InvasiveThoughts.com

                by Coda Plain

Part I: Conversation

                Life for Joseph could have been better.  That’s what he thought anyway.  Throughout his whole entire life, which had been considerable to his determination, he had faced a conditioning of sorts to keep his expectations low.  From the nuns who raised him at the orphanage, to the cops who constantly hounded him, to the kids on the street, Joseph was told he would never amount to anything.  He was a poor, unwanted, pre-pubescent Negro boy in America, and that as they say, was that.  Joseph, much to his credit, had always thought otherwise.  To his thinking, there was already nothing he could do to make things any worse so life could only get better from here. Today might possibly be that first of the rest of his life.  Why not? … as yesterday had been too.  Of course, exactly when things would turn around had always been the main question on his mind. There had been a lot of yesterdays and todays. He had presently decided it wouldn’t begin by residing in the backseat of a patrolman’s car, his current location.

                “Up here on the left Oinkers!” he directed.

                “Shut up!” stated the officers in unison from the front seats.

                The car slowed to a crawl, and then turned to the left, repeating its all too familiar drive up to the orphanage.  Sister Margerette’s Home for Wayward Boys rested in the heart of the city.  The district it served ranked amongst the worst in the country in unemployment and poverty, and it was without a doubt the worst of the city.  The current joke went that burial in a cemetery was a step up from here.  Not many laughed.  Tonight however it didn’t look so bad to Joseph.  The February snow had built a soft blanket upon the ground, leaving an odd sense of warmth in him at what nature had done.  As Joseph squinted his eyes in the crisp light of the moonlit night he could imagine a hint of Heaven right here in Hell.

                “Thanks for the lift boys!  If you’ll get the door I can take it from here.”

                “Shut up!” the driver yelled, motioning angrily to his partner

                The other knew that it was his turn to take the kid up.  He snarled as he pushed his door into the cold.

                Joseph was a boy of 14, a man to hear him tell it, and unlike the rest of the world he had life all figured out.  Everyone was against him, period.  The door opened to his right and the long arm reached in and yanked him out body and soul.  He obligingly went along with his clutched limb into the night.  The circulation had stopped just above his elbow, but he was still mindful not to hit his head on the hood.  Eye contact was avoided altogether with both the driver, whom he could feel scowling at him, and his escort who continued to snarl and snort as if every effort was a struggle.  The door of the car slammed and off the two went.  Joseph’s feet shuffled through the snow as he tried in vain to keep up.  The breath nearly froze before it cleared his mouth, and his nose felt the chill immediately.  He thought it was probably best to avoid any comments about the weather if he knew what was good for him.

                “Kinda’ cold out isn’t it?” he offered.

                The hand on his arm tightened, which surprised Joseph immensely as he thought the officer already had a death grip that went clear to the bone.  As they walked the steps up to the door he slipped and fell.  The snow ate right through his pants and began to freeze his knees.  The officer didn’t miss a step, hauling his package through the bounce and the slide.  At the top Joseph was pushed forcefully up against the wall, the arm of the law now pressing against his chest.  The look on the officer’s face was less than friendly, but at least the blood was flowing once again to Joseph’s hand.  The knocker on the door clanged hard twice, metal on stone, and footsteps faintly creaked on wood floors from within.  Joseph imagined he could hear the swishing of a dress and the tapping of a ruler against fabric.  His knuckles began feeling either remembered pain or winter’s chill.

                Amber light illuminated the officer’s face as the door swung back slowly.  Joseph noted the missing slow creak of the hinges and the screams of horror so common in the movies he’d seen.  “This must not be the part where they get him,” he thought. A tiny little head swallowed up by a nun’s habit emerged from the other side.  Large round eyes blinked curiously before the dim glow.  The officer took a slight step forward, coming into the light.  Snowflakes began to fall just inside the door.

                “Evenin’ Sister.”  The man tried to sound cordial, but the woman noted the disdain in his voice and the routine in his delivery.  She looked sympathetic. The officer’s hand pressed harder on Joseph’s chest with his sudden decision to omit any pleasantries.  Fingertips nearly dug into his skin as his hand formed a fist clinched with the coat Joseph wore.  A hint of the pain escaped Joseph’s lips as the officer pulled him out to stand before the door.  The tiny nun jumped back in a fright as her concerns were realized.  All told, the officer seemed most pleased with the incident.

                “Joseph!” The woman voiced.

                “This belong to you then?”  The child was dangling from the steel talons like a casually lost handbag.

                Joseph raised his eyes at the sound of his name.  Up to now he had been quite intently studying the intricacies of his shoelaces, and wondering if his pants were going to freeze to his legs permanently.  He squirmed against the grip on his coat and turned to see the young face at the door.  “Sister Mary Francis?!” he exclaimed almost joyously.

                “Hello.” she spoke, in a low controlled tone.  “What, may I ask, has brought you home like this?”

                “I wasn’t ...”

                “He was caught vandalizing ...” The officer interrupted.

                “It was cold,” Joseph began.  “And I needed a ride home.”  He returned a bright smile to the Sister’s frown.  Her face held that “I’m very disappointed in you” look, which made Joseph once again concerned about his immediate future.  The officer let him down and he sulked towards her, rubbing the tops of his fingers and straightening his shirt and coat.  He was stopped halfway across the threshold by the firm grip he had felt returning to his shoulders.

                “You watch yourself out there kid.  The streets can be a mean place, especially for someone like you.”  Joseph turned to see the narrowed face shaded by the police cap.  “Maybe one day, you don’t come home.”  Some might call that intimidation Joseph thought, however today it felt to be prophecy.  The officer tipped his cap slightly and then put his hands inside his coat.

                Sister Mary Francis gave a short, terse smile of understanding, which belied her age.

                “Evenin’ Sister.”  The man looked at them both momentarily and then returned to the squad car, a giant shadow edging back into the night.

                “Good night, officer.”  Sister Mary shivered against the cold.

                “Pig,” Joseph mumbled.

                Once again Joseph had passed form the strong arms of the State to the caring hands of God.  Strangely though, the strength in the fingers hadn’t let up any.  He squirmed a little under the new grasp of Sister Mary, but nothing changed.  “Don’t think that you’re getting away with anything young man.  Simply because it was myself answering the door, don’t think you got off lucky.”

                “No ma’am.” was the monotone reply. One thing he had never done was to think of himself as lucky.  He was, however, definitely glad that it was the unexpected Sister Mary who had come to the door this evening.  He believed his knuckles were still swollen from his last encounter with Sister Margerette, a long standing member who had overseen his ‘internment’ at the Home.  He had decided that she had been made a nun because to send her to Hell would have tipped the scales too much the wrong way.

                After a stern berating, and a lengthy prayer session, wherein both the Lord was asked to protect and forgive a certain poor unfortunate child from sin, Joseph was sent to his room without supper.  His fingers had avoided any punishment but he had left Sister Mary Francis accompanied by a slight feeling of guilt, which he liked even less.  Extra chores had been assigned for him tomorrow.  Sister Margerette was returning then and he had been told she would deal with him properly.  This brought to mind images of cleaning the entire orphanage, including the toilets, with a worn toothbrush until it was only a stick.

                “What a waste,” he said opening his door.  The four other boys who shared his room had been staring at the ceiling after lights-out waiting eagerly for Joseph’s return.  All except Stanley, who was already snoring.  The boys felt sorry for Stanley.  He had been given the rotten luck of being christened a wimp, and they had felt obliged to dutifully follow the social conventions of society by picking on him.  The boys rolled over with the opening of their door and the intrusion of light into the void.  Their curiosity was evident.

                “So!  What’d ya’ get?” came out immediately, followed by “Yeah!” with “Let’s see those hands!” echoing from the corners.

                “Nothing.” Joseph answered.  “More Regret is gone this evening.”

                “Boy did you get lucky.”

                “Yeah.”  He moved over to his bunk, changing into the finest fourth hand fleece sleepers that charity had to offer, purposely forgetting to brush his teeth.  “night guys.”

                “G’night Joseph.” they answered, obviously disappointed that he had gotten off so easily and that there were no stories forthcoming.

                Joseph fell into bed.  Pulling the covers over his face to block out the moon, he tried to sleep through the whistled breathing of Stanley.  He rubbed his sore arm and watched headlights go by outside through the icicles on the window.  “Yeah ... I sure got lucky.” he whispered.

                Joseph awoke the next morning to find a cover of snow outside as thick as his blankets. Fortunately it would all melt into ice later.  Sister Mary Francis had come in to get him up shortly after dawn.  Today as discipline he would be helping the soup line at the homeless shelter.  None of the other boys had heard anything, or had pretended not to, feigning sleep.  Joseph’s arm ached, and upon examining it in the early morning light he convinced himself he could see fingerprints.  He had forced a smile as he got up though, at least he had managed to avoid sleeping on his stomach due to a sore backside.  Pulling a sweater full of holes over his shirt and slipping jeans on past his pajamas he was ready for the morning’s service.  Or so he told himself.  A few hairs remained at odds with the rest of his head, and his eyes were still glazed over with sleep.  He feared today would be long and grueling, and he couldn’t wait to get it over with.

                Joseph took his place in the soup line.  One ladleful per bowl he was handed.  A rhythm formed fairly quickly after the start.  Take bowl.  Fill bowl.  Return bowl.  Smile.  He wasn’t sure what type of soup he was dishing out, but as nobody asked it didn’t amount to much.  Whatever it was, his apron was soon covered in it.  Two drums of the concoction were gone before he was even truly awake enough to notice, and he was halfway through his third when he realized his arms had become tired.  It was already too much effort for what little he had done to find himself here, according to his way of thinking.  Soon however, his first tour of duty was finished.  Next up was scrubbing the pots and pans, and then the washing.  Bowl after bowl after bowl he had only so recently seen along their way.  He wasn’t certain, but he thought that the bowls far outnumbered the spoons now.

                He hadn’t talked to anyone all day, much, and only nodded his head when he was told he could leave.  A half hour for a break was allowed before he started on lunch.  The smells of soup and cigarettes had blended in with the mellowed odor of poverty inside.  Outside offered a change.  His beat up blue coat wasn’t much to look at but it did all he asked of it, as did his mittens.  Sitting exhaustedly on the curb he took in the great outdoors, numb to the cold.  The hard smells of diesel and car exhausts were the scents of the day, which was actually an improvement.  The owners of these odors honked and roared at traffic, from his vantage point.  Intermittent whistles and shouts blended in with overhead rail cars. The sounds of a city alive.  His breath came out in puffs of cold, and the snow he noticed, seemed to be everywhere. All Joseph felt at the moment however was the throbbing in his arms, and that his nose was cold.  In place of the walls inside the shelter, outside he had crumbling buildings along with a bitter wind to stand in for the dry hot air of the heater.  People still stood about aimlessly though.  They huddled together and moved en mass with the changing lights.  It was too cold here for all that love beads and stuff he’d been seeing on television and in the papers, but they still talked the talk.  He listened to pieces of conversation for several minutes.  He didn’t quite know what they were talking about, but he liked the way it sounded.  Peace and freedom and hope and change, he could dig that.  He wasn’t too sure about the love though.

                Even with the snow shoveled only hours earlier the garbage had already begun to pile up.  Large mounds of a dirty dingy white held captured bits of the daily news and torn candy bar wrappers along with other assorted bits of trash.  Life always looked worse the day after it snowed. Nature’s white blanket became grey and black, almost tainted.  Barely ensnared in the pile closest to Joseph was a cigarette package.  The word was out that smoking was bad for you.  That hadn’t seemed to stop any of the people inside.  His curiosity got the better of him, and Joseph told himself that he’d trade them for something if there were any inside.  He stood up stiffly, the seat of his pants were cold and damp.  Through the cotton of the mittens he tried to pull the fabric from his body unsuccessfully.

                Freeing the cigarette wrapper from the snow, his thumb dug around inside for its former contents.  To his disappointment he found it was empty.  Crinkling it up tight, he tossed the trash back down to be lost in another pile somewhere else later.  The chill wind would find it a new home soon enough.  “Stupid!” he thought to himself.  “No one ever throws away cigarettes.”  The cold of the day was starting to get through his layers of warmth.

                “Hey kid!”

                Joseph looked up to see an old man bundled up neatly next to him.  His beard was graying and his teeth smiled yellow.  Atop his head was a weathered fedora that shadowed a lifetime of laughter wrinkled up on his face.  It appeared as though he was born smiling.

                “Here,” the man continued, “finish mine.”

                Joseph dumbfoundedly reached out to the smoldering cigarette offered. His mittens awkwardly grasping it, and without saying a word he brought it up to his mouth.  He inhaled, acting like it was second nature until he involuntarily coughed it out of his hands.  The glowing paper hit the ground and went out lifelessly.  The old man patted him on the back, laughing joyously.

                “That’s okay son.  They’ll just rot your lungs and take your money.”  He was still smiling.  “Just like they did me.”

                “It just ... went down the wrong way, that’s all.”  Joseph coughed again.  “I smoke all the time.” He stepped on it hard, explaining it away.

                “Right you are.  Right you are.”  The man looked around them for a moment.  “Kinda’ cold out here, isn’t it?”

                “No.” Joseph shook his head.  “I’m used to it.”  The man beside him looked him over.

                “Well ... I’m not.  ‘Spose we go inside and have a couple more?”  He motioned towards the shelter.

                “You wanna’ go in that dive?”

                “Well ... I thought I might.”  He looked at the barren brick behind him and the cloudy picture window.  “Nice enough people inside I imagine.”

                “Yeah right!  Keep dreamin’ Grandpa.”

                The old man bellowed in laughter.  “So I’m to go in alone am I?”

                “Nah, 'sides I got to get back in there myself.”  The man thought on this curiously.

                The two found themselves realizing just how cold it was once they sat down at a table inside.  The man had brought two cups of coffee over, one with lots of milk, along with an ashtray.  Joseph warmed his hands around the cup, and nonchalantly turned down his cigarette.  The older man smiled slightly at this, saying nothing.

                “So, you work here?”

                “Yeah.  Slave labor.”

                “Hah-ha.  You don’t like it then?”

                “I wouldn’t know.  I haven’t had time.”  He took off his mittens and pushed them aside.  “I was drafted.”

                “That so,” mused the man, tapping off some of the ash into the tray as he blew out a haze of smoke.

                “This is punishment.  Some pigs brought me back to the orphanage late last night.”

                 "They were just ...  yeah.”  He stopped.  “I was ... I was pouring water over the windshield of their black and white.”

                The man smiled again at this unexpected revelation.  His face soon wrinkled up, involuntarily forcing tears out with his laughter.  “Is that so?” he choked, asking his now also-laughing companion.

                “Yeah.  They didn’t dig it much.”

                “Sounds like you were asking for it then.”  He squashed out his cigarette as his look changed from humor to concern.  Joseph looked back.

                A silence grew between them then.  It was nearing 11:30 and the kitchen was preparing for the lunch crowd.  The door had been opening in a constant rotation now, as men, women, and even children milled about to form a line.  Joseph noticed that some held a spoon out in their hands.  He was collecting his thoughts, and his companion didn’t force any conversation.

                “Maybe they were asking for it!” he began.  “These pigs have been pushing all of us around for so long I can’t remember nothin’ else.”  He drank some from the cup.  “I used to think it was just me ... but look at all of us.  Maybe they ain’t gettin’ enough from us,” he stopped, as if a fuse going out before ignition.  Then, slowly he voiced, “Lord knows we could sure use a little more help.”

                “Who’s they?  What do you mean exactly?” coaxed the man.

                “Look, you’re a brother.  They.  The Man.  Everybody that ain’t in here.”  Joseph looked confused at this question.  “Don’t you see?  Hell, you got to. They packin’ us up for some war some place, or else they freezin’ us out in the cold.  Way I see it ... they’re askin’ for it ... maybe more.”

                “Oh.  Them,” came with an understanding sarcasm from across the table.

                “Yeah.”

                “Joseph!  Soup’s on!” came a roar from the kitchen.

                “That’s me ... I gotta’ go.”  The emotion in Joseph subsided.

                “Well ... it’s nice to meet you.” He extended his hand.  “I’m Micah.”

                “Joseph.  Nice t’meet ya’.”

                Joseph disappeared behind the counter, and after several minutes returned with a large container and a fresh apron.  Micah remained at the table watching as the room began to fill up.  The temperature inside started to rise with the bodies coming in, more than building upon the already growing heat.  He soon found himself taking off his coat, and talking to those sitting nearest to him.  He took notice as a door beyond the counter opened and Sister Francis came through.  Some cheers and whistles went out, and he thought he saw her blush discretely.  She looked up and caught his eye, waving brightly.  He hadn’t seen her in years.  Watching as she went over to Joseph and exchanged a few words, Micah saw the young boy’s face scrunch up.  She patted him on the back and kissed his forehead.  Micah saw that whatever else came this day, Joseph had at least found some forgiveness.

                He turned to look outside once more as people rushed past to get to their destination.  Joseph had left his gloves on the tabletop.  Bright red woolen protection; he reached over for them and found Sister Francis standing before him.  “Mary ...” passed over his lips.  He stood up, taking off his fedora.

                “Micah, it’s good to see you!”  She smiled an infectious smile, which he returned gladly.  “And always with that hat.”

                “Yes.”  He looked down to it.  “It’s been with me for quite awhile.”  He placed his fedora over the mittens.  “You’ve a hat of your own now I see.”

                He reseated himself as she traced the outline of her nun’s habit.  “Yes, it seems I have ... changed my wardrobe.  I think it fits.”

                “I love what you’ve done with the shelter Mary.  Dad would’ve loved what you’ve done.”

                “Oh yeah, he’d die at the colors!  But yellow was what they had ...” She started to laugh, but stopped.  “I ... I didn’t mean ...”

                “S’alright Mary.  It’s been over a year.”

                “You know you’re father meant a lot to us.”

                “And this meant a lot to him.  He’d be proud.”  Micah reached out and grabbed her hands.  “Is Sister Margerette back?”

                “Not yet.  Later this evening probably.”  She looked away solemnly.

                “Well then, we’ll have to eat without her!”

                Joseph was busy filling empty bowls as the two approached him.  With some effort Micah could see him reciting his mantra, “Take bowl, fill bowl, return bowl.”  Joseph’s eyes never wavered from the pot of soup or the objects he repeatedly filled.  His coat and gloves long since removed, he was beginning to sweat in the heat of the kitchen.  Another bowl and another serving came and went.

                “Hello Joseph.”

                “Wha ...  Sister Mary?” He looked from her to the man standing next to her.  “Micah, you eatin’ here?”  The Sister looked curiously at Micah.

                “Yes, Sister Mary was kind enough to invite me.”

                “Boy, I never would’a thought ... what’d ya’ do ta’ her?”  The two laughed at Joseph’s statement, though Sister Mary’s was much shorter.

                “Joseph do you remember Pastor James Davis?”  Sister Mary asked.

                “Yeah.  Crazy old geezer.”  She flushed a little at this.

                “He was Micah’s father.”  It was Joseph now who blushed.

                Biting his lower lip, he looked up at Micah slowly.  “Sorry.”

                “Perfectly understandable.”

                “Joseph has volunteered to help out with the shelter today Micah,”  Sister Mary shined.

                “Yes, he ... told me about that.”  She held a moment’s embarrassment or perhaps, Micah reconsidered, disappointment.

                “Oh, well then, I’ll see you this evening Joseph.” she spoke.

                “Uh ... Sister Mary, I was wondering if Joseph ... might be able to go with me this evening to the meeting,”  Micah suggested.

                “To the  ... I ... I don’t know ...” she turned to Joseph.

                “Yeah, I’d like that Sister Mary,”  Joseph offered.  He had no idea what it was about or why, but he imagined it was better than his current plans.

                “Well ... You’ll have to be back right after.”

                “Of course! Of course!”  Micah took his tray and moved away from the line, taking Sister Mary with him by the arm.  “I’ll see you after you’re through Joseph.” He smiled.

                Joseph watched them return to their table.  Twice Sister Mary looked back to find him staring blankly at them, each time he smiled pleasantly and nodded.  The second was accompanied by a slight stalled wave as well.  He had no idea what he had gotten himself into.  The son of Crazy Pastor James had come out of nowhere and rescued him from the soup line.  Joseph began to think he had talked too much to Micah earlier on.  Pastor James certainly wouldn’t have laughed at what he did to the patrol car.  And he never would have offered him a cigarette.  “A meeting?  What kind of meeting do you have on a Thursday?”  He was considering the possibilities and coming up empty until a voice broke in on his thoughts.

                “Hey kid!  You ain’t here to stand all day!”

                “Oh right.  Sorry!”  He took a bowl, filled it, and returned it.

                After finishing lunch Micah and Sister Mary sat in silence.  He had been gone nearly 5 years since his last visit and easily another 10 before that.  Mary, Sister Mary, was in her mid twenties and that was as old as she would ever be.  There was a timelessness to her that defied aging, an almost angelic quality.  Micah wasn’t surprised by her choice of occupation, even though he imagined his father had had a lot to do with it.  Not that she would hear any of that though, especially from Micah.  He supposed he was an uncle of sorts to her in his own way.  His father had taken her in at the shelter before she was 5 and although there had been some trouble at first, they grew to have a family bond.  She had been the first to call Micah on that day, the only one actually.  He knew the moment he heard her sad voice on the phone what had happened to his father.

                “He’s a good boy Micah.” She broke in on his thoughts.

                He looked to her with a smile.  “Now what do you mean by that?”

                Her stern eyes held the silence momentarily.  “I mean to say that … he’s been in some trouble, but he’s not like those others running around with hatred.”

                “Is that what you know, or maybe what you hope?”

                “Both.” A sincere look accompanied the single word.

                “I’m not looking to get him into any trouble.”

                “I know that …”

                “It’s just that I can … see him,” he let out a sigh with his ever present smile, “turning out like me.”  She reflected calmly on his statement.

                “Can I take those bowls for ya’?” Joseph’s words took away the silence once more, and with its absence the atmosphere grew noticeably lighter.

                “Certainly,”  Micah bellowed out happily.

                “Yes, thank you Joseph.”

                He picked up each bowl securely, hugging them to his soup-splattered apron.  His eyes held the center of the table, and the two sat in mock anticipation.  “Umm, about this evenin’ …” he finally stammered out.  “Umm, I’ll need to, uh, probably get ready and, uh, stuff.  I was hopin’, wonderin’ … if maybe I could … umm …”

                “You still have to clean up in the kitchen and help with the front room for Sister Margerette’s return.”

                “Yes Sister,” he frowned.

                “I’ll pick you up this evening then Joseph,”  Micah said.  Joseph smiled back and returned to the kitchen.

                “Would it be so very bad Micah?”

                “What?”

                “If he turned out like you?”

                “Huh, I’d prefer he skip the next 20 years I had.”

                “I know you and your father had some … difficulties.”  Micah looked up surprised.  “He talked about you a lot Micah.  There was so very much …”

                “Well,” he began at this revelation, “it wasn’t all his fault.”

                “I know … he didn’t think any of it was.”  She noticed the surprise register on his face and then grow to anger before finally returning to a grin.  “It wasn’t so bad as you make it?”

                “No, not really.  Some of the happiest memories I suppose.  And yet, now, I’m not certain if all that time the laughter was for me, or at me.  And I haven’t found anyone to blame for changing that yet.  There’s a lot of anger out there …” he paused to light a cigarette.  “A lot of wasted anger.”  Sister Mary sat quietly.  “I just don’t want to see that happen to him, to any of us.”

                “It doesn’t have to.” 

                The sound of a soup drum falling onto the floor crashed out into the front room.  It echoed off the walls while it bounced and rolled about.  Voices came out in an united “Jesus … Son of … Hell … I’ve got it!”  The last was Joseph’s in embarrassment.  The crowd soon turned back forgetting the commotion.  Micah and Sister Mary shared a quiet smile.  Perhaps Joseph would in fact need to clean himself up before this evening.

                “Well Micah, I’ve got to get back to my boys.  Sister More Regret will be back soon.”  She noted the confusion on Micah’s face.  “Oh, well … that’s what the boys call her.”

                “Just the boys?”

                “It’s been wonderful seeing you again,” she continued.  “We’ll have lunch again tomorrow?”

                “Hopefully.  And … it’s good to see you too.”

                She rose from the table and walked towards the kitchen.  He watched as she left, feeling a pride his father must have felt also.  Just before reaching the door, she turned back and looked at Micah.  “We’ll be careful,” he said waving her along.  It had been a long time, but he had come home, and somehow it still felt that way.  He finished his cigarette, and then more slowly his coffee.  People still rushed by on the street outside, sometimes coming in to rest, or after seeing friends inside.  Occasionally a greeting would pass from Micah to others or a handshake.  “Things are changin’ Micah, things are changin’ just gotta’ have Faith!” he’d been told repeatedly.  After close to an hour he rose and headed out into the city.  His hat firmly placed on his head, he turned to see Joseph in the kitchen scrubbing away at some bowls.  He delicately placed Joseph’s gloves in his coat pocket.  The brisk air came in with a rush and he moved ahead outside.  “Faith,” he echoed.

Part II: Reflection

                Joseph had found it difficult to sleep after Micah brought him back later that night.  The meeting he had been to left him fascinated and quite simply, restless.  Micah had thought to give him some time to let the exhilaration wear off by stopping at a café.  This had only stimulated more conversation though, and Joseph talked non-stop the rest of the way home even without any coffee.  Micah soon discovered he was explaining and examining the entirety of the booming civil rights movement, and their emotion played off each other with an infectious enthusiasm to a point where Joseph knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep easily if at all.  For the first time he could remember, Joseph felt a part of something.  People at the coffee shop had come over and joined in the discussions, and he eagerly told them what he had heard at the forum.  He wasn’t certain at first whether they were listening to him or to what he was saying really, but that didn’t matter after he got started.  The words of the speakers still lingered in his head, “We will overcome together!”  His thoughts flashed back to the final words, “Now is the time to begin!  Each of us, and every single one of you, must do our part!”

                The excitement now uncontrollable, he rose from his bed.  Quietly he paced back and forth from the door to the window. The other boys were lost deep in a peaceful slumber, even Stanley’s whistled breathing was slow and rhythmic.  Soon the anxiety got the better of him and he reached for his clothes, explaining to himself that it would be alright to run down and talk to Micah once more.  Still, in the back of his mind was the promise he had made to Sister Mary upon their return to go right upstairs to sleep, and even to volunteer in the kitchen again tomorrow morning.  He let out a smile now at the look of surprise on her face as he spoke those words.  He’d seen that look a thousand times, but it was different to him for some reason now.  She had nodded her head approvingly and lost the look of concern that had been awaiting their late return.

                Sister Mary had been unusually forgiving he thought now, but then she had quickly taken to talking to Micah after he left.  Maybe he wasn’t the one who had been in trouble Joseph considered with this recollection.  He hoped that wasn’t the case.  It was this new thought which spurred him on ahead in to the darkness he knew so well, giving him even more reason to go and see Micah.  As he had walked upstairs from saying good night he remembered overhearing that suitcases were put up in Micah’s father’s room.  He also remembered Sister Mary saying that nothing had been touched in the room as requested.  “Micah is Pastor James’ son!” the words came out again as Joseph shook his head in disbelief.

                Slipping quietly from his room, he glided down the stairs to the main hall.  Voices rose out from Sister More Regret’s room.  She was definitely not pleased about something.  “What’s new?” he thought. Joseph was happy to have missed her return.  Edging closer to the door he heard Sister Mary calmly answering, but the words weren’t clear.  “I’m in for it tomorrow,” he whispered.  Easing away from the entrance, he pulled off his shoes and carefully traced the steps to the opposite wall before turning down the hall to shelter.  A quiet creak in the floor scared him nearly to death, forcing him to rush down to the door at the end.  He didn’t notice until replacing his shoes on his feet that his heart was pounding out of his chest.  Crouched before the door he waited for his nervous breathing to die down.  The voices down the hall continued to echo.  With a simple turn of the knob he opened the door and retreated into the stillness beyond.

                “So far, so good,” he whispered.  Closing the door swiftly he waited to hear it latch and then turned into the darkness and walked steadily toward Father James’ room.  Now safely out of reach he couldn’t help but wonder what the Sisters’ conversation had been about.  He didn’t know why More Regret had left, or why Micah had come, but if it was about missing spoons he knew he was in the clear.

                No light escaped from under the door.  Joseph hesitated outside, uncertain as to what to do next.  He hadn’t figured on Micah not being awake, or even somewhere else. He didn’t want to turn back and risk seeing Sister Mary … or worse.  Micah couldn’t possibly be too asleep he figured.  Maybe he’d just now gone to bed.  Approaching the door cautiously he took a quick look down the darkened hallway and then knocked lightly twice.  The breath caught in his throat, words fumbling around in his head.  The silence remained however, and he knocked once more.

                “Micah?” the whisper came softly.  “Micah … it’s me Joseph.”  Uncertain moments passed in the hallway.  He decided his only choice was to enter on his own.  His hand gently came to rest on the doorknob, and he tapped on the hardwood as he pushed open the door.  “Micah?  Micah?”

                There was no response from within.  Before he could think about it Joseph found himself standing in the center of the darkness.  It was small and cramped even in the dim light from outside.  A bed rested neatly under the window, its sheets seemingly pulled tight.  Joseph’s hands felt for the light switch, flicking it on suddenly.  The bed was untouched in the breaking light, and entirely empty.  A frown formed on his lips.  Sitting down at the desk he rested his chin on his hands.  He was so certain Micah would be here.  There was an awkward resignation within Joseph, understanding that he’d now have to sneak back to his own room.  He had to admit that not much was being accomplished here, but there was so much he wanted to say.  The excitement of the evening was still so fresh in his mind.  He hadn’t even made it out to his usual haunts tonight.  What would the cops be thinking? His head still buried in his arms, he sat in the silence.

                The wooden desk chair was old and rickety.  The bed was barely big enough for anyone to sleep in, and with the addition of the desk and dresser there was little room in the room.  Joseph hadn’t known Pastor James very well.  He had come in to see the boys on occasion, acting silly or bearing candy.  He had led the services of course, and spoke out in the community, but Joseph couldn’t remember any specific conversations with him.  But then, he hadn’t really paid much attention to anything he said, he figured.  The thought of him living in a room the same size as his own bed was a difficult one.  His feet swung below him in the chair, a gently rhythmic creaking of the wood passed the time.

                Rising up from the desk, pictures and posters assailed him from all over the room.  He hadn’t noticed them before, only the absence of Micah when he entered.  Clown faces laughed at him on each image.  The posters advertised several circuses and stops all over the country.   Joseph had never been to a circus and couldn’t really see Pastor James’ going to one.  Being in one maybe, but not going.  A variety of poses tumbling under the big tops and squeezed inside cars were pictured.  Some of them even made him laugh.  Yet the more he looked at them, the more he noticed that it wasn’t clowns actually, but rather one clown in particular.  “Funny, the Clown?” he read.  “Hmph … you’ve got to be kidding.”  And with that, he came across a framed newspaper clipping over the dresser.

                “Micah Davis laughs as Funny the Clown.” He read.  “No way!” he checked his exclamation immediately, remembering he was trying to be quiet.  It seemed impossible, and yet not so.  With this he reread each of the articles and reexamined all of the posters with interest.  Micah had been everywhere and his act had been a huge success.  The posters listed stops from New York to San Francisco with dates, at times, thirty years ago.  “He really is old.” Joseph voiced. As the historic fascination grew he found a loose clipping on the desk.  The frame it had been in rested lifeless beside it.  He slowly read out the headline, “Funny Not Funny Anymore:  Circus Clown Calls it Quits … 1949.”  Walking over to the bed he finished the article and then curled himself into a ball and, deep in thought, soon drifted off to sleep.

                The dawning sun rose brightly on Joseph’s face the next morning.  Rubbing the sleep from his eyes he awoke to the many happy faces of Funny the Clown.  Vibrant sounds of the city coming to life filtered in from outside.  “Living over the kitchen must make it hard to sleep in,” he thought.  The savory smells of breakfast ushered in the new day for many in the shelter below.  His eyes sprang open with a fresh awareness.  “Breakfast!”

                He scrambled off the bed immediately, getting tangled up in a blanket before he got started.  Stumbling to the floor he landed hard on his elbows.  Yellow sunshine was blocked out by a golden hued fabric covering his eyes.  Emerging out from under his prison involved kicking off a shoe in sacrifice and nearly losing an arm in a sleeve.  He stood up curiously, looking at the bundle of cloth lying at his feet.  “Where did that come from?” he voiced.

                The smell of hot coffee broke through his concentration, and the odors of breakfast focused his thoughts.  He returned the news clipping from the bed to where he had found it on the desk.  This act had him once again looking at the clown photos curiously.  The questions from last night returned to his mind, along with several new ones.  He straightened his shirt and ran his hands through his hair before tossing the blanket on the bed and, carrying his shoe in his hand, he hurried downstairs to help with the kitchen.

                Once again Joseph had filled more soup bowls than he cared to count.  Afterwards he placed a well stained apron into the hamper and scrubbed and cleaned and rinsed and dried.  The work wasn’t as hard today, since he wasn’t the only one doing it.  The others hadn’t expected his help and appreciated the offer, often exchanging jokes and comments with him.  Joseph himself had made an effort to look at each person who moved through the line.  This was accompanied by both a morning greeting and a look of disappointment.  Each time the face was only that of a stranger. After finishing his voluntary duty he settled in for a breakfast of his own. Micah occupied most of his thoughts. 

                “Soup, soup, soup,” mumbled from his lips.  At the orphanage upstairs he would have had cold cereal or maybe warm oatmeal. Actually the shelter here offered a variety to eat at meals, but unfortunately it involved lots of soup, and that was all that remained for him to eat this morning.

                “Well hello Joseph,” a cheery voice spoke.

                “Good morning Sister Mary.”  His interest at the surprise greeting had unexpectedly died away to simple recognition when he saw who it was from.

                “I was looking for you earlier,” she continued. “I wondered how you slept.  You were so excited last night I didn’t think you’d sleep for days.”  Her eyes looked out excitedly and a smile was on Joseph’s face before he knew it.

                “Have you seen Micah?” he asked suddenly.

                “Yes, he stopped by briefly to speak to Sister More …" she stopped.  Their eyes met and laughter spilled out.  “He’ll be back after lunch.”

                “Oh.”  She noted the disappointment in his voice.

                “Tell you what Joseph, I’ve some work that needs to be done in the office.  Do you like books?”

                He shrugged his shoulders apathetically.

                “Good,” she smiled.  “Let’s go then.”  She rose up from the table.  “Come on!” her hand reached out to take his.  He stood up slowly, collecting his dishes.  He walked beside her as they left the shelter, but he didn’t grab her hand.  Sister Mary smiled lightly at this.  Joseph was growing up, she reminded herself.

                The afternoon went by quickly. Joseph found that today books were only things to look at while putting them into boxes, and that these boxes had to be moved. The work was an enjoyable way to shift his thoughts away from his many questions. However, he hadn’t expected it to entail quite so many boxes or trips up and down the stairs.  Soon he was exhausted and wishing for the boring normalcy of the usual chores and escapes a Friday afternoon had to offer.  Sister Mary couldn’t stop saying how impressed she was with him, and he soon began to simply nod his head inattentively in agreement.  When the work was finally finished he sat down on the couch in the office and watched as she sorted the last of the books on her desk.

                “Why’re you movin’ all of this stuff down here?”

                Sister Mary glanced up from the table.  “I’m sorry?”  She collapsed into the chair with exaggerated exhaustion.  “I don’t know,” she said, beginning to laugh.  Joseph failed to see the humor in it.  “Because it had to be done I guess,” she said finally.

                “Oh,” he grumbled.

                “The room upstairs is going to be for the new Pastor when he arrives.”  Her fingers drummed out a tune on the books beside her.  “It won’t be for a week yet, but the furniture comes on Tuesday.”

                “I don’t have to move furniture do I?”

                “No,” she said drolly.  “But I really appreciate your help with my things.  I’m going to be busier than ever on Monday, and you’ve saved me a lot of time.”

                “What happens on Monday?”  Joseph queried. He reclined onto the nearby couch, his shoes coming up to rest on the arm.

                “Put your feet down please, thank you.” He grumbled again, sliding askew on the cushions. “I’m taking over Sister Margerette’s duties on Monday.”

                “What?!”  Joseph shot up straight in his seat.

                “She’s leaving and I … well, I guess I’ve gotten a promotion.”

                They sat together, eyes smiling back at each other, until Joseph finally found the right word to say. “Coooool.”

                He had been too busy in the afternoon to wonder about Micah, and the sudden revelation that the bane of his existence was being excommunicated, as he saw it, put the thought even further out of his mind.  It was well past lunch now, nearing mid-afternoon, and both he and Sister Mary realized they were equally hungry and tired.  Without any discussion on the matter they both arose and went to the kitchen in the house kitchen below for a much needed bite to eat.

                “Sister Mary …" Joseph began as they left.

                “Yes?”

                “You’re alright,” he spoke plainly.

                She looked at him, both puzzled and surprised.  “Why thank you Joseph,” she beamed, pushing him on towards the kitchen.  She looked about the orphanage with a new sense of wonder as they walked along together.  There was a feeling of connection to it she hadn’t noticed before.  And Joseph wasn’t the only one glad to see Sister Margerette leaving.  She had been on the receiving end of a ‘discussion’ only last night.  More Regret had told her she was too young and too undisciplined to take her position in the parish.  And also that the “The Lord only knows why I’m leaving, when He knows good and well that I’ll be right back to take care of things. I can’t see how there could be others more in need than here.”  Sister Mary had her own opinions about that.

                The two soon sat down lazily at the counter across from the sink, a plate of sandwiches resting before them.  Sister Mary had poured a tall glass of milk for Joseph, which he found himself embarrassed to drink.  “At least the crusts aren’t cut off the bread,” he thought as Sister Mary ate quietly across from him.  He realized he was famished, polishing off two sandwiches before quickly beginning a third.  The voices of the other boys could be heard building a snowman in the back.  Friday afternoons were usually free for them, and they were enjoying the weather in their own way.  Stanley however, was most likely off to the library extension down the street.  Last year he had suffered horribly at the hands of a snowball fight after a similar construction.  He wasn’t one to hold a grudge long, but he did have a good memory.

                That event had ended with minor punishments for everyone.  Sister Margerette had seen to it personally, especially as a few of the projectiles had been launched prior to her selection of a most precarious spot to issue her warning.  At least Stanley had been safely hidden behind her. After the snowball incident the boys had been warned repeatedly that there would be “more to regret” on their part if they didn’t start behaving.  The boys of Joseph’s room had been brought up from an orphanage on the lower side after it had been closed due to financial issues.  In all, 12 new kids had been moved here from all across the city as they restructured.  “New place, same old rules,” Joseph had thought at the time.

                He found Sister Margerette to be, however unimaginable, worse than his previous dictator.  More often than not he went back to his old home at night to see friends or get away, always aware that when he returned, by choice or otherwise, there would be More Regret.  It wasn’t long before he was a local celebrity at the orphanage.  His claim to fame, the title “An Example.” As in, “We’re going to make an example out of you.”  A smile crept over his face as he realized once again that Sister Margerette was leaving.  He couldn’t keep it off his lips, and he was near the point of open laughter.  Sister Mary noticed his change in mood at the counter, and the silly smile upon his face. His grin infectious, he looked up to see Sister Mary smiling back at him.  “What?” he asked.

                “Nothing at all Joseph,” she answered, “but I was about to ask you the same thing.”

                “Me?” he paused, considering his good fortune, “I was just thinking … I’m not an example anymore since they booted More Regret out of here.”

                “Joseph they have not booted Sister Margerette out …” she shook her head in disbelief.  “She has been assigned to help the Bishop.”

                Joseph didn’t know exactly what that meant, but he still knew she was out of here.  He did however feel sorry for the Bishop.

                “You shouldn’t think you’re not an example anymore though.”  His eyes rose curiously.  “I expect you to set an example for the other boys Joseph.  They look up to you, you know.”

                His face frowned, and he grumbled under his breath.  This kind of example was worse than the other.  Fears of becoming a teacher’s pet flashed across his mind.  It wouldn’t take long to set that straight though.  His fingers clenched into fists under the counter top.  Still, he liked Sister Mary.  He faced her once again, his fingers relaxing onto his legs.  “Yes Ma’am.”

                “Joseph,” Sister Mary pouted, “you needn’t make it sound like punishment.”

                He flushed and turned his face away, and then slowly looked back to meet hers.

                “Anyway … I’ve got more work to do, but you’re free to go if you like.”

                “O-kay!” he jumped off his chair leaving his lunch companion open mouthed and hurried off in a rush.  Joseph bounded through the door with his new-found freedom and ran smack into someone entering at the same time.  The two bodies went down in a jumbled heap in the hall.

                “Oh dear!” came Sister Mary’s voice from behind.

                “Well now, what seems to be the hurry?”

                “Micah!” Joseph roared happily.  He hopped to his feet, beaming.

                “Is this some new kind of game I don’t know about?”  Micah said, still sitting on the floor.  Sister Mary rushed over to help him up, but he waved her off.

                “Are you hurt Micah?” she asked.

                “No, no,” he laughed.  “I’ve plenty of padding.”  He rubbed his hand over his graying hair, a jovial resilience shining through.

                “Gee … I’m awfully sorry …”

                “Perfectly alright.  Now suppose you tell me where you’re off to in such a hurry?”

                Joseph looked up to see Sister Mary, and then back to Micah.  “I don’t know really.”

                “I’ve set him free for the afternoon.”  She offered.

                “Well, that calls for a reward of some kind I think.”  Micah raised a hand to his chin, considering.  “Do you like music?”

                Joseph looked puzzled. “What kid doesn’t like music?” he thought. But then again books had meant lots and lots of stairs earlier.

                “I’m going downtown, do you want to come?”

                “Sure!” Joseph said more enthusiastically than he had expected.  Micah looked up at Sister Mary, who seemed to be frowning slightly.

                “He’ll be fine.”  Micah flashed a smile, placing a hand on Joseph’s shoulder.  “Honestly.”

                Sister Mary saw the enthusiasm on Joseph’s face and couldn’t think of changing it.  Yet she still wasn’t sure.  She saw Micah’s eagerness as well.  Feeling trapped on all sides she found herself with little choice but to nod her head in approval.

                “Shall we then …” Micah motioned ahead.  Joseph continued down the path he had started moments ago, slower now.  Micah began to follow him out, but stopped shortly, finding a gentle hand on his arm.  He looked into Sister Mary’s eyes and saw her concern.  “Mary …”

                “He’s … my responsibility.”

                “You’re welcome to come along.”

                She looked up sternly, “That’s not what I meant.”

                “What’s this all about?”

                She looked off down the hall to see Joseph waiting at the end.  After a moment’s reflection she turned back to Micah.  “Have a good time,” she said, squeezing Micah’s arm lightly.  He returned her gaze steady and sure.

                “We should talk later.”

                “I’d like that.”

                “Good.”  He put her hand in his and gave his timeless smile once more.  “And congratulations again on your new position.”  She looked away to hide a grin.

                He saw Joseph waiting impatiently.  “I believe I have somewhere to go,” he said, nodding down the hall.  He took his leave reflecting on this brief conversation.  Last night he had obviously been fatigued from his outing with Joseph, so Sister Mary had kept their conversation short.  He had been told that Sister Margerette’s return hadn’t been a cordial one.  There had been little doubt in his mind that Margerette was leaving then. Approaching the doorway, he took his hat off the stand and ushered Joseph outside into the hazy afternoon daylight, hoping Mary would be alright.

                Their cab ride downtown was short, but better than walking in the snow.  Joseph had retold the day’s events when Micah commented that he looked a little tired.  Micah had to laugh when Joseph said that he never wanted to see a bowl of soup again.  Even the driver had laughed at that.  Joseph became silent and the two men talked about people from the neighborhood.  He found himself watching the snow along the street, its dark grey color melting away into the roads.  He had been in a cab twice before.  They all seemed the same to him, but they were better than a squad car.

                Micah paid the driver and shook his hand.  Joseph offered a minimum thanks and shut the door.  Several blocks away from the shelter the buildings had risen to nearly double in height. Now they towered above. Joseph felt a world away from his home.  Micah carried his hat in his hand and walked towards the steps nearby with Joseph trailing after.  The music, as Micah had put it, was already audible to them.  He gave a wink to Joseph as they approached the door.  Curiosity grew into anticipation once more.  They walked down a flight of stairs before and Micah tapped on the old wood before them.  The door pulled back after a fumbling at the handle and the noise became evident to Joseph. “Jazz?” he asked.

                “Jazz!” Micah sang.

                There was a friendly greeting with the doorman as they entered and walked through to the yellow lights beyond.  Joseph embraced it all, his interest growing with each step.  The room was full of tables with one long bar across the far wall.  On stage across the room from him were three musicians huddled around a piano.  They appeared to be the only people here.  Micah strolled over to a table under a painting and pulled out a seat for the trailing Joseph, and himself, sitting down casually.  His hat dropped lightly onto the table next to an unlit candle.  He watched as his younger companion continued to take in the surroundings.  From the stage the saxophonist began to croon out a slow tune, stop and then start again as the others listened.  Unconsciously Micah began to tap his foot, closing his eyes with the sound.

                Joseph searched around and found his seat waiting.  He eased into the chair, watching Micah, and noticing the few others stopping to watch the stage as well.  He felt a certain kinship with those around him, but felt apart from the group just the same.  The musician had more than captured everyone’s attention, and Joseph soon found himself focused solely on the sound as well.  The man with the saxophone somehow lost himself in his playing as well, becoming something more alive, a messenger.  A soulful tone escaped Micah’s lips and Joseph observed that many of them were almost trancelike.  He leaned back in his chair to soak it all in.  Unfortunately, he found himself fighting sleep through it at times more than finding solace.  Micah opened his eyes to see Joseph struggling in his seat.  He leaned in to bring himself closer as the music continued.

                “Do you feel it?”

                “Feel what?” Joseph asked, startled out of his relaxed state.

                “The life, the … rhythm.  It can grab you, and pull you along; it’s almost alive itself.”

                Joseph stared back at him blankly.

                “Well, give it some time, maybe it will grow on you.”

                “Uh-huh.”

                “Did you sleep well last night?”

                Joseph sat up in his chair realizing the music lesson was coming to a close.  The others had gathered around the stage as the tune faded out and began joking with the musician, leaving these two in relative peace.  The music then died away entirely, only to begin again as the full quartet now continued to practice together. Joseph realized the music wasn’t always slow.  He looked back to Micah and remembered his question.  “I guess so,” he answered.

                “I’ve usually found it too cold to sleep up there.”

                “Ah-ha … you know that blanket almost killed me this morning!  Almost busted my face open fallin’ outta’ bed.”

                “Sorry,” Micah offered after their laughter.  “I had to get some air last night.  Couldn’t sleep.  Looks like you had trouble with that yourself.”

                Joseph shrugged his shoulders.  The music had slowly risen to a crescendo. “Are all those photos really you?”

                “No getting around that question is there?”  He reached in his jacket and pulled out his cigarettes.  “Yeah, they’re me.  Dad’s shrine.” He said tersely.

                “Just curious, that’s all.” He shrugged, “Couldn’t see you as a clown.”

                Micah smiled, lighting a match.  “Hmm, that’s all in the past now.”

                “Sounded like fun.  I’d love to have been half the places you’ve seen.  I’m stuck here in nowhere all the time.”

                “Don’t be so hard on yourself.  It’s not bad here.”  He inhaled the smoke slowly.  “Sister Mary’s nice.”

                “Yeah. I guess. She knows you pretty well.”

                “We go back a ways.”  Smoke exhaled emphatically.  “She was closer to my father really.  It was a good thing too, I wasn’t around much.”  He watched the musicians on stage bring out another tune.  “I think you’re good for her Joseph.  She takes a lot of pride in you.”

                “Don’t start on me.”

                Micah looked back silently.

                “She started this whole ‘You should be an example to the others’ crap.  I mean, I don’t even like the others!  Stanley makes these horrible noises when he sleeps and he’s an idiot.  And Mike, he’d stick his finger in an outlet to see if it was working. And Sid is …”  He took a deep breath.  “It’s like that, ya’ dig?”

                “Let me tell you something.” Joseph looked up, acquiescing. “When I was about your age, I hated everybody and got up and left one day.  Found myself with no money, no friends, and no life.  Hung out at the beach, begging.  You hear me?” he questioned. “Literally begging to survive.”  Micah put out his cigarette purposefully.  “I started stealing things to get by, started running from the law, started getting chased by the man.  I did all that … see … when I had everything right here.”

                “But you got by didn’t you?  Proved you didn’t need anybody?”

                Micah shook his head ‘no.’

                Joseph looked back confused.

                “I’d be in jail, dead, or worse if it wasn’t for strangers.”  He reached again for his smokes and offered one to Joseph.  This time it was Joseph who shook his head ‘no.’  “Now you’re learning.” He smiled.  “Some people took me in … special people.”

                “The circus.”

                “Don’t get ahead of me.”  Another flame roared to life in his hands.  “No, it was awhile before I fell into that, it was a different time then. And not just elephants and popcorn. Still, when they came along it was a godsend.  As much as I hated it here, there were a lot of times along the way I’d wished I’d had all that I left behind.” He took a long draw against the fire. “There’s a lot further to fall from where you’re at.”

                Joseph leaned back again in his seat.  The beginnings of an angry look were forming on his face.  This isn’t what he had expected.  “Don’t give me that speech man.  I’ve already been there.  That’s not my scene, dig?”  He pushed back from the table and watched the rehearsal.  The percussion was holding up a rhythm supported by the bass, as the sax and piano strolled along the edges.  The woodwind and ivory traded the lead back and forth, chasing each other at times, while the bass would drift off on its own and then come back on cue.  Yet always there was the rhythm.  He had discovered a new way to see this play before him.

                Micah sat watching Joseph.  He hadn’t lost him yet, and he had him thinking.  Sister Mary was right. If he’d been beyond any help, hadn’t wanted any, he probably would’ve left straight away.  At least that was his experience.  People who wanted more stuck around to see if it would come.  He hadn’t always been right about that though.  Joseph was really listening to the sound, getting a feel for the song.  He looked at Micah once and then moved back up to the table.  Now it was Micah who followed along. The street door opened and closed again, bringing in new patrons.  It was early yet, but the heat was on in here and that was better than the cold outside.

                “At least you had a father,”  Joseph said.

                Micah turned to face him now.  Their eyes locked and measured each other’s honesty.  “That’s right,” he said.  “And I still left.”

                “So it works both ways.” Micah nodded his head in answer as Joseph continued, “Kids can leave, and so can parents.  Makes no difference.”

                “At any time.  But it does make a difference.  I left with a lot of hatred.  I thought I could leave it all behind, but it followed me … it was all I had. I looked in a mirror and saw only the hate, never me. And then someone took the time to show me what was happening.”

                “So, yer’ feelin’ sorry for me.  That it?”  Joseph asked.

                “Feeling sorry for myself I guess.”

                “Oh.”

                They sat surrounded by the sounds.  “It all came back around one day.  Some worthless fool shouted out ‘ain’t that nigger funny?’  I quit the next day.”

                “You’re kidding right?”

                “Hmph ... maybe it wasn’t that simple, but ...”

                “Why didn’t you slap him around?”

                Micah grinned coldly.

                “Now that’d been funny,” Joseph stated.

                “Wouldn’t have changed anything. He’d of still been a fool.”

                Joseph shrugged in response.

                “Besides that stunt you pulled with the black and white, that’s funny once, but I hear that happens a lot.”

                “Maybe.”

                “Maybe Hell.”

                “So?”

                “So it’s time you grow up a little.  Time maybe to decide who you are.”

                Their eyes remained locked even though they were through.  Micah had said his peace and let it drop. Joseph had nothing he wanted to say. He was thinking back to last night when he had wanted to talk forever.  “Funny isn’t funny anymore, ain’t that the truth,” he thought as he looked back to the stage.  His fingers were fidgeting on the table.  Last night he’d imagined that everything was changing, but maybe he’d been right the first time, everybody was against him.  One more first day gone by.  That seemed a little too easy an out, right now, though.

                “Micah?”A stranger had approached the table from the bar.  Micah recognized him instantly from last night.  He rose up, offering his hand.  “Good to see you again,” this man said.

                Micah waved towards a chair at the table.  The man tilted his head casually towards the bar.  Micah nodded in understanding.  His young companion sat silently in awe as he stood up beside him, “Oh, I almost forgot,” he stopped, “Joseph, this is ...”

                “I know who he is ...” Joseph interrupted, rising up from the table as well, “It’s a pleasure to meet you ... sir,” he added.

                “The pleasure’s mine, son.” He took his hand graciously.  “You’re doing your part right?” he questioned, the slogan sounding more like honest encouragement.

                “Trying to.”

                “Good, good.”  He squeezed the young boy’s hand once more.  “Micah,” he motioned with a slight turn of his shoulder and lift of his hand.

                The two walked off towards the bar. Joseph followed their every step.  He knew Micah was involved with the movement, but to be talking to the very speaker from last night ... “Cool.”

                He imagined them making plans or talking about big things. The energy from last night was building up inside him again. He caught himself hesitantly.  He hadn’t quite forgotten his anger from a moment ago.  “I’m not a kid,” he thought.  “No reason to talk to me like that. Sister Mary probably put him up to it. Yeah, More Regret all over again.” He eased back from the table and stretched his legs out before him.  The song was fast and furious now, he could feel the rush coming through him.  Innocently he placed Micah’s hat on his head, and started tapping his foot in time with the bass. Soon enough his fingers were dancing over the table along with the rhythm.

                A man came up to the table. He nodded a greeting as he tapped out some ash into the cigarette tray on the table. This stranger was short and stocky.  He seemed nice enough as he moved off to the side, but Joseph felt he could cause trouble as easy as stop it; both turned back to watch the stage.  The other members of the quartet stopped as the saxophone played out another solo.  Joseph was amazed at the sounds he created.  It went on long and low.  When he finished, the entire room erupted with applause.  The performer put his hands together and bowed quietly.  He then looked up to the heavens and lifted his sax.  The room grew quiet again as the players stopped and casually recessed to the bar.

                “Ya’ like that stuff kid?” asked this man beside the table.

                “Huh?” Joseph asked startled.

                “Most kids these days don’t listen to the good stuff.”

                “It’s alright I guess,” he offered.

                “That last one ... mmm ... he did honor to a great man.”

                “What do you mean?”

                “Jazz lost a real giant last summer son,” he said sorrowfully.  “We all did.”

                “Seems to be a lot of that happening.”

                “Yeah,” he answered, looking hard at Joseph. “Some good men steppin’ up though, like your friend there.  Maybe even you?”

                “We’ll have to wait and see on that.”

                “Good answer, but then I’ve never known Micah to hang with fools.”

                “I’ve been seen in your company haven’t I,” Micah interrupted, returning from the bar.

                The stranger laughed, holding out a hand in greeting, “True enough. What do you think of our sax man?  I bet he’s got them weepin’ in Heaven.”

                “They’ve got the real thing up there.”

                “Amen,” he stated.  “Been a few years between drinks. You still bangin’ you’re head ‘gainst the wall?”

                Micah shook his head. “I already ‘fit that battle.’”

                “And the walls came tumblin’ down?”

                “You might say.”

                “Umhm.” He extended his hand, “Stop by and see that sax work a real crowd some night.”

                “Soon,” Micah answered, clasping the outstretched hand. “Soon.”

                As the man walked away towards the bar Joseph edged closer to Micah.

              “So ... what’d he have to say?” Joseph’s enthusiasm couldn’t hide his interest about the conversation with the speaker.

                “I’ll be honest with you Joseph,” he said taking his seat, “He offered me a position.”  His tone was flat and unemotional.

                “Wow!  That’s great isn’t it?!”

                “I don’t know really.”  He paused. “Sometimes I think they’re more talk than action, and even the action isn’t always ... healthy.”

                “Oh.” Joseph didn’t understand, but pretended to.

                “But it is something. It’s a start, and we need that.” He paused, tilted his head toward the stage, “What’d you think?”

                “It’s cool,” Joseph said with an understated appreciation.

                 Micah smiled. “I’m headed downtown to help work on a rally. Want to come?” he motioned to the door where the speaker stood.

                “Sure! But … What about Sister Mary?”

                Micah nodded, approvingly, “We’ll square it up.” Joseph smiled and pulled Micah’s hat down to shade his eyes, a mock tough. Micah laughed as they rose from the table and walked toward the door.

                “Why’d you have to be so hard on me back there man?”

                Micah stopped, reflexively, and placed both of his hands on the young man’s shoulders.  “I guess that’s who I am. I’m hard on myself and … hard on my friends, Joseph,” he said.  “Don’t think I’m against you.” His hands fell down to his sides.  “Truth be told, you remind me too much of me.”  He pushed the hat back further on Joseph’s head to show his face.

                Joseph took a step towards the man standing at the door.  Then he paused, tilted his head, and turned back.  “Perfectly understandable,” he said.

                The three men walked out into the cold grey snow.  Micah pulled his coat tight about him after letting the door close.  At the top of the stairs Joseph waited, holding out his hat to him.  Micah dug around in his pocket for his gloves, pulling out Joseph’s with his own. They exchanged hat for gloves and followed the speaker to his waiting car.

                “Well Micah, Joseph … ready to fight the good fight?”

                Micah placed the hat firmly on his head, his ever present smile firmly in place. “I think so.” Joseph nodded in agreement, pulling his red mittens tight about his hands. “I think so.”                                                                             

                                                                                                                                ©MMXI