, he had agreed to go with his roommates to Cincinnati to “blow off some steam,” as they called it, the semester before they would be taking their final vows. It seemed harmless enough to George. They told him their itinerary. They planned to take in a movie, go to a ball game, spend time at a shopping mall, and sample a few restaurants. Seeking guidance about the idea, George had discovered that even Father Leon agreed that the outing would be a good thing for him to do.
George sat on the bathroom floor and remembered that weekend. For the first night and the first full day, it had been fun. He had found himself enjoying a bit of leisure. The guys had even commented that he looked more