Trinity (50)

There are people everywhere.

Saint Paul’s is a small school, but since it goes from kindergarten to twelfth grade, putting all of those students and their families into one place becomes difficult. I never even see the younger grades anymore, since ninth grade and up are in an entirely different section of the school building. Now, however, it seems that everywhere you look there’s a child underfoot, being corralled by parents or otherwise making a scene. This is how it always is at the Easter Rising Talent Assembly, and yet it still surprises me somewhat.

I arrived early, as I was meant to according to the messages I’d received from Maggie and Katherine, who are both, apparently, trying to organize things. Ordinarily, this would be a good thing, as there are a lot of things to organize, but the two of them keep butting heads, and it’s beginning to be quite frustrating for all of us who are just trying to help.

But now, most things are set up, as far as I can tell. Maggie and I are seated at the side entrance of the school, overlooking the parking lot. Greeting duties.

“Why hello, Mr. Graham. Mrs. Graham, what a lovely dress! And you’re Annie, right?” Maggie is chattering away, and I honestly have no idea how she knows so many names, but it’s working out alright for me. While she talks, I sit and check people’s names off of the attendance list and silently hand out pamphlets with a rough schedule of who’s doing what in the talent show.

I’m really not sure I could handle a more difficult task, because I still don’t know what I’m going to do about me, today. The essay. The story Katherine expects. The talking in front of the entire student body and their parents and friends and grandparents and anyone else who might show up.

I wasn’t able to eat breakfast this morning, and now my stomach feels hollow. And the dread that’s filling me as time passes isn’t helping, and the fact that I have no idea what I’m going to do next is making the back of my neck feel hot and sticky.

Another family passes, and for a miraculous moment, there’s no one about in our little strip of hallway.

Maggie immediately turns to me, head bent conspiratorially. “Did you know the Lincolns just got a pool? I heard they weren’t allowed to swim in it until Easter day. I’m wondering if they’ll ever throw a pool party; maybe we can get invited.”

I double check my list, because that family that walked away must’ve been the Lincolns, and I’m not sure I marked them down as here. But I’d already checked them off, just a moment ago, and I hadn’t even realized it, my brain on autopilot.

Maggie takes out her phone and starts typing, but continues talking. “Oh, also, I’m glad you’re going to be reading something else today. I actually overheard Mrs. Vena telling Sister Anne that she only recommended the essay for the assembly to give you practice in front of a crowd.” Maggie blows out a sharp laugh. “I think that sounds pretty cruel. But you did agree to it, so I guess it’s fine.”

I raise my eyes to Maggie’s. “Mrs. Vena said that?” I ask skeptically.

Maggie sets down her phone, a brow raised. “Well, yeah, she did. Also, Mrs. Vena’s only a teacher because she wasn't smart enough for med school. Is what I heard, anyway.”

I don’t see how that’s relevant, but I reply, “Oh.” I sit and finger the corners of one of the pamphlets, thinking, as Maggie greets another family. I check off ‘O’Riley’ as they walk away.

“Is that the only reason she liked my essay?”

Maggie looks a little confused; clearly she’s been thinking about things other than me and my essay. After a slight pause she replies, “Oh, of course not. I’m sure it’s a good essay. It’s just that it’s not that exciting, you know, for a talent show.”

I nick my finger on the edge of one of the pamphlet pages, and instinctively yank my hand back to my body. There’s a little cut on my finger, and I stare at it. “So she just meant for everyone to sit and despise me as I read my terrible essay?”

Maggie shrugs. “Don’t worry, Katherine would’ve pulled you off the stage before anyone was truly bored. What does it matter, though? She said you’ve written some story instead.”

I suck on my cut finger and sink into my chair just as Mary Kate comes around the corner. She keeps checking up on us.

“The first act is starting in ten minutes,” she tells us. Well, really she’s just telling Maggie and ignoring me completely, but she normally does that. “I can stay out here with you until then,” she offers.

There’s more people coming through the school doors, and Maggie’s attention turns to them. She waves a hand lazily in Mary Kate’s direction. “No, no, make sure Katherine isn’t ruining anything in there.”

Mary Kate pouts, and her eyes dart to me, as if I am the one who told her to go back into the gym-turned-auditorium. “Fine,” she mutters, and stalks off, but Maggie doesn’t notice, too busy pointing out bathrooms to some student’s grandparents.

It’s not long before we pack up the table. Maggie’s plan is to stand and watch the talent show from the back doorway, that way we can still hand out the pamphlets to any late comers. In the meantime, I need to run the list of everyone who’s here to Sister Anne.

I find the nun backstage, after passing gaggles of students warming up for their acts. Some second graders practice spins in their ballerina skirts, while two eleventh grade boys throw grapes into each other’s mouths and catch them, and a sixth grader in a sparkling dress sings voice warm-ups. Everyone’s nerves are rubbing off on me, and I’m practically buzzing by the time I find Sister Anne.

“Thank you,” she tells me as I hand her the list. “Kathy, Robert, no running!” she calls to two first graders, then looks back at me. “You look nervous. Just take a deep breath. You’re not on for at least an hour.”

I note that I’m clutching my hands together so tight my fingers are white, and my paper cut is bleeding a little.

A student calls out to Sister Anne, and I vacate the back stage area, nearly running into someone as I go down the small set of stairs to the side hallway.

An hour. That’s worse, it’s got to be. I’d rather do it right now, get it over with. No, actually, I wouldn’t. I’d rather hide and never come out, or at the very least have something interesting prepared. Why didn’t anyone tell me sooner that this was going to be the most boring ‘talent’ on the planet? Why didn’t I realize it?

“Trinity?”

I blink and find that the person I almost ran into has followed me out. In fact, I think they’ve been speaking to me this whole time.

In fact, it’s Pearl.

Instinctively, I reach out and take her hand, just to have something to hold onto.

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(first part: https://theprose.com/post/432343/trinity)

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(previous part: https://theprose.com/post/464299/trinity-49)

(next part: https://theprose.com/post/465507/pearl-51)