Joan of Snark Ch. 10

Joan ran down the hallway of her school as fast as she could. "Aaron!" she hollered. "Wait up!"

The boy with shaggy brown hair hurried out the front entrance of the building without turning around or uttering a single word.

"Aaron!" Joan bounded through the door not far behind her classmate. "Aaron, please talk to me!"

Finally Aaron halted, spun around and glared at Joan. "How can you be okay with what he did to you? How can you defend him?"

"I swear, Aaron, I'm the one who came onto him. I'm the one who initiated the entire thing. Mr. Selter tried to put a stop to things at first."

"Well, he should have kept trying," Aaron retorted.

"We didn't do anything wrong," Joan countered. "I'm eighteen. I'm an adult and I can make my own decisions."

Aaron seemed to carefully consider what she said. "Well, that's true. But he's still our teacher. It's still unethical for the two of you to do ... stuff ... like that."

"I know, I know," Joan sighed. "I think he just had a moment of weakness. I was tempting him and ... I guess I just wore him down."

"That's still no excuse," Aaron asserted.

"Fine, you're right. Mr. Selter and I made a mistake. And I'm so sorry you had to see that. But promise me you won't tell anyone?"

Aaron stared down at the ground for a long time. Then finally looking up at Joan, he said, "Why did you want to do that with our teacher? He's got to be forty at least. He's old enough to be your fath ..." Abruptly Aaron stopped speaking, suddenly realizing he might be saying something that he would later regret.

"He's old enough to be my ... what?" Joan asked pointedly.

"Nothing. Forget it," Aaron mumbled. He no longer seemed angry or indignant. Instead he looked at Joan with a sad pitiable expression.

Joan narrowed her eyes, realizing the reason for Aaron's change in attitude. "It has nothing to do with THAT!" Joan spat. "Just promise that you'll keep what you saw a secret!"

"He really should be fired," Aaron said.

"And what good would that do anyone?"

"It would prevent him from doing it to anyone else," Aaron pointed out.

"Trust me, I don't think Mr. Selter will do anything like that to a student ever again. He was devastated when you walked in on us. Believe me, he regrets the entire thing. There's no point in you trying to destroy his career."

Aaron clenched his hands into fists so tightly, his knuckles turned white. "You're sure that you're the one who initiated it?"

Joan solemnly nodded.

"And you really think that this is the first and LAST time he'll ever try something like that with a student?"

"Absolutely!"

"I don't know Joan ..."

"Aaron, please!" Joan pleaded with her classmate.

"Fine, I won't say anything to anyone," he replied reluctantly. "But can I just ask you one thing?"

"Sure ... I guess," Joan hesitantly agreed.

"Why on earth would you want to do something like that with our teacher? I mean, did you have a crush on him or something?"

Joan shrugged. "I don't know. He's not exactly ugly. He obviously has some skills from years of experience. And he ..."

"Okay, okay! I'm sorry I asked," Aaron cut her off. "Please, I don't need to be hearing about our biology teacher's 'skills.' Ugh!" the teenage boy shuddered in disgust.

"Well, you wanted to know ..."

Aaron looked her in the eye and seriously said, "The only reason I asked is that it just doesn't seem like you to do something like that. I mean, you're usually a good student. But you haven't been doing your homework recently. And then after class you tried to get it on with our teacher. I mean, you work at the rectory, for christ's sake, Joan. Sorry, but the last couple of days, you just don't seem to be acting like yourself. What has gotten into you?"

What HAS gotten into me, she wondered silently to herself. What has gotten IN to me? As the statement echoed around in her mind, the words took on a much more literal and ominous meaning than her classmate had intended.

She was quickly reminded or her nightmare from the previous evening. She dreamed that a snake had crawled out of her waste paper basket and up onto her bed. Then to her horror, the imaginary serpent had slithered up her body, into her mouth and down her throat. As she looked down in terror, she had seen the skin of her abdomen stretch and ripple as the reptile moved around in her stomach.

Of course it had all just been a bad dream. There was no snake. But still, what if something had invaded Joan's body? What if there was some outside force residing inside of her, causing her to act in ways that were out of character for her? What if the snake was real? But instead of a snake, what if it was something ... else? Something worse. Something much worse. Something dark and malicious.

Joan shook her head and silently chastised herself. Of course such things did not exist. Her strange behavior could be explained by any number of factors. She was sleep deprived from having had nightmares for the last three evenings. She was sexually frustrated from Father Ben's teasing and touching. She was envious of her best friend's relationship. And she felt jealousy and anger when she saw Father Ben and Lil together. No wonder she was acting crazy. She just needed a good night's sleep and maybe eventually she could get herself laid.

"I've just been having a rough week," Joan explained. "I haven't been feeling like myself."

Aaron nodded in understanding. "You know, if you ever need to talk about things ... I mean, I know things have been hard for you ever since your father ..."

"That's not it," Joan said curtly. "It's other stuff."

"Well, if you ever want to talk about ... 'other stuff ...'"

"Yeah, thanks. But I think I can work it out on my own."

"Joan," Aaron said softly, "you don't need to keep everything to yourself. Talking with someone or asking for help doesn't make you weak."

"Aaron, I'm fine!" Joan snapped. Her words sounded harsher than she had originally intended.

"Alright, whatever you say," Aaron rolled his eyes. "Forget I even offered."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to be so rude. I'm just really tired," Joan mumbled.

"Yeah, no probs. Get some rest, I guess." Aaron turned away from her and resumed his walk home.

As Joan watched him stroll down the sidewalk, she called out, "Hey Aaron!"

He turned around, looking mildly surprised.

"Thanks ... you know ... for promising not to tell!"

"Sure," he responded with a slight hint of trepidation. He then seemed to subtly shake his head, probably with disapproval, as he continued down the street.

Joan knew that Aaron was not keen to keep her secret. But she was fairly confident that he would not disclose to anyone what he had seen taking place on their teacher's desk after their biology lesson.

Deciding that she would feel a a whole lot better after a long nap, Joan began to make her way home. She desperately hoped her sleep would not be plagued by dreams goats, snakes, birds or naked redheads.

*

"Joanie, what are you doing home so early? I thought you had to work at the rectory this evening?" Joan's mother was peeling apples at the kitchen counter next to the sink.

"Making your famous apple pie?" Joan asked, trying to change the subject.

"Yes," he mother replied putting down the vegetable peeler. "I thought we could go visit Father O'Connor in the hospital tomorrow evening. I figured he could use a break from all of that bland hospital food."

"What do you mean 'we?'" Joan scowled.

"Well, I expect you to go with me, Joanie. I would think you would want to tell Father O'Connor yourself that you hope he gets better."

"Can't we just buy him a get well card? I'll sign it and then you can give it to him when YOU go to visit him," Joan suggested.

"Joanie, that man is your parish priest. That alone is reason enough for you to go. But he's also your employer. You have to go visit him in person!"

"He's not my employer anymore," Joan muttered.

"What was that? What did you just say?" Her mother wiped her hands on a dishtowel and stood with her hands on her hips.

Joan took in a deep breath and repeated, "I said, 'He's not my employer anymore.'"

"And why exactly is that?" her mother demanded to know.

"Well ... uh ... last night ... Father Ben and I ... um ... got into a bit of a fight." Joan looked down at the floor and hoped that her mother would not ask for details.

"You and Father Ben got into a fight?!" her mother practically screeched. "Why on earth would you fight with Father Walsh? What did you do?"

I called his childhood friend a slut and a baby-killer, Joan silently recounted.

"Uh ... we had a ... difference of opinion on ... a couple of moral issues," Joan said vaguely.

"What did you say to him?" her mother shouted.

"Nothing that wasn't true," Joan shot back.

"Joan Marie Hubert, what is wrong with you? Why do you always have to be so disrespectful? Father Walsh is a priest and he's also your boss at the moment! When you're working at the rectory, why can't you just keep your blasphemous opinions to yourself? Just shut your mouth and do as he says?"

"Well, he's not my boss anymore," Joan stated matter-of-factly. "And I'm not even sure he's actually a real priest."

"What's that supposed to mean?" her mother suspiciously asked.

"Nothing," Joan said quickly. "But the point is that I quit. And I am NEVER going back to the rectory. And I'm not going to church anymore either. And I am definitely not going to go visit crotchety old Father O'Connor in the hospital. I'm eighteen and I don't want to have anything to do with the Catholic Church anymore!"

"You don't mean that Joan. You can't mean that! You father is probably rolling over in his grave right now, listening all of the horrible things you're saying."

"Corpses don't move on their own, Mom. And dead people can't listen to anything," Joan said flatly.

"Your father IS listening to you. From up there." Joan's mother pointed up toward the ceiling.

"Dad's listening from the bathroom?" Joan sarcastically asked.

The older woman glared at her. "You know what I mean," she said through gritted teeth.

"Dad's not in heaven. Dad's dead."

"Joan, stop!"

"There's no heaven, Mom."

"Joan ..."

"And there's no god."

"Joan!"

"Dad's just gone. And we are never EVER going to see him again. He's not listening to us. He's not rolling over in his grave. He's just ... nothing."

"Joan," he mother said with tears in her eyes.

"And someday, Mom, you'll be dead and gone. And I'll never see you again. Because you'll have become nothing."

A tear rolled down her mother's cheek.

"And then someday I'll die. And that'll be it. Our whole family ... gone ... nothingness. That's just the way it is."

Joan's mother broke down and began weeping. "How can you say those things?"

As Joan witnessed her mother sobbing, she could not help but feel a pang of guilt. She did not feel that she should be forced to hide her atheism from her mother. However, it had never been her intention to make her mother cry.

"Mom, if you find it comforting to believe that Dad's in heaven ... uh ... then fine. I guess Dad's in heaven," she weakly suggested.

Red faced, the older woman looked at her daughter through her tears. "When did you become so hateful?"

"Being an atheist doesn't make me hateful. It just makes me rational. Logical. Sane."

"So what am I?" Joan's mother angrily inquired. "Irrational? Illogical? Insane?"

Joan could not help but smirk. She tried desperately to stifle a laugh. "Well, if the shoe fits ..." she sniggered.

She should have been expecting it. But it was still a shock when her mother's open right hand made contact with Joan's left cheek. This was not the first time she had been slapped in the face by her mother. But she was still taken aback when it actually happened.

Joan could feel her blood pressure rise as a hit of adrenaline surged through her veins. She and her mother stared at each other for a split second. Despite being the one who had delivered the blow, even her mother looked surprised by what had just happened.

Then, without thinking, Joan's fingers curled together, forming a fist. Her hand flew out from her body. She punched her mother in the face as hard as she could. The older woman crumpled and collapsed to the floor in a disheveled heap.

Speechless and wide eyed, Joan looked down in alarm at what she had just done. Cradling her head in her hands, Joan's mother began moaning in pain. Tears continued to pour from her eyes and blood began to trickle from her nose.

Remorseful, Joan crouched down next to the older woman. She reached out and gently placed her hands on her mother's shoulders. "Oh god Mom, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean ..."

"Don't touch me!" Her mother tired to shake off Joan's tentative embrace. "Get away from me! It's like I don't even know you anymore! It's as if you've become a different person!"

Joan quickly stood up and stepped away from the sobbing woman. She then grabbed the dishtowel off of the counter and handed it to her mother. "Here. For the blood ... coming out of your nose."

"What has gotten into you Joan?" her mother wheezed trying to catch her breath. "What has gotten INTO you?"

And there was that question again. What had gotten into Joan? What was making her behave this way?

"Listen Mom, I really am sorry. I didn't mean to. I acted without thinking. I don't expect you to forgive me," Joan rambled as she headed toward the door. "But just know, I didn't want to."

"Exactly where do you think you're going?!" her mother shouted, still sitting on the kitchen floor. She brought the dishtowel to her nose to catch the blood.

"I need to go see someone," Joan replied as she swung open the screen door. It squeaked loudly on its hinges.

"Who?!" her mother demanded to know.

"Someone who can help figure out what's gotten into me," Joan answered as the screen door slammed shut behind her.

"What are you talking about?"

Joan did not bother responding as she ran down the steps of her front porch. She did not know how to explain it. And even if she tried, her mother would not believe her anyway.

As she walked briskly down the street, she could not quite believe it herself where she was headed. But she urgently wanted to know the reason for her strange behavior and nightmares. And she was even more desperate for a solution. As she made her way toward St. Vincent's Church, Joan hoped that she would find what she was looking for at the rectory.

*

Joan tried to steady her nerves as she knocked on the door. I can't believe I'm doing this, she though to herself. After the way Father Ben had punished her the previous evening, she never imagined that she would step foot in the rectory ever again. But she did not know where else to go. She was behaving in a way that she could not explain and she hoped that Father Ben might be able to offer her some answers.

The door opened and Father Ben greeted her with a smug knowing smile. Why wasn't her surprised to see her, Joan wondered. After what had transpired between the two of them the evening before, Joan should have been the last person he expected to see. However, he did not seem at all astonished by her unannounced arrival.

"Joan, how lovely to see you this evening! What can I do for you?" he asked with confident ease.

Joan silently seethed as she looked up at his arrogant face. "I need to talk with you about something," she said, forcing herself to answer.

Father Ben stepped aside and opened the door up wider. "Come on in."

Joan made her way into the living room and looked around. "Is Lil here?"

"No, she's out for the evening." Father Ben plopped himself down on the couch.

"Again?" Joan took a seat in the armchair.

"She's pretty busy," the young priest shrugged.

"She seems to do alot of work at night."

"Yes," Father Ben nodded nonchalantly, not bothering to offer any sort of explanation. "So Joan, what is it that you wanted to discuss?"

"Well, I don't know where to begin, Father. I just haven't been feeling like myself recently. And today, I've done some pretty terrible things. I ... I ..." Joan's voice began to crack as tears welled up in her eyes. How could she bring herself to say out loud what she had done? She seduced her biology teacher and struck her mother in the face. How could she admit to doing such monstrous acts?

"It's alright Joan, I'm a priest. I'm constantly listening to people's sins during confession. There's nothing you could say that would shock me."

"Well, first of all, I had a nightmare last night," Joan said. "I dreamed that a snake crawled down my throat." Joan shuddered as she remembered the vivid horrifying dream.

"That sounds quite unpleasant. But you must have felt relieved when you woke up and realized that it was just a nightmare," the clergyman said optimistically.

"Well, the thing is, Father, I'm not sure that it was 'just a nightmare.'"

"What do you mean?" he asked, puzzled.

"Well, I don't think an actual snake crawled into my body. But what if something else entered me last night?" Joan's voice was shaking. "What if something is inside of me right now?"

"I'm sorry Joan, but I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Today I found myself doing things that I would normally never do, Father. It's like I'm not in control of myself anymore," Joan divulged.

"Like what?" the handsome young cleric leaned forward in his seat as he inquired.

"I ... I ... I punched my mother in the face." Joan burst out crying. "How could I have done that, Father? I'm a horrible person!"

Father Ben leaned back and clasped his hands together across his lap. "Well," he began, "you definitely shouldn't have done THAT. You did do a very bad thing. But it doesn't make you a horrible person."

"Horrible people do horrible things," Joan countered.

"But like you said, that's not something you would normally do. You performed a terrible action, which was out of character for you." The priest brought his left hand to his chin. He stroked his thick five o'clock shadow that was beginning to grow in. He looked at Joan thoughtfully. "Joan, I know things have been hard for you ever since your father passed away. It's understandable that such a tragedy would take a tole on your relationship with your mother."

"Enough of a tole to make me punch her in the face?" Joan asked dryly.

"That was wrong. And you will need to apologize to your mother for that. But I'm sure your mother's not a perfect person. She makes mistakes, just like everyone else. It's going to take time. I don't imagine your mother will forgive you right away. But the two of you will eventually get past this."

"You really think so?" Joan asked uncertainly.

"She's your mother, Joan. She's undoubtedly angry with you right now. But she loves you unconditionally," the clergyman assured her.

"I don't know ..." the teenage girl said with somber cynicism.

"I don't think a temporary loss of control during a moment of extreme anger means that something evil has invaded you. When you go home tonight, apologize to your mother. Try your best to be a good daughter. This will all blow over," the priest advised in a comforting tone.

"But Father," Joan said quietly as she looked down at the green carpet. "Hitting my mother isn't the only awful thing I've done."

"Oh?" Father Ben asked with piqued interest. "What else did you do?"

"Well," Joan nervously swallowed. "I ... uh ... you see ... I have this teacher for biology class. Mr. Selter. He's really nice. And he's a really good teacher."

She glanced up at Father Ben. He stared at her intently. The sides of his lips began to curl up into a smirk. "Yes, go on," he encouraged.

"Um ... today ... after class ... I ... uh ... I sort of came onto him," Joan confessed. "I tried to seduce him." Joan closed her eyes as her cheeks burned red.