The tale of the rainy day: Page four
Looking out the window the mans eyes take on a faraway expression. After a few moments he turns from the window and returns to his chair. Slowly, almost reluctantly he continues.
“I saw them bring out the body bag, it was the first time I had ever seen what death really meant. As they put the body into the ambulance the world began to feel totally surreal to me, like a bizarre dream.” He runs a trembling hand through his hair and takes a deep shaky breath, letting it back out slowly.
“What happened? Did he kill his stepfather?” asked the other with a hint of dread in his voice.
“No.”
“His mother?”
“No, not his mother either. No, he killed himself. Hung himself in his basement that morning before school. I can still see his mother in the pouring rain, her straggly black hair matted to her face, her workclothes clinging to her bony little body. She was screaming as they were putting him in the ambulance. I still see the officer with his arms around her trying to keep her from a total breakdown. I see it in the same slow motion my mind saw it in all those years ago. My conscience has never let me be.”
Both men fall silent. Outside the wind has picked up and the lightning continues flashing in brilliant bursts. For a few moments the sound of the rain pounding the windows is all that can be heard in the darkening room.
“ You didn’t push him over the edge. It wasn’t your fault.”
“No, but you are only partly right.”
“What do you mean by that?” the man asks, genuinely surprised.
“Well, it is true I did not push him over the edge as you say. But I cannot truthfully say that it wasn't at least partly my fault. You see, even though I never picked on him, I was never really there for him either. How many times did I stand there and watch kids pick on him? How many times could I have simply said ‘hey, leave him alone’? I lived near him. I could have been his friend, at least some of the time. Even if it was just to say 'how are you?', or maybe ask if he wanted to play baseball with us. By keeping out of it I helped enable his destruction. I have to be honest with you…not a day goes by that it doesn't bother me.”
“Is that why you became a counselor?”
“Yes. That is why I became a counselor. My failure to be someone that boy could turn to has left an emptiness in me. I have spent my entire life trying to fill that emptiness. If I can be here for any other kid who has no one to turn to, then that empty feeling can feel less pervasive. Maybe someday I will forgive myself.”
After a few moments of silence, the janitor looks at the councilor with deep concern in his eyes and says:
“You have nothing to regret. These things always happen for a reason you know. I have been raised to believe that each and every one of us has a purpose here on earth. None of us knows what that purpose is. Maybe that boy’s purpose was to make you a counselor so you could make a difference to all of these children today.”
“Now who’s the counselor? Maybe you are in the wrong profession my friend.”
“Yeah well, maybe you could tell that to my boss” the janitor says with a wide grin on his thin face.
“Maybe I will. I really want to thank you for listening. It has really helped I think” as he says this, the counselor reaches across the desk and shakes hands warmly with the janitor.
“It was my pleasure. You have a good night sir” the janitor replies as they both get up from their seats.
“Please, you know I hate that, call me John.”
“Very well then, you have a good night SirJohn.” Both men have a good laugh and with a wink the counselor takes his leave.
The janitor watches from the window as the counselor gets into his car outside. The rain is still pouring down, and the lightning is still flashing as he turns away from the window. The red glow of the clock reads 4:45 as he lets himself out of the counselor’s office.
“All in a days work” he says to himself while walking towards the next office. “All in a days work.”
-The End
-John Alexander (aka SirJohn)
