The next morning, Willow attempted to put the previous day’s events behind her. She felt a lot better about having to face her classmates come Monday. Razzel called her Friday evening to assure her that she would “pound the pie filling” out of anyone who poked fun at Willow. They made plans for Saturday evening to get a gallon of ice cream and watch a double feature of Willow’s choosing. Razzel would bring the ice cream to avoid having Wyatt eat it all before she got there.
Until the evening arrived, Willow went about her usual Saturday morning routine: She read her latest book, The Sinister Sister, for a few hours before doing some chores. After vacuuming the rugs and cleaning the downstairs bathroom, she decided to check the grocery list her mother left for her on the refrigerator. Mrs. Krimble left for work early in the morning and asked Willow to pick up a few things at the local grocery store. Wyatt was at Kreb’s house with Tay working on some new plays, which Willow suspected meant playing Hell Hoops on Kreb’s video game system. Willow pulled the grocery list off of the fridge, grabbed money from the food envelope on the kitchen counter, put on her fall coat and headed out the door.
The local market, Kresh Fruits, was only a seven-minute walk and Willow loved the cool breeze ushered in by the fall season. As soon as she walked into the market, she made eye contact with the store’s owner, Haskel Kresh. He was a tall lumbering man with hands the size of baseball mitts. Mr. Kresh knew the Krimbles for many years and always treated the entire family with the utmost respect, as he did with all of his loyal customers. He gave Willow a welcoming smile as she grabbed a shopping basket.
“Hey, little lady,” said Mr. Kresh through a broad grin, walking toward Willow.
“Hi, Mr. Kresh. How’s business?”
“Eh,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, “could be better, I s’pose.”
This was his response every time, even though his store was always mobbed with people from the neighborhood and nearby towns who loved the quality Kresh Fruits offered. The produce was always fresh and if it wasn’t, Mr. Kresh would refuse to sign for it: “This ain’t fresh an’ I ain’t payin’ fer it! Go sell them worm filled cherries to one of them big supermarkets, ya crook!”
Willow filled her basket with skim milk, ground beef, eggs, bread crumbs, granola, lettuce, tomatoes and cucumbers, scratching each item off the list with her pen as she collected them.
She took her groceries to the checkout counter and glanced curiously at the boy behind it. She knew just about every employee in Kresh Fruits, but the red-headed boy behind the register did not appear familiar to her. He sported a short ponytail that barely reached his shoulders, an earring and an expression of complete boredom. Willow gave him a smile. The boy did not return it.
Mr. Kresh walked over to the check-out area to address Willow’s cashier.
“You treat this here girl good, ya got me, kid?” he said, pointing to Willow. “She’s practically family.”
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The boy never made eye contact, but merely grabbed the eggs and ran them over the scanner.
“Oh! I’m talkin’ ta you! You want this here job ‘er not?”
The boy mumbled something to signify an affirmative response, but Willow barely comprehended it as a human sound.
“That’s betta,” said Mr. Kresh, turning his attention back to Willow. “My sista’s kid – adopted. She and the husband adopts a kid, the husband leaves and now I’m stuck wit ‘em both.” Mr. Kresh waved both hands in the air as he stormed away.
Willow handed the boy her money as soon as he scanned the final item.
“So you’re his nephew?” she said, bagging up her groceries, realizing the boy had no intention of doing it.
The boy grunted as he punched in the dollar amount. He seemed confused.
Willow realized he had hit $250 rather than $20.50.
“Oh, you just have to give me back - ”
“I got it!” the boy barked over his shoulder as he pulled out the change. Willow decided not to engage this new employee in any more conversation. She accepted her change and made her exit. She crossed the street, groceries in hand, and instead of turning right at the corner, she decided to cut through the park.
Willow loved cutting through Shashaw Park. She grew up going to the park with her family almost every weekend. She and Razzel would have a blast on the teeter-tot. Willow laughed every time she walked past it, recalling how she used to put large stones in her pockets so that when she teetered down, Razzel would have to remain suspended in the air until Willow decided to let her down again. “Down! Down now!” Razzel would demand. “Me tellin’ mommy ... you get big troubles!” She never told.
Willow walked past a group of Long Island mothers who were chatting on a bench, not paying attention to any of the children in the park. She overheard bits of the conversation…
“… and I told Alison we were only staying for 20 minutes because Mommy needs a manicure. She’d better wrap it up on those monkey bars. Just look at these cuticles…”
Willow walked past the loopy-slide and was only a few yards away from the park’s south gate when she heard a thud followed by wailing cries. She turned around to spot a little blonde girl, no more than three years old, sitting on the ground, rubbing her left knee in pain.
“Hurt! Boo-boo! Mommy!” These sounds were followed by wailing cries.
Willow placed her groceries on the grass and ran over to the little girl whose face was now soaked with tears.
“Oh, it’s okay, sweetie, ” Willow assured the toddler, rubbing her back, noticing the pant tear on her right knee. “It’s just a scrape.”
The little girl did not see it that way.
“Hurt! Hurt!” she shouted, rocking back and forth on her backside.
“Here, let me help you up. That’s it … nice and easy.”
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Realizing she could still stand, the little girl began to calm down. Willow untied her blue and yellow hair-kerchief and wrapped it around the little girl’s knee to cover up the wound. There wasn’t much blood, but she figured if the little girl could not see her injury, she might not be as frightened.
Willow was right; the little girl began to wipe her face with her palms and was now only sniffling heavily in a low pant. Willow had a great mentor when it came to comforting others. Her mother was a nurse and, while growing up, Willow never minded getting a fever or a cold to have her mother nurse her back to health with lots of attention, bed-side stories and endless mugs of hot chocolate.
“You’re all set, cutie. Now we just have to find your - ”
“Mommy!” cried the little girl pointing over Willow’s left shoulder.
“There you are, Alison! I’ve been looking all over for you. I told you: 20 minutes. Why is your face all red? What’s that around your leg?”
“She just scraped her knee and I wrapped it up for her,” Willow responded for her patient.
“Well ... aren’t you helpful,” the mother said condescendingly, as if Willow was implying the woman was shirking her responsibilities as a mother by not tending to her child sooner. “I think she will be just fine without … ” - the mother untied the kerchief from her daughter’s leg - “… I thought you said she scraped her knee?”
“She did,” replied Willow, but when she looked at the little girl’s knee through the hole in her pants, there wasn’t a scratch on it.
The mother surveyed Willow, her eyes scanning her up and down. She then held out the kerchief with two fingers as if it was the foulest thing she had ever touched. Willow anxiously accepted it back.
Without another word to Willow, the mother grabbed her daughter by the arm and began leading her away. Willow heard her muttering something to her daughter about “ … designer pants … ” and “ … talking to strangers … ” but the little girl was too busy waving good-bye to Willow to care. Willow waved back, forcing a smile on the outside while, on the inside, she was bewildered as ever.
That evening, Willow and Razzel chose to watch two films based on novels Willow had read: Roses On Stone Steps and The Frozen Summer. Razzel almost regretted giving Willow free rein when renting the films, but she wanted her to cheer up and was willing to endure four hours of boredom if it meant her friend taking her mind off of one of the most humiliating moments of her life.
Razzel fell asleep halfway through the second film. Willow checked her watch: 9:12pm. Razzel’s mother was coming to pick her up at 10pm. She decided to let Razzel sleep until then.
The first film, the ice cream and the frozen pizza had done the trick; Willow was not thinking about her stage-spill at all. But she found it difficult to ignore the incident in the park. This reflection led her to wonder about the guinea pig in the pet shop where her thoughts inevitably carried her to her neighbor’s immediate recovery from his collapse. Was she losing it, or did she actually have the power to … Don’t be stupid, she thought.
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She let the movie play while her mind continued to wander. What if she could heal others? But why her? Why now? Willow lost track of time and, in the middle of her analytical conference, was startled by the doorbell. She turned off the movie, woke up Razzel and answered the door.
Mrs. Fiora was standing there, car keys in hand, her car parked in the driveway.
“Hello, angel,” she said to Willow, bending down to exchange kisses on the cheek.
“Hey, Mrs. Fiora,” said Willow. “How’s Mr. Fiora doing? How’s the Deli?”
“Oh, business is great, thank goodness, but he’s always so tired because he takes on too much. He refuses to hire any help. He’s been in bed for an hour already.”
“I hear ya. My mom went to bed right after dinner. She’s been taking on all sorts of crazy shifts.”
“Looks like someone else needs her bed,” said Mrs. Fiora, noticing Razzel rubbing her eyes, yawning.
“Let’s just say Will’s flick picks were … stimulating,” replied Razzel, grabbing her coat. “Later, Will.”
“See you tomorrow afternoon, Raz.”
Earlier in the evening, Willow and Razzel made plans to do some schoolwork at the library the following day. They needed to start their research paper on homeostasis for Science class. If they did a report of three pages or more, it would count as extra credit toward their final end-of-term grade. They would meet at Razzel’s house since the library was closer to her.
“Oh, don’t forget, Raz, I’m taking the Railroad tomorrow instead of the bus. It may be a rip-off, but it’s so much faster and the library’s right across the highway.”
“I might be home tomorrow afternoon if you need a ride,” Mrs. Fiora offered. “Don’t sweat it,” said Willow, “Wyatt owes me some money for doing some of his chores, so the ride’s on him.”
Mrs. Fiora nodded.
“Alright, but come by the house afterwards. I’ll make brownies for the two scholars.”
“Sounds great,” said Willow. “See you tomorrow.”
Sunday morning seemed to fly by. After church, Willow grilled some ham and cheese paninis for her family. Mrs. Krimble had the day off and was a bit disappointed to find out both her children had plans, but then found solace in the realization of having a free day to do whatever she wanted. Willow and Wyatt promised to be home in time for a family dinner.
After lunch, Willow walked six blocks to catch the 1:40 train out of Samoset station. She called Razzel just before leaving home and told her to meet her at the bottom of the east-side staircase at her stop. When she got on the train, it was so crowded that she had to stand. But since it was only for one stop, she didn’t mind.
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Willow exited the train at the Odina station and watched as a crowd of people fled to the staircases, each of them acting as if they had an urgent appointment that, if missed, the world would never be quite the same.
A group of teenage boys brushed past Willow so quickly, one of them stepped on her right foot.
“OWWWE!”
No one bothered to turn around to investigate the yelp. Bending down to rub her foot, Willow noticed one man was not storming down any staircase or racing for the elevator; he took a seat on a bench on the platform as if waiting for another train. Willow noticed he was wearing large sunglasses and he had a long, thin metal cane, which he clanked against the bench before he took his seat.
He’s Blind.
A strange sensation came over Willow. She found herself walking toward the stranger.
Don’t be crazy … everything was just a weird coincidence … don’t make a fool of yourself.
When Willow reached the benches, there was no one left on the platform. She hesitated for a moment, then pretended to clear her throat.
“Ahem … excuse me, sir, do you need any help?”
The man smiled but did not turn his head from his forward gaze.
“Thanks for asking, but I’m waiting for someone.”
“Oh ... okay.” Willow noticed a cell phone clipped to the man’s waist. “Well, if you speak to your friend, let ‘em know that you’re on the bench directly across from The Purple Pear Diner. I mean it’s across the highway, of course.”
The man repeated his smile, still facing straight ahead.
“That’s great to know, thanks for your help. If he doesn’t show up soon, I’ll give him a call and let him know. Last time he met me here, he ended up on the opposite end of the platform and got annoyed that I gave him the wrong location. You’d think he’d cut me some slack.” The stranger grinned and pointed to his glasses.
Willow let out a slight giggle, but then wondered whether the man would feel mocked if she laughed too hard.
“Alright, well … good luck,” she said.
“Thanks again.”
Willow didn’t move; something was keeping her stationary. She stared at the blind stranger for a silent moment. Her eyes scanned both ends of the platform. She and the stranger were still alone. Should she try it? What could it hurt? Then again, what if the man got agitated with her? Sure, it’s crazy, but if it worked ... Oh, but it couldn’t work, could it? She realized if she was going to do it, she’d better stop wasting time.
Willow held out her index finger. Her hand began to tremble. She was almost there. She motioned very slowly, her heart racing. She was mere inches away from reaching the man’s right hand. She would touch the top part of it for one second and she’d have her answer.
This is it. She was just about to make contact when -
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“I can see you, ya know.”
Willow retracted her hand so quickly, she almost lost her balance from the force.
“Huh?”
“I can see you,” repeated the stranger, finally turning his head to face Willow. “Not the way in which you can see, but I can … sense you.”
Willow was dumbfounded.
“I may be blind, but I’ve been this way for eight years now and I know when someone’s staring at me. I can hear their breathing, feel their body heat, smell their conditioner … Plus the fact that I didn’t hear you walk away, I figured you were gawking.”
Willow went red. If the man could see her, he would notice just how embarrassed she was by the rosy hue that coated her entire face.
“I – I’m sorry. I didn’t mean - I was just - ”
“Oh, don’t give it another thought,” replied the stranger, his tone placid. “I get it all the time. People are just curious. Who can blame ‘em? You notice this guy who can’t see a thing and your mind is flooded with questions: ‘How did it happen?’ ‘How does he get around?’ And, I just know this one always pops into people’s heads: ‘How does he go to the bathroom?’” The stranger laughed at his own words, shaking his head.
“Right … I was just wondering how ... how you accomplished certain everyday tasks,” Willow lied.
“He’d be lost without me,” said a voice from behind Willow. She turned around to see a tall, fit Asian man in his mid thirties walk right past her to greet the man sitting on the bench.
“Sorry, I’m late, ” he said, grabbing the blind man’s hand to shake it. “The traffic on Tomack Highway at this time ... ”
“No worries, I was just chatting with my new friend here,” said the blind stranger as he stood up. “Charles, this is Miss - ” he leaned in towards Willow to urge a response.
“Oh – Willow. My name’s Willow.”
“Willow …” the blind stranger repeated, appearing to stare off into the distance, “… such a peaceful name. Before we part, Miss Willow, I’d like to briefly answer your question if I may?”
Willow couldn’t tell the stranger that he did not know the real question she wanted an answer to, so she just went with, “Oh, that would be great.”
“How do I accomplish everyday tasks? It’s quite simple, really. You see, I rely on intuition; I allow my instincts to carry me through my day. If I relied on logical thought, all I would have are a ton of questions of my own; I would doubt myself at every turn.”
Willow was now hanging on the man’s every word; he seemed fascinating. She even nodded in agreement and then realized it was pointless. As if sensing Willow’s nod, the blind stranger continued.
“Being blind, I need to rely on my other senses. That is the key word here, Miss Willow – senses. I do what I feel, not what I think. If my mind tells me something will be difficult or time consuming, I just ignore it and go with what my
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gut tells me. That is the best way for me to describe it: intuitive feeling over logical thought. I hope that makes sense to you, Miss Willow.”
“Actually, it does,” replied Willow, her expression and tone pensive.
“Well, I think I’ve taken up enough of your time, Miss Willow.”
The blind stranger bent down to pick up his bag and Willow saw his Asian friend make a talks-a-lot gesture with his hand as if he were holding an invisible puppet. Willow smiled. Then, something happened that made Willow’s heart sprint once again.
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Willow.” The blind stranger smiled as he offered his right hand to his new acquaintance.
Willow hesitated for a moment out of the shear shock of what could happen. She gently took hold of the stranger’s hand and shook it.
“Pleasure meeting you too,” she said, her throat tightening.
The man released Willow’s hand, smiled one final time, grabbed his belongings and turned to walk away. Willow watched him with deep concentration, searching for any signs of change in his behavior.
The blind stranger’s friend gave Willow a wave. She waved back and quickly threw her gaze back to the man with the metal cane.
As she watched them make their way toward the west-side staircase, Willow was careful not to blink. Just as they reached the steps, about 20 yards away, Willow noticed the blind man grab his friend’s arm, forcing him to a halt. Willow grew more anxious. She could tell the men were speaking, but she couldn’t make out their words. She watched them intently as the man with the cane removed his glasses. Her heart had reached her throat. Suddenly, both men turned and appeared to be staring at Willow, neither of them muttering a single word as their stare locked onto Willow’s distant silhouette. Although the Fall breeze was accompanied by a slight chill in the air, sweat began to form on Willow’s brow.
“Helloooo?” a frustrated voice called from behind Willow, startling her. She turned around to meet Razzel’s reproving stare.
“You were supposed to meet me at the bottom of the east-side staircase,” exclaimed Razzel. “I saw the train pull out almost 10 minutes ago!”
“Sorry, Raz,” said Willow, “I was just - ” she turned around to find that the two men had vanished from sight.
“Are you okay? You’re looking paler than usual.”
“I’m fine. I was just trying to … figure something out.”
Willow and Razzel walked across the highway and down two blocks to the local library. They immediately began researching books on their assignment. When Razzel wasn’t looking, Willow searched for books on healing, but all she could come up with was two books on herbal home remedies. She was about to log onto one of the computers to search the internet when Razzel began complaining about being bored. They handed some books to the check-out clerk in order to work on their papers at home. They still had a week before the paper was due and the public library was not one of Razzel’s favorite hang-out spots.
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The two girls headed back to Razzel’s house and, as promised, a plate full of chocolate chip, double-fudge brownies was waiting for them on the kitchen table with a note from Mrs. Fiora.
“Mom says, ‘Hi’,” Razzel relayed to Willow, crumpling up the note and tossing it into the trash. “She and dad went to afternoon mass. Funny … they haven’t gone to church in years - unless you count Christmas and Easter.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, we used to go every Sunday when I was younger, but once Dad opened up the business, he was either too busy or too tired. Me and Mom went by ourselves for a while but then little by little … We just go to the holiday masses now.”
“Ah …” said Willow, “… you’re one of those people, huh?”
“If by ‘one of those people’, you’re referring to people who only attend church on religious holidays, where mass is most crowded, thereby taking seats away from people that go every week, forcing them to stand for over an hour because holiday masses run longer, then, yeah … I’m ‘one of those people.’”
Willow burst out laughing and almost spit out the brownie she had just bitten.
“We still go every week,” she said. “I don’t mind it, but to tell you the truth, I don’t really get much out of it. Ever since Dad died, I stopped believing in miracles. Whenever the priest talks about them, my mind says - ”
“ - what evs,” Razzel finished Willow’s sentence in her own Razzel-like fashion.
“Pretty much,” replied Willow.
“Well, I’m just glad they didn’t drag me with them today,” said Razzel. “You, know … my mom’s been acting weird lately. Last night, in the car, she said something about how ‘not all answers to life can be found in a library book.’ Something about ‘spiritual answers’… Something like that. I was half asleep and when she goes all philosophy major on me, it’s all I can do to not completely doze off.”
Something Razzel had said, or rather something Razzel’s mother had said, seemed to ignite something inside Willow’s mind; she realized she needed to stop racking her brain about the strange occurrences in her life and speak with someone about them; someone familiar with what she was going through. There was only one place to go.
“Hey, Raz, I’d better get going. I promised my mom I’d spend some quality time with her on her day off and it’s already … ” - Willow checked her watch - “… almost 4 o’clock.”
“What? I thought we could catch a flick, you’d stay for dinner and then maybe spend some time on this stinkin’ paper.”
“I’d love to Raz, but time with Mom is hard to come by these days with her crazy schedule.”
“I hear ya. Do what you gotta do. I promised some people from my Jiu Jitsu class I’d try to stop by for some extra training this weekend anyway.”
“Try not to break anyone’s limbs, will ya.”
“No promises.”
Willow laughed.
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“Tell your mom I love the brownies,” she said, wrapping one in a napkin and shoving it into her jacket pocket to give to Wyatt.
“Want me to walk you to the train?” offered Razzel.
“Thanks, I’ll be fine.”
Willow took the train back to her stop and walked eight blocks in the opposite direction of her home until she reached her destination. She walked up the short staircase leading to the church rectory and anxiously rang the doorbell. After what seemed like an eternity, she was buzzed in. The rectory was just as Willow had pictured it - quiet. Only one person sat behind a small desk and Willow was surprised to see it was a young girl who must have been around Wyatt’s age.
“Help you?” said the unenthused, gum-chewing teen behind the desk.
“Yes, I’d like to speak to a priest, any priest in the parish, please.”
“Well, the only one here right now is Father Strauburn, but he usually doesn’t see anyone without an appointment. Plus, the rectory is closing in five minutes.”
“Oh, okay. I guess I’ll make an appointment then.”
The girl behind the desk pulled out a large binder and Willow could swear she saw her roll her eyes as she opened it. The girl flipped through the binder filled with appointments and parish events.
“Let’s see … the earliest I can give you is … next Thursday at one o’clock.”
“Oh, I’ll be in school during that time. Is he free any evenings?”
The girl let out a sigh.
“Evenings are his busiest time,” she explained in an irritated tone. “Since he’s the pastor, he needs to - ”
A door opened up to Willow’s left and she immediately recognized Father Strauburn. She was surprised to see him out of his robes, wearing jeans and sneakers, although he still wore his Roman collar. He approached the girl sitting behind the desk.
“Charlene, can you be a dear and file these for me?” he said handing her a stack of papers. “No rush.”
Willow could tell by the girl’s expression, she had no intention of rushing.
Father Strauburn turned his attention to Willow.
Hello,” he said with an inviting smile. “Are you one of Charlene’s friends?”
“No, Father. Actually, I came in here to speak with you. I was just trying to get an appointment, but - ”
“Appointment?” said Father Strauburn, looking at Willow as if she had just sprouted a second head. “Nonsense! I always have time for a parishioner. Please, step into my office.”
Willow followed the priest. Just before entering his office, she chanced a glance back at Charlene behind her desk and noticed that she was glaring at Willow in disgust as if Willow had just broken some sacred rule.
Father Strauburn closed his office door behind them.
“Please … sit. You’ll have to excuse Charlene. She’s only here for school credit and it seems we are torturing her by having her sit behind a desk and do absolutely nothing for four hours a week.”
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Willow smiled at Father Strauburn’s sarcasm. She never heard a trace of it during his homilies. She watched him as he took his seat behind his desk. His office was small, yet inviting. He pushed a bowl filled with wrapped mints towards her.
“Please, take a few,” he said. “I love them, which is why I’m trying to get rid of them; I need to shed a few pounds before all of the holiday cookies begin funneling through here.”
Willow grabbed a handful of mints and shoved them into her left jacket pocket, remembering her right pocket was housing a large brownie.
“Thanks.”
“So, my child,” - Father Strauburn placed both elbows on his desk, interlocking his fingers - “how may I assist you?”
Willow wasn’t certain where to begin. She didn’t know if she should just blurt out her theory, ask vague questions, or take the “I have a friend who wants to know” route.
“Well, Father … I’m confused about something … you see … I just ... well …” Willow shifted nervously in her seat.
“Whatever you tell me will be held in the strictest confidence,” assured Father Strauburn, sensing Willow’s apprehension had something to do with concealing a secret.
Willow suddenly took notice of Father Strauburn’s right thumb; it was swollen with a blackened nail. The priest realized what Willow’s eyes had locked onto.
“Oh, don’t worry about me,” he said, “I was nailing my niece’s tree-house and she distracted me. I just took the bandage off today to let my finger breathe a bit … ” - he motioned to an ace bandage on his desk - “… I hate wearing it. So, you were saying?”
Willow’s eyes were transfixed on the injured thumb. She appeared to be in deep contemplation, as if trying to work out a mathematical formula. Father Strauburn held up his hand and began to wiggle his bruised thumb side-to-side in front of his curious guest.
“Really, it’s fine,” he assured her. “I can’t bend it all the way yet, but at least it’s not broken. It should be back to normal in a week or so. I can be a bit of a klutz and - ”
Father Strauburn was interrupted by Willow suddenly leaning across his desk as she gently grabbed his injured finger, covering it entirely with her own hand. She decided it would be a lot faster than a long, drawn-out theory. And if she was wrong, she needn’t waste another moment of either of their time.
Father Strauburn looked at her curiously. Willow withdrew her hand and sat back into her seat. Father Strauburn never took his eyes off of her.
“Yes, well, you see then that it doesn’t hurt much, although if you squeezed it - ” He could not continue as he suddenly noticed his perfect thumb, the thumb which moments ago was bruised, sore and swollen from injury. He bent it forward, to his astonishment, as far as he could before he had injured it. He looked up at Willow who gave him a nervous grin and a small shrug.
“Yes … well ... I see. I see what has led you here. This is most - ”
“Confusing,” interjected Willow. “I just wish I knew why this happened to me.
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What makes me so special? I’m just a kid who wants to get through her adolescence with minimal humiliation.”
The priest, although listening to his guest, was still transfixed by his healed appendage. He began whispering to himself as if no one else was in his presence.
“I’ve never experienced anything like … ” Father Strauburn shook his head quickly and turned his attention back to the curious young girl before him. He surveyed Willow for a moment before addressing her.
“Yes, well, I think … I think perhaps you are asking yourself the wrong question, my child,” he said, leaning forward, interlocking his fingers once again, stealing one final glance at his flawless thumb.
“The wrong question, Father?” repeated Willow.
“Yes, my dear. I fear that you have come here seeking answers, which are not within my power to provide. You are probably expecting me to theorize that you have been chosen by our Lord to be a messenger, that you are a prophet … a saint … or perhaps even an angel in human form … ”
Willow stared into Father Strauburn’s eyes, trying not to blink for fear she would miss something.
“However,” the priest continued, “I will not indulge upon any speculation on what may have caused your unique … ability.”
Willow’s heart sank. Couldn’t anyone explain what was happening to her?
“What I can tell you, however, is that you have been given a gift. This gift may be considered a blessing ... or a burden. This is something only you can decipher for yourself, my child.”
Willow’s frustration was mounting. Why was he speaking in riddles?
Father Strauburn could see, by Willow’s puzzled expression, he was not getting through to her.
“My child, I will repeat what I said moments ago. You are asking yourself the wrong question. It does not matter why you were given this ability. You are asking yourself ‘why’ when you should be asking yourself ‘what?’”
Willow continued to stare blankly at the priest across the desk, hoping there was more to his sermon. After what seemed to Willow like ages, but was only a few seconds, Father Strauburn continued.
“It is not important why this happened. The question is: What are you going to do with it? Again, this is a question to be answered only by the bearer of the gift.”
Willow was finally beginning to understand. She had been so busy harping on how and why this happened to her, she never stopped to think about all of the good she could do with it. She was over-analyzing, as usual.
Whether it was due to the fact that Willow knew for certain she was not going crazy, or the relief she felt in revealing her secret to someone, or even the great sense of purpose she now felt, a feeling of great elation flooded her. She gave her advisor an enlightened smile and a nod.
“Thanks so much for your time, Father. I know how busy you are,” she said, standing up from her seat, offering a handshake.
Father Strauburn stood up and grabbed Willow’s hand firmly.
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“I find myself a fairly good judge of character, young lady; I needn’t bother losing sleep about you once you leave here.”
“What makes you so sure?” asked Willow, releasing the priest’s hand.
“Because if you were the type of person I needed to worry about ... you wouldn’t be here.”
Next Chapter
Until the evening arrived, Willow went about her usual Saturday morning routine: She read her latest book, The Sinister Sister, for a few hours before doing some chores. After vacuuming the rugs and cleaning the downstairs bathroom, she decided to check the grocery list her mother left for her on the refrigerator. Mrs. Krimble left for work early in the morning and asked Willow to pick up a few things at the local grocery store. Wyatt was at Kreb’s house with Tay working on some new plays, which Willow suspected meant playing Hell Hoops on Kreb’s video game system. Willow pulled the grocery list off of the fridge, grabbed money from the food envelope on the kitchen counter, put on her fall coat and headed out the door.
The local market, Kresh Fruits, was only a seven-minute walk and Willow loved the cool breeze ushered in by the fall season. As soon as she walked into the market, she made eye contact with the store’s owner, Haskel Kresh. He was a tall lumbering man with hands the size of baseball mitts. Mr. Kresh knew the Krimbles for many years and always treated the entire family with the utmost respect, as he did with all of his loyal customers. He gave Willow a welcoming smile as she grabbed a shopping basket.
“Hey, little lady,” said Mr. Kresh through a broad grin, walking toward Willow.
“Hi, Mr. Kresh. How’s business?”
“Eh,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, “could be better, I s’pose.”
This was his response every time, even though his store was always mobbed with people from the neighborhood and nearby towns who loved the quality Kresh Fruits offered. The produce was always fresh and if it wasn’t, Mr. Kresh would refuse to sign for it: “This ain’t fresh an’ I ain’t payin’ fer it! Go sell them worm filled cherries to one of them big supermarkets, ya crook!”
Willow filled her basket with skim milk, ground beef, eggs, bread crumbs, granola, lettuce, tomatoes and cucumbers, scratching each item off the list with her pen as she collected them.
She took her groceries to the checkout counter and glanced curiously at the boy behind it. She knew just about every employee in Kresh Fruits, but the red-headed boy behind the register did not appear familiar to her. He sported a short ponytail that barely reached his shoulders, an earring and an expression of complete boredom. Willow gave him a smile. The boy did not return it.
Mr. Kresh walked over to the check-out area to address Willow’s cashier.
“You treat this here girl good, ya got me, kid?” he said, pointing to Willow. “She’s practically family.”
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The boy never made eye contact, but merely grabbed the eggs and ran them over the scanner.
“Oh! I’m talkin’ ta you! You want this here job ‘er not?”
The boy mumbled something to signify an affirmative response, but Willow barely comprehended it as a human sound.
“That’s betta,” said Mr. Kresh, turning his attention back to Willow. “My sista’s kid – adopted. She and the husband adopts a kid, the husband leaves and now I’m stuck wit ‘em both.” Mr. Kresh waved both hands in the air as he stormed away.
Willow handed the boy her money as soon as he scanned the final item.
“So you’re his nephew?” she said, bagging up her groceries, realizing the boy had no intention of doing it.
The boy grunted as he punched in the dollar amount. He seemed confused.
Willow realized he had hit $250 rather than $20.50.
“Oh, you just have to give me back - ”
“I got it!” the boy barked over his shoulder as he pulled out the change. Willow decided not to engage this new employee in any more conversation. She accepted her change and made her exit. She crossed the street, groceries in hand, and instead of turning right at the corner, she decided to cut through the park.
Willow loved cutting through Shashaw Park. She grew up going to the park with her family almost every weekend. She and Razzel would have a blast on the teeter-tot. Willow laughed every time she walked past it, recalling how she used to put large stones in her pockets so that when she teetered down, Razzel would have to remain suspended in the air until Willow decided to let her down again. “Down! Down now!” Razzel would demand. “Me tellin’ mommy ... you get big troubles!” She never told.
Willow walked past a group of Long Island mothers who were chatting on a bench, not paying attention to any of the children in the park. She overheard bits of the conversation…
“… and I told Alison we were only staying for 20 minutes because Mommy needs a manicure. She’d better wrap it up on those monkey bars. Just look at these cuticles…”
Willow walked past the loopy-slide and was only a few yards away from the park’s south gate when she heard a thud followed by wailing cries. She turned around to spot a little blonde girl, no more than three years old, sitting on the ground, rubbing her left knee in pain.
“Hurt! Boo-boo! Mommy!” These sounds were followed by wailing cries.
Willow placed her groceries on the grass and ran over to the little girl whose face was now soaked with tears.
“Oh, it’s okay, sweetie, ” Willow assured the toddler, rubbing her back, noticing the pant tear on her right knee. “It’s just a scrape.”
The little girl did not see it that way.
“Hurt! Hurt!” she shouted, rocking back and forth on her backside.
“Here, let me help you up. That’s it … nice and easy.”
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Realizing she could still stand, the little girl began to calm down. Willow untied her blue and yellow hair-kerchief and wrapped it around the little girl’s knee to cover up the wound. There wasn’t much blood, but she figured if the little girl could not see her injury, she might not be as frightened.
Willow was right; the little girl began to wipe her face with her palms and was now only sniffling heavily in a low pant. Willow had a great mentor when it came to comforting others. Her mother was a nurse and, while growing up, Willow never minded getting a fever or a cold to have her mother nurse her back to health with lots of attention, bed-side stories and endless mugs of hot chocolate.
“You’re all set, cutie. Now we just have to find your - ”
“Mommy!” cried the little girl pointing over Willow’s left shoulder.
“There you are, Alison! I’ve been looking all over for you. I told you: 20 minutes. Why is your face all red? What’s that around your leg?”
“She just scraped her knee and I wrapped it up for her,” Willow responded for her patient.
“Well ... aren’t you helpful,” the mother said condescendingly, as if Willow was implying the woman was shirking her responsibilities as a mother by not tending to her child sooner. “I think she will be just fine without … ” - the mother untied the kerchief from her daughter’s leg - “… I thought you said she scraped her knee?”
“She did,” replied Willow, but when she looked at the little girl’s knee through the hole in her pants, there wasn’t a scratch on it.
The mother surveyed Willow, her eyes scanning her up and down. She then held out the kerchief with two fingers as if it was the foulest thing she had ever touched. Willow anxiously accepted it back.
Without another word to Willow, the mother grabbed her daughter by the arm and began leading her away. Willow heard her muttering something to her daughter about “ … designer pants … ” and “ … talking to strangers … ” but the little girl was too busy waving good-bye to Willow to care. Willow waved back, forcing a smile on the outside while, on the inside, she was bewildered as ever.
That evening, Willow and Razzel chose to watch two films based on novels Willow had read: Roses On Stone Steps and The Frozen Summer. Razzel almost regretted giving Willow free rein when renting the films, but she wanted her to cheer up and was willing to endure four hours of boredom if it meant her friend taking her mind off of one of the most humiliating moments of her life.
Razzel fell asleep halfway through the second film. Willow checked her watch: 9:12pm. Razzel’s mother was coming to pick her up at 10pm. She decided to let Razzel sleep until then.
The first film, the ice cream and the frozen pizza had done the trick; Willow was not thinking about her stage-spill at all. But she found it difficult to ignore the incident in the park. This reflection led her to wonder about the guinea pig in the pet shop where her thoughts inevitably carried her to her neighbor’s immediate recovery from his collapse. Was she losing it, or did she actually have the power to … Don’t be stupid, she thought.
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She let the movie play while her mind continued to wander. What if she could heal others? But why her? Why now? Willow lost track of time and, in the middle of her analytical conference, was startled by the doorbell. She turned off the movie, woke up Razzel and answered the door.
Mrs. Fiora was standing there, car keys in hand, her car parked in the driveway.
“Hello, angel,” she said to Willow, bending down to exchange kisses on the cheek.
“Hey, Mrs. Fiora,” said Willow. “How’s Mr. Fiora doing? How’s the Deli?”
“Oh, business is great, thank goodness, but he’s always so tired because he takes on too much. He refuses to hire any help. He’s been in bed for an hour already.”
“I hear ya. My mom went to bed right after dinner. She’s been taking on all sorts of crazy shifts.”
“Looks like someone else needs her bed,” said Mrs. Fiora, noticing Razzel rubbing her eyes, yawning.
“Let’s just say Will’s flick picks were … stimulating,” replied Razzel, grabbing her coat. “Later, Will.”
“See you tomorrow afternoon, Raz.”
Earlier in the evening, Willow and Razzel made plans to do some schoolwork at the library the following day. They needed to start their research paper on homeostasis for Science class. If they did a report of three pages or more, it would count as extra credit toward their final end-of-term grade. They would meet at Razzel’s house since the library was closer to her.
“Oh, don’t forget, Raz, I’m taking the Railroad tomorrow instead of the bus. It may be a rip-off, but it’s so much faster and the library’s right across the highway.”
“I might be home tomorrow afternoon if you need a ride,” Mrs. Fiora offered. “Don’t sweat it,” said Willow, “Wyatt owes me some money for doing some of his chores, so the ride’s on him.”
Mrs. Fiora nodded.
“Alright, but come by the house afterwards. I’ll make brownies for the two scholars.”
“Sounds great,” said Willow. “See you tomorrow.”
Sunday morning seemed to fly by. After church, Willow grilled some ham and cheese paninis for her family. Mrs. Krimble had the day off and was a bit disappointed to find out both her children had plans, but then found solace in the realization of having a free day to do whatever she wanted. Willow and Wyatt promised to be home in time for a family dinner.
After lunch, Willow walked six blocks to catch the 1:40 train out of Samoset station. She called Razzel just before leaving home and told her to meet her at the bottom of the east-side staircase at her stop. When she got on the train, it was so crowded that she had to stand. But since it was only for one stop, she didn’t mind.
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Willow exited the train at the Odina station and watched as a crowd of people fled to the staircases, each of them acting as if they had an urgent appointment that, if missed, the world would never be quite the same.
A group of teenage boys brushed past Willow so quickly, one of them stepped on her right foot.
“OWWWE!”
No one bothered to turn around to investigate the yelp. Bending down to rub her foot, Willow noticed one man was not storming down any staircase or racing for the elevator; he took a seat on a bench on the platform as if waiting for another train. Willow noticed he was wearing large sunglasses and he had a long, thin metal cane, which he clanked against the bench before he took his seat.
He’s Blind.
A strange sensation came over Willow. She found herself walking toward the stranger.
Don’t be crazy … everything was just a weird coincidence … don’t make a fool of yourself.
When Willow reached the benches, there was no one left on the platform. She hesitated for a moment, then pretended to clear her throat.
“Ahem … excuse me, sir, do you need any help?”
The man smiled but did not turn his head from his forward gaze.
“Thanks for asking, but I’m waiting for someone.”
“Oh ... okay.” Willow noticed a cell phone clipped to the man’s waist. “Well, if you speak to your friend, let ‘em know that you’re on the bench directly across from The Purple Pear Diner. I mean it’s across the highway, of course.”
The man repeated his smile, still facing straight ahead.
“That’s great to know, thanks for your help. If he doesn’t show up soon, I’ll give him a call and let him know. Last time he met me here, he ended up on the opposite end of the platform and got annoyed that I gave him the wrong location. You’d think he’d cut me some slack.” The stranger grinned and pointed to his glasses.
Willow let out a slight giggle, but then wondered whether the man would feel mocked if she laughed too hard.
“Alright, well … good luck,” she said.
“Thanks again.”
Willow didn’t move; something was keeping her stationary. She stared at the blind stranger for a silent moment. Her eyes scanned both ends of the platform. She and the stranger were still alone. Should she try it? What could it hurt? Then again, what if the man got agitated with her? Sure, it’s crazy, but if it worked ... Oh, but it couldn’t work, could it? She realized if she was going to do it, she’d better stop wasting time.
Willow held out her index finger. Her hand began to tremble. She was almost there. She motioned very slowly, her heart racing. She was mere inches away from reaching the man’s right hand. She would touch the top part of it for one second and she’d have her answer.
This is it. She was just about to make contact when -
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“I can see you, ya know.”
Willow retracted her hand so quickly, she almost lost her balance from the force.
“Huh?”
“I can see you,” repeated the stranger, finally turning his head to face Willow. “Not the way in which you can see, but I can … sense you.”
Willow was dumbfounded.
“I may be blind, but I’ve been this way for eight years now and I know when someone’s staring at me. I can hear their breathing, feel their body heat, smell their conditioner … Plus the fact that I didn’t hear you walk away, I figured you were gawking.”
Willow went red. If the man could see her, he would notice just how embarrassed she was by the rosy hue that coated her entire face.
“I – I’m sorry. I didn’t mean - I was just - ”
“Oh, don’t give it another thought,” replied the stranger, his tone placid. “I get it all the time. People are just curious. Who can blame ‘em? You notice this guy who can’t see a thing and your mind is flooded with questions: ‘How did it happen?’ ‘How does he get around?’ And, I just know this one always pops into people’s heads: ‘How does he go to the bathroom?’” The stranger laughed at his own words, shaking his head.
“Right … I was just wondering how ... how you accomplished certain everyday tasks,” Willow lied.
“He’d be lost without me,” said a voice from behind Willow. She turned around to see a tall, fit Asian man in his mid thirties walk right past her to greet the man sitting on the bench.
“Sorry, I’m late, ” he said, grabbing the blind man’s hand to shake it. “The traffic on Tomack Highway at this time ... ”
“No worries, I was just chatting with my new friend here,” said the blind stranger as he stood up. “Charles, this is Miss - ” he leaned in towards Willow to urge a response.
“Oh – Willow. My name’s Willow.”
“Willow …” the blind stranger repeated, appearing to stare off into the distance, “… such a peaceful name. Before we part, Miss Willow, I’d like to briefly answer your question if I may?”
Willow couldn’t tell the stranger that he did not know the real question she wanted an answer to, so she just went with, “Oh, that would be great.”
“How do I accomplish everyday tasks? It’s quite simple, really. You see, I rely on intuition; I allow my instincts to carry me through my day. If I relied on logical thought, all I would have are a ton of questions of my own; I would doubt myself at every turn.”
Willow was now hanging on the man’s every word; he seemed fascinating. She even nodded in agreement and then realized it was pointless. As if sensing Willow’s nod, the blind stranger continued.
“Being blind, I need to rely on my other senses. That is the key word here, Miss Willow – senses. I do what I feel, not what I think. If my mind tells me something will be difficult or time consuming, I just ignore it and go with what my
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gut tells me. That is the best way for me to describe it: intuitive feeling over logical thought. I hope that makes sense to you, Miss Willow.”
“Actually, it does,” replied Willow, her expression and tone pensive.
“Well, I think I’ve taken up enough of your time, Miss Willow.”
The blind stranger bent down to pick up his bag and Willow saw his Asian friend make a talks-a-lot gesture with his hand as if he were holding an invisible puppet. Willow smiled. Then, something happened that made Willow’s heart sprint once again.
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Willow.” The blind stranger smiled as he offered his right hand to his new acquaintance.
Willow hesitated for a moment out of the shear shock of what could happen. She gently took hold of the stranger’s hand and shook it.
“Pleasure meeting you too,” she said, her throat tightening.
The man released Willow’s hand, smiled one final time, grabbed his belongings and turned to walk away. Willow watched him with deep concentration, searching for any signs of change in his behavior.
The blind stranger’s friend gave Willow a wave. She waved back and quickly threw her gaze back to the man with the metal cane.
As she watched them make their way toward the west-side staircase, Willow was careful not to blink. Just as they reached the steps, about 20 yards away, Willow noticed the blind man grab his friend’s arm, forcing him to a halt. Willow grew more anxious. She could tell the men were speaking, but she couldn’t make out their words. She watched them intently as the man with the cane removed his glasses. Her heart had reached her throat. Suddenly, both men turned and appeared to be staring at Willow, neither of them muttering a single word as their stare locked onto Willow’s distant silhouette. Although the Fall breeze was accompanied by a slight chill in the air, sweat began to form on Willow’s brow.
“Helloooo?” a frustrated voice called from behind Willow, startling her. She turned around to meet Razzel’s reproving stare.
“You were supposed to meet me at the bottom of the east-side staircase,” exclaimed Razzel. “I saw the train pull out almost 10 minutes ago!”
“Sorry, Raz,” said Willow, “I was just - ” she turned around to find that the two men had vanished from sight.
“Are you okay? You’re looking paler than usual.”
“I’m fine. I was just trying to … figure something out.”
Willow and Razzel walked across the highway and down two blocks to the local library. They immediately began researching books on their assignment. When Razzel wasn’t looking, Willow searched for books on healing, but all she could come up with was two books on herbal home remedies. She was about to log onto one of the computers to search the internet when Razzel began complaining about being bored. They handed some books to the check-out clerk in order to work on their papers at home. They still had a week before the paper was due and the public library was not one of Razzel’s favorite hang-out spots.
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The two girls headed back to Razzel’s house and, as promised, a plate full of chocolate chip, double-fudge brownies was waiting for them on the kitchen table with a note from Mrs. Fiora.
“Mom says, ‘Hi’,” Razzel relayed to Willow, crumpling up the note and tossing it into the trash. “She and dad went to afternoon mass. Funny … they haven’t gone to church in years - unless you count Christmas and Easter.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, we used to go every Sunday when I was younger, but once Dad opened up the business, he was either too busy or too tired. Me and Mom went by ourselves for a while but then little by little … We just go to the holiday masses now.”
“Ah …” said Willow, “… you’re one of those people, huh?”
“If by ‘one of those people’, you’re referring to people who only attend church on religious holidays, where mass is most crowded, thereby taking seats away from people that go every week, forcing them to stand for over an hour because holiday masses run longer, then, yeah … I’m ‘one of those people.’”
Willow burst out laughing and almost spit out the brownie she had just bitten.
“We still go every week,” she said. “I don’t mind it, but to tell you the truth, I don’t really get much out of it. Ever since Dad died, I stopped believing in miracles. Whenever the priest talks about them, my mind says - ”
“ - what evs,” Razzel finished Willow’s sentence in her own Razzel-like fashion.
“Pretty much,” replied Willow.
“Well, I’m just glad they didn’t drag me with them today,” said Razzel. “You, know … my mom’s been acting weird lately. Last night, in the car, she said something about how ‘not all answers to life can be found in a library book.’ Something about ‘spiritual answers’… Something like that. I was half asleep and when she goes all philosophy major on me, it’s all I can do to not completely doze off.”
Something Razzel had said, or rather something Razzel’s mother had said, seemed to ignite something inside Willow’s mind; she realized she needed to stop racking her brain about the strange occurrences in her life and speak with someone about them; someone familiar with what she was going through. There was only one place to go.
“Hey, Raz, I’d better get going. I promised my mom I’d spend some quality time with her on her day off and it’s already … ” - Willow checked her watch - “… almost 4 o’clock.”
“What? I thought we could catch a flick, you’d stay for dinner and then maybe spend some time on this stinkin’ paper.”
“I’d love to Raz, but time with Mom is hard to come by these days with her crazy schedule.”
“I hear ya. Do what you gotta do. I promised some people from my Jiu Jitsu class I’d try to stop by for some extra training this weekend anyway.”
“Try not to break anyone’s limbs, will ya.”
“No promises.”
Willow laughed.
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“Tell your mom I love the brownies,” she said, wrapping one in a napkin and shoving it into her jacket pocket to give to Wyatt.
“Want me to walk you to the train?” offered Razzel.
“Thanks, I’ll be fine.”
Willow took the train back to her stop and walked eight blocks in the opposite direction of her home until she reached her destination. She walked up the short staircase leading to the church rectory and anxiously rang the doorbell. After what seemed like an eternity, she was buzzed in. The rectory was just as Willow had pictured it - quiet. Only one person sat behind a small desk and Willow was surprised to see it was a young girl who must have been around Wyatt’s age.
“Help you?” said the unenthused, gum-chewing teen behind the desk.
“Yes, I’d like to speak to a priest, any priest in the parish, please.”
“Well, the only one here right now is Father Strauburn, but he usually doesn’t see anyone without an appointment. Plus, the rectory is closing in five minutes.”
“Oh, okay. I guess I’ll make an appointment then.”
The girl behind the desk pulled out a large binder and Willow could swear she saw her roll her eyes as she opened it. The girl flipped through the binder filled with appointments and parish events.
“Let’s see … the earliest I can give you is … next Thursday at one o’clock.”
“Oh, I’ll be in school during that time. Is he free any evenings?”
The girl let out a sigh.
“Evenings are his busiest time,” she explained in an irritated tone. “Since he’s the pastor, he needs to - ”
A door opened up to Willow’s left and she immediately recognized Father Strauburn. She was surprised to see him out of his robes, wearing jeans and sneakers, although he still wore his Roman collar. He approached the girl sitting behind the desk.
“Charlene, can you be a dear and file these for me?” he said handing her a stack of papers. “No rush.”
Willow could tell by the girl’s expression, she had no intention of rushing.
Father Strauburn turned his attention to Willow.
Hello,” he said with an inviting smile. “Are you one of Charlene’s friends?”
“No, Father. Actually, I came in here to speak with you. I was just trying to get an appointment, but - ”
“Appointment?” said Father Strauburn, looking at Willow as if she had just sprouted a second head. “Nonsense! I always have time for a parishioner. Please, step into my office.”
Willow followed the priest. Just before entering his office, she chanced a glance back at Charlene behind her desk and noticed that she was glaring at Willow in disgust as if Willow had just broken some sacred rule.
Father Strauburn closed his office door behind them.
“Please … sit. You’ll have to excuse Charlene. She’s only here for school credit and it seems we are torturing her by having her sit behind a desk and do absolutely nothing for four hours a week.”
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Willow smiled at Father Strauburn’s sarcasm. She never heard a trace of it during his homilies. She watched him as he took his seat behind his desk. His office was small, yet inviting. He pushed a bowl filled with wrapped mints towards her.
“Please, take a few,” he said. “I love them, which is why I’m trying to get rid of them; I need to shed a few pounds before all of the holiday cookies begin funneling through here.”
Willow grabbed a handful of mints and shoved them into her left jacket pocket, remembering her right pocket was housing a large brownie.
“Thanks.”
“So, my child,” - Father Strauburn placed both elbows on his desk, interlocking his fingers - “how may I assist you?”
Willow wasn’t certain where to begin. She didn’t know if she should just blurt out her theory, ask vague questions, or take the “I have a friend who wants to know” route.
“Well, Father … I’m confused about something … you see … I just ... well …” Willow shifted nervously in her seat.
“Whatever you tell me will be held in the strictest confidence,” assured Father Strauburn, sensing Willow’s apprehension had something to do with concealing a secret.
Willow suddenly took notice of Father Strauburn’s right thumb; it was swollen with a blackened nail. The priest realized what Willow’s eyes had locked onto.
“Oh, don’t worry about me,” he said, “I was nailing my niece’s tree-house and she distracted me. I just took the bandage off today to let my finger breathe a bit … ” - he motioned to an ace bandage on his desk - “… I hate wearing it. So, you were saying?”
Willow’s eyes were transfixed on the injured thumb. She appeared to be in deep contemplation, as if trying to work out a mathematical formula. Father Strauburn held up his hand and began to wiggle his bruised thumb side-to-side in front of his curious guest.
“Really, it’s fine,” he assured her. “I can’t bend it all the way yet, but at least it’s not broken. It should be back to normal in a week or so. I can be a bit of a klutz and - ”
Father Strauburn was interrupted by Willow suddenly leaning across his desk as she gently grabbed his injured finger, covering it entirely with her own hand. She decided it would be a lot faster than a long, drawn-out theory. And if she was wrong, she needn’t waste another moment of either of their time.
Father Strauburn looked at her curiously. Willow withdrew her hand and sat back into her seat. Father Strauburn never took his eyes off of her.
“Yes, well, you see then that it doesn’t hurt much, although if you squeezed it - ” He could not continue as he suddenly noticed his perfect thumb, the thumb which moments ago was bruised, sore and swollen from injury. He bent it forward, to his astonishment, as far as he could before he had injured it. He looked up at Willow who gave him a nervous grin and a small shrug.
“Yes … well ... I see. I see what has led you here. This is most - ”
“Confusing,” interjected Willow. “I just wish I knew why this happened to me.
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What makes me so special? I’m just a kid who wants to get through her adolescence with minimal humiliation.”
The priest, although listening to his guest, was still transfixed by his healed appendage. He began whispering to himself as if no one else was in his presence.
“I’ve never experienced anything like … ” Father Strauburn shook his head quickly and turned his attention back to the curious young girl before him. He surveyed Willow for a moment before addressing her.
“Yes, well, I think … I think perhaps you are asking yourself the wrong question, my child,” he said, leaning forward, interlocking his fingers once again, stealing one final glance at his flawless thumb.
“The wrong question, Father?” repeated Willow.
“Yes, my dear. I fear that you have come here seeking answers, which are not within my power to provide. You are probably expecting me to theorize that you have been chosen by our Lord to be a messenger, that you are a prophet … a saint … or perhaps even an angel in human form … ”
Willow stared into Father Strauburn’s eyes, trying not to blink for fear she would miss something.
“However,” the priest continued, “I will not indulge upon any speculation on what may have caused your unique … ability.”
Willow’s heart sank. Couldn’t anyone explain what was happening to her?
“What I can tell you, however, is that you have been given a gift. This gift may be considered a blessing ... or a burden. This is something only you can decipher for yourself, my child.”
Willow’s frustration was mounting. Why was he speaking in riddles?
Father Strauburn could see, by Willow’s puzzled expression, he was not getting through to her.
“My child, I will repeat what I said moments ago. You are asking yourself the wrong question. It does not matter why you were given this ability. You are asking yourself ‘why’ when you should be asking yourself ‘what?’”
Willow continued to stare blankly at the priest across the desk, hoping there was more to his sermon. After what seemed to Willow like ages, but was only a few seconds, Father Strauburn continued.
“It is not important why this happened. The question is: What are you going to do with it? Again, this is a question to be answered only by the bearer of the gift.”
Willow was finally beginning to understand. She had been so busy harping on how and why this happened to her, she never stopped to think about all of the good she could do with it. She was over-analyzing, as usual.
Whether it was due to the fact that Willow knew for certain she was not going crazy, or the relief she felt in revealing her secret to someone, or even the great sense of purpose she now felt, a feeling of great elation flooded her. She gave her advisor an enlightened smile and a nod.
“Thanks so much for your time, Father. I know how busy you are,” she said, standing up from her seat, offering a handshake.
Father Strauburn stood up and grabbed Willow’s hand firmly.
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“I find myself a fairly good judge of character, young lady; I needn’t bother losing sleep about you once you leave here.”
“What makes you so sure?” asked Willow, releasing the priest’s hand.
“Because if you were the type of person I needed to worry about ... you wouldn’t be here.”
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