Slow Dance in Purgatory

The next few weeks passed in a blur of stolen moments and secret rendezvous, and Maggie grabbed every second with both hands and held on tight. When the early mornings and evenings weren’t enough, Johnny would attend her classes with her. Sitting in an empty chair or perched on her desk, he would contribute his thoughts on the various subjects, unbeknownst to her teachers or the other students around him. Maggie wondered how often he had done this very same thing over the last years. He could probably write a book on all her subjects or at the very least, teach the class.

Maggie had the difficult task of acting like he wasn’t there, though she hung on his every word, his every thought, and his every expression. His mere presence made her glow with happiness, and more than once, she had to make up an excuse for speaking out loud or giggling with, what appeared to be, her imaginary friend. In Math, Johnny would kneel by her desk and help her with her geometry proofs. In English, he would assist her with her reading, and in Chemistry he frequently helped her decipher complicated concepts and instructions. Maggie was thrilled to have her own personal tutor, and her grades had never been better.

Johnny seemed as enamored with her as she was with him, and every once in a while he would forget that he blocked the aisle alongside her desk, tripping and bumping unsuspecting passers-by. Those unlucky students would look around in confusion, wondering what they had stumbled over. Sometimes they thought it was Maggie who had stuck out a foot or jostled them as they passed. She got more than her share of dirty looks and often found herself blurting out awkward apologies for things she hadn’t done.

A few kids in Senior English started poking fun at her one afternoon, after she slipped and replied to Johnny’s comments out loud in a very quiet classroom. They were supposed to be silently reading Jane Eyre. Johnny was reading it out loud to her, making the whole assignment a million times easier. Plus, Johnny had to get very close in order to see over her shoulder and make it appear as if she were the one reading. Close to Johnny was close to heaven in Maggie’s world.

The story had started to take shape, and Maggie lost herself in Johnny’s voice and the romance between Jane and Mr. Rochester. Maggie could relate to the orphaned Jane who had so little. She was aghast when Jane discovered Mr. Rochester had a crazy wife hidden in the attic, and she was completely devastated when Jane decided she had to leave Thornfield Hall.

“But she loves him – she can’t go!” Maggie whispered. A few heads turned her way and then, shoulders shrugging, resumed their own reading.

“But he isn’t free to love her the way that she deserves,” Johnny replied gently.

“He’s crazy about her!” This time a few people snickered, but Maggie was totally unaware of them. Johnny laid a warning finger against her lips. Maggie looked up from the page into his beloved face, and all thoughts of Jane Eyre fled at the sadness in his gaze.

“Yes, he’s crazy about her – obsessed with her, even… and she loves him too. But it’s an impossible situation.”

Maggie knew Johnny wasn’t talking about Jane and Mr. Rochester anymore. Her eyes filled with tears, and she blinked rapidly, trying to hold them back. A few escaped and spilled out, sliding down her cheeks to freedom.

Johnny lifted his fingers and tried to capture them, but the tears slipped past, undeterred. It was as if the water slid right through his seeking fingertips.

“Why can’t I have a happy ending, just once?” Maggie’s voice caught on a sob, and the entire class looked at her like she had lost her mind.

“Miss O’Bannon? Are you okay?” Mrs. Olsen’s kind face radiated concern, and Maggie realized that she was crying in front of an audience – and not only crying, but seemingly talking to herself. She scrambled to wipe the tears from her cheeks and diffuse the embarrassing situation.

“Th-this b-book is just really s-sad,” Maggie gulped, mortified. Johnny had gone as still as Michelangelo’s David.

“It surely is, dear,” Mrs. Olsen agreed, rising from her desk to bring Maggie a tissue. “Carry on, class. Good literature should make us weep.”

Somebody coughed loudly, infusing the cough with the word “freak.” Muffled laughter rose from around the room. Dara Manning, the dance team captain, tried to copy the cough, only she inserted the word ‘loser’ instead. The smothered laughter and mocking comments continued throughout the remainder of the class. Maggie just slid her hand into Johnny’s, hoping he wouldn’t start sending things crashing around the room. He stiffened as if struck every time someone chimed in with a rude barb, but he didn’t retaliate. He continued reading to her until the end of class and, when it was over, slipped away, whispering the same words he always gave her – that he would be nearby.