The Blameless Bystander Ch. 01

In the distance Jamie saw a fellow early morning jogger approaching him. It was a female figure. She wore gym shorts and tee shirt, like he did, and a baseball cap. She was tall for a woman and had a gait and posture that gave the impression of an athletic figure. Jamie reckoned that her pace was faster than his. She had blond hair leaking out from under her cap and wore sunglasses.

As she came nearer he made her out to be in her mid-twenties, although it was hard to tell for sure with her face hidden behind her dark glasses. Lithe strips of lean muscle flexing in her thighs pointed at him as she lifted her knees with every stride. They were covered by soft woman's skin, but there could be no doubt of their strength and flexibility beneath the veil. They were long legs that demanded a man's attention and Jamie responded as a man as he drank his fill from the fortuitous cup. It was the movement and the shape, especially as the legs approached the juncture with hips, combined together that would not allow his eyes to travel elsewhere. He judged her to be nearly as tall as his own six feet. Unlike him, her skin had a bronze tone that told of hours in the summer sun.

As she drew closer Jamie noticed that she had large breasts, which finally allowed his gaze to escape her upper thighs. They rode high on her chest beneath broad shoulders. The tee shirt stretched over them like a glove. A hint of nipple asserted itself slightly through the fabric of the shirt. Even so encased, they bounced slightly as she ran. It was a woman's body of steel bands and velvet covering. It made Jamie stir in his groin and in his brain.

As their paths drew together Jamie raised a hand to say 'hi', but as he did she looked away; her face wore a displeased look. It was obvious that she wished to avoid acknowledgement of his friendly gesture. He didn't doubt that she was correct in doing so. Her rejection was disappointing but not surprising. Then, the encounter was over all too soon as they passed.

Probably, he thought, her contempt arose from her perception of his pale, freckled skin and slender form. His red hair was thinning at his brow, giving away his age. He was too old for a nubile young woman with a honed physique. She was angry that he had even tried to make contact with her, disrupting her private space. Or, he thought, maybe she noticed his unabashed gaze traveling from thighs to breasts and back again.

Jamie shook his head and chuckled. "Either way, I insulted her." It occurred to him how inexperienced he was. "I've got a lot to learn," he said to himself. "She would find that I'm not as feeble as I look." Indeed, he was not. He had always worked out nearly every day. There were no bulging muscles to show for his efforts, but he never carried any extra pounds. His years in the Order barred him from excess and his training for the missions left with a physical hardness that he never lost.

As he slowed to walk up the long driveway of Mrs. Wilkinson's rooming house it dawned on him that the brief encounter with the jogging woman was part of his new life. He was permitted to enjoy it—even pursue it further if he could find the combination of nerve and opportunity. He had no experience in sexual matters. He had never disobeyed his vows. Over the years he had pushed desire and fantasy out of his mind.

He wondered how many forty-two year old virgins still existed in the world. He winced as he thought of himself as a 'virgin'. It wasn't a shame over sexual inexperience. It was the remnants of his devotion to the virgin, and the unwanted comparison of him to her.

The ultimate paradox: his years of celibacy gave him great experience in being at ease in talking to women. Secretaries, lay teachers, students' mothers all gravitated to him. They liked his freckled, boyish looks and his celibacy made them feel secure. They would murmur, mumble and twitter their secrets to him. He would listen, and then forget. He learned to relax them and ease them into their divulgences; not because he longed to hear them, but he knew they were coming out eventually and it saved a lot of time.

Perhaps soon, he mused to himself, his abnormality would get straightened out. He wondered how and who would do it. The vision of the blond runner had been pleasant enough. He could picture himself resting comfortably between her smooth, muscled thighs waiting for the exact moment to push into her. She, once so disdainful, would be lying under him, waiting. In the meantime he would have his hands clamped on her breasts, feeling the nipples stiffen. She would breathe ever-harder, then whisper in an excited, desperate hush, "Please..." He would slowly move forward and not disappoint.

As he showered he glanced down. The warm water cascaded on his penis and it rose respectfully upward as if to signal its readiness, if only he could be ready, too. He dared not touch it. He had never given in to the urge to do so, and would not. He looked again. It stood straight out—a harbinger of future pleasures? Perhaps, but possibly it would turn out to be yet another disappointment in life—to be absorbed and accepted, and eventually evaded.

**********

Jamie entered the school building through the front door. In the empty hallway his heels snapped a loud click with every step. He didn't mean to, but he found that he could not avoid it without practically walking on his toes. He reasoned that the School Office had to be somewhere near the front door, and finding it would be the only way to end his noisy, conspicuous presence.

He walked by one classroom after another. All of the doors were closed, but through the windows he could see that it was a school just like the others in which he had spent so much time. Since it was before the start of the school year the walls were without the usual banners. The ones that announced the after-game dance or the particular football game that weekend. They would appear soon enough. He also passed by a "Ladies Room" that reminded him that he would be teaching girls as well as boys. That would be something new for him. He noticed right away that there were no crucifixes on the walls of the classrooms, it being a public school. It seemed ironic to him, as some said that he had turned his back on the cross with the renunciation of vows. He didn't think so, but there many who said that he had. He would have to reason that for himself later. It was difficult to go anywhere without a reminder of that which he wished to forget. He strode to the end of the hallway, and nearly gave up when he spotted a tarnished, brass sign mounted on the wall. An arrow pointed the way. 'Office' was inscribed above it. Grateful for the direction, he turned and finally found an open door.

Jamie stood at the open door. Across the room there was a woman working at the filing cabinets. Her back was to him. She was short with a petite frame, with wavy, chestnut-brown hair of medium length in the traditional Donna Reed style. She wore a sleeveless blouse and a denim skirt with a pair of loafers on her feet. She kept at her task, oblivious of Jamie's presence.

He knocked on the door and she spun around, surprised, with a questioning expression.

"Hello, I'm..." he started.

"You must be Mr. O'Toole. We're expecting you," she declared, suddenly brightening. "I'm Abby McIntire. I'm the Principal's secretary." She extended her hand as Jamie approached her. "Nathan will be back shortly. He just wanted to check on the gym renovations."

Jamie took a seat near her desk. The Principal's office waited beyond.

"Care for some coffee?" she asked. "Please have some. I just made a fresh pot."

Jamie saw that she was still smiling at him, but couldn't help thinking that her eyes looked tired and sad.

"Well, alright." He rose to serve himself.

"Stay where you are. I'll get it," she insisted as she bound to the coffee maker on the little table across the room.

"Just black—thanks." Jamie would have gladly served his own, but acquiesced to her insistent hospitality. As she bent to reach into a cupboard Jamie looked at her more closely. He made her out to be about forty. She had a neat, tidy appearance, as a secretary should. At first he thought that she was not wearing any makeup, but on second glance he could see that she did, but in a subtle way that allowed it to do its work while remaining inconspicuous.

"Here you go!" she said in a sing-song voice as she handed him the ceramic mug. "I'll just go back to my filing. Nathan will be here any minute."

She pivoted around, causing her skirt to twirl and reveal a trace more flesh of her leg than it had beforehand. With nothing else to do Jamie watched her as she bent to her task. He noticed that her bare arms were thinly hewn, in keeping with the rest of her. He couldn't help it; he took a good look at her top, covered in cotton. A quick glance through the sleeveless armhole of the blouse yielded no information. Finally, he deducted that her chest was as slightly built as the rest of her. A large set of breasts wouldn't fit her well.

She bent from the waist to drop a few folders into the lowest cabinet. Her back was turned completely toward him. Jamie wondered why she reached it that way, instead of folding herself down by bending her knees. At any rate, the a-line of the denim skirt allowed him to learn nothing new of her form. Nevertheless, once self-indulged to his perusal of her top half, it was easy to let his mind paint a picture of what might find waiting underneath the heavy fabric. He could see it in his mind's eye as clearly as if she were a dancer in a thong rotating on a pole and he had a seat along the stage. Of course he knew nothing of such venues, but he could see the slender thighs and smooth buttocks quite clearly.

Jamie's lascivious ogling gave him a guilty feeling. He forgave himself in the knowledge that it was only his silly fantasy, to be shared with no one. He had no designs on the female under his inspection, but was glad to find her. There would undoubtedly be others like her—and she didn't look bad. She seemed more his speed than the blonde Amazon he passed while jogging that morning. It was food for thought. He glanced at the clock and then around the room to be sure that another sudden pirouette wouldn't catch him in his partaking that which was not offered.

As he was running out of trivial things to take notice of he heard steps in the hallway. He turned to the doorway to catch sight of his new mentor entering.

"Hello, Mr. O'Toole," the man said. "Thanks for coming in. I'm glad that you're with us." He thrust out his hand and Jamie took it.

"I'm glad to be here," Jamie replied. It was only a half-lie, if a polite one. He wasn't sure if he was glad to be there or not, but he was glad to start finding out the answer. Hearing himself called 'Mr.' O'Toole made him feel strange, however accurate. It had been 'Father' O'Toole for so long.

He was motioned into the inner office by the older man.

"Thanks Mr......" he started.

"Call me Nathan!" interrupted the Principal. "No need for formality here. You won't find that in a small town." Jamie carried his coffee into the room and the secretary placed one on Nathan's desk on cue.

"What do we call you?" Nathan continued.

"My nickname has always been Jamie."

Nathan peered at him, as if expecting a further explanation of Jamie's answer. He paused several seconds, neither frowning nor smiling. He sat ramrod straight in his executive chair and took a sip of coffee, prolonging the pause even more. Jamie knew that he was displeased with his answer, but unable to understand why.

Nathan Smithling, Principal of the High School, starting his fifth year in the position, had been a teacher and Chairman of the Social Studies Department. He gave confidence to those who answered to him and those who appointed him. He had been tested many times for his constancy, adherence and knowledge of what was expected. He passed every test, as it was his job to do. His subordinates followed him because they wanted to be where he was.

He was in his mid fifties, tall at six-four and slender. On this casual day before the start of school he wore jeans and a polo shirt, but looked like he belonged in a white shirt and striped tie. He had dark brown hair and glasses with black frames. Jamie had met him before when he interviewed for the job, but that had been on one of the Principal's trips to Rochester.

He leaned forward, looking Jamie in the eye and winced slightly. "Why don't we come up with a different name? It sounds a little too 'ethnic' for folks in these parts."

Jamie was startled at the frank demand and searched for a response. Nathan sat back in his chair and raised his hands in front of his chest, with open palms facing out.

"Of course, it would be your decision. It's just a suggestion. I only want to help you get to know the people easier. Why don't you think about it?"

"I—I guess that I'd like to think about it. I've always been called that—my parents gave me the name after my great grandfather in Ireland." Jamie pleaded.

Nathan nodded appreciatively.

"Let me just tell you where you stand," Nathan continued. "You're on temporary contract until the School Board votes to give you a 'tenured' contract. Then you will be in the teachers' union. Until then, they will bargain for you."

"You mean the union represents me but I don't belong to it?" Jamie asked.

"Exactly!" Smithling replied, appearing glad that the student was taking to the lesson. "You pay dues just as though you belonged, of course. In the meantime, any decisions about your employment are up to me. Naturally, I consult with the union steward, since your goal is to join the union," he explained. "You see what I mean, don't you?" Jamie nodded that he did.

"We have you slated to teach four sections this year," Nathan changed the subject. "Two of Trigonometry and one each of Geometry and Algebra. Our goal is to get the students to pass the State tests—or as many as possible, I suppose."

"I enjoy Trigonometry," Jamie declared.

"To be honest, not many of the teachers do. That's why you have it," Nathan confided. "It can be frustrating," he explained. "By the time they get that far most of the students wonder why they have to learn about sine and cosine just so they can graduate, when all they plan to do is work on the farm or get a job in the feed mill."

"What about students who need it for college?" Jamie piped up.

"Not many of them," Nathan admitted looking away. "For those that do, they hire the teachers as tutors for enrichment and extra help."

"I think that's part of my job," Jamie asserted. "I'll do that for no..."

Smithling stood his hand up like a traffic cop. "No!" he interrupted sternly. "We have our system. The teachers look forward to that money. We have to respect the system."

Jamie sensed that he was making trouble and was sorry for the unwise assertion. "Okay," he weakly replied.

"Now," Smithling smiled and leaned forward across the table to the edge of Jamie's space, "how about that nickname?"

"I guess the 'James' would be alright," Jamie, now James, conceded in instant surrender.

Smithling sat back relaxed in his high-backed chair. "Good!" he drawled slowly as he grinned broadly. "I knew you'd see it once you had a chance to think about it. It will be for the best. It will help you to fit right in." Nathan remained leaning back in his chair. James wondered if he had pleased his mentor, but couldn't be certain.

"Now, I have something for you," Nathan grandiloquently announced as he reached into the top drawer of his desk and drew his hand out with a flourish, a white envelope attached to it. "I'm sure that you can use it. I arranged for an advance of a thousand dollars on your salary. They'll deduct it over the month of September." He handed over the check.

"Oh, thank you, Nathan," James exhaled, truly relieved. "This really helps. You were right. I'm a little short. I had to put up a security deposit in my rooming house and it just about cleaned me out."

"I was glad that I could help out," Nathan continued smiling. "I think that you're going to do real fine here in Bates."

"Another thing," Nathan added, "about being a former priest. I wouldn't say very much about that. You never know how people will respond—and it's none of their business! I'm alright with it, but I'm more open-minded than some."

"What do I tell them?" James questioned. "People are bound to ask."

"Just say that you taught in that Catholic High School in Rochester and you decided to get into the public schools for the retirement plan and benefits." Nathan had obviously thought up the answer in advance. "See? You don't have to lie—that's the truth! You just don't go around telling people things that that aren't their business."

"Now I'm going to turn you over to Abby out there. I have business outside of the school," Nathan said, rising from his chair. She has some forms and things for you to sign. After that she'll give you a tour of the school and show you the classroom where you'll be teaching."

James stood also, and shook Nathan's hand as he offered it to him.

"Abby knows about everything in your file," Smithling told him. "Around here, anything that Abby doesn't know is not worth knowing, and whatever she does know she doesn't talk about. She and I are the only ones in the school who know your background. Of course the Board members and Superintendent know, too."

*************

James sat at the side of Abby McIntire's desk. He filled out one form, then another. Abby took each from him when completed and inserted it in the correct file or envelope. It all had to do with taxes and benefits and was quite tedious. The only saving grace was that with the repetition James memorized his new address.

"What does the F-X stand for?" Abby asked idly about his middle initials as she checked a form.

"Francis-Xavier." Jim answered. Abby looked confused. "St. Francis Xavier was a founder of the Jesuit Order of priests," James explained. "My parents are very devout."

"And you're not?" Abby challenged.

"Well, I was—I should be. I'm just not very much right now." James was surprised that he uncovered himself to this person that he did not know. He felt strange—annoyance at the intrusion or relief in confession—he could not say which he felt. He ignored his feelings and went back to the forms.

"Would you like some more coffee?" she asked him as he completed the next-to-last form.

"No, thank you just the same," he answered politely. He decided to test his nerve. "Don't you want to know why I quit being a priest?" he asked.

"No." was the answer. James breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't really want to tell her, or anyone at that moment. He did want to plumb the depth of her curiosity.

"Nathan wouldn't have hired you if it had been something bad," she said in a soft voice.

He handed her the final page. Abby put it neatly into an envelope and set her things at the side of her desk.

"How about that tour?" she asked.

It wasn't a full tour. It started in the faculty lounge, where she outfitted James with his own locker, and wound its way to the Math Department office and settled him into his desk.

The Chairman of the Department just retired so the position is vacant now," Abby informed him.

Next, they walked down the hall to his classroom. James followed her lead down the hall and his eyes followed the sway of her hips under her denim skirt as he took up where he left off earlier in the office. With such a petite body her sway was more compact than many women, but it was there. Abby found the key and opened the door. James was at home for the first time in a while. Classrooms all seem to be the same. She pointed out the intercom and overhead projector.