Life in a Fishbowl

“But, Cardinal Trippe,” she began, “we still have an opportunity to bring glory to this parish—”

“I’m sorry, Sister. This is the ending we wanted. I implore you to put Mr. Stone out of your mind. If anything, perhaps you should call on the family and see if you can provide comfort in their time of need.” The Cardinal offered a blessing, bade her good-bye, and the line went dead.

The Sister slammed the phone down in anger, then crossed herself three times and said two Hail Marys to atone for her outburst.

All the steam went out of her. She hadn’t realized she’d been standing, and she flopped down in her chair. Perhaps, she thought, the Cardinal, fool that he is, is right.

Sister Benedict Joan had no intention of visiting Mr. Stone and his family; he wasn’t even a member of the parish. She did her best to forget about the whole sordid ordeal.

***

Jackie wasn’t prepared for the reaction waiting for her at school. She and Megan had stayed in Jackie’s room all night, so neither one had seen their mother and father on the evening news. But lots of other kids had seen the telecast, or at least knew about it.

For the most part, everyone avoided Jackie, which wasn’t anything new. On a normal day Jackie would walk down the hall unnoticed, like she was a ghost. No one would make eye contact because they couldn’t see her.

But today was different. Suddenly, everyone could see her, but no one wanted to look.

She arrived just in time for her morning free period and went straight to the computer lab. A few people looked up as she entered, all of them turning their attention back to their computer screens a little too quickly, like she was disfigured, like she’d been struck by lightning. Even the teacher avoided making eye contact.

Jackie found a free terminal, logged on to Facebook, and lit up when she saw the little green dot next to Max’s name. He was online.

She started to type hello when his message popped up:



Max

Solnyshko!



This was the very first Russian word Max had taught Jackie. It was a term of endearment that meant “little sunshine.” She loved it.



Jackie

Hi, Max

Max

For why were you looking me last night?

Jackie

It’s “why were you looking for me last night,” Max.



He insisted that Jackie correct his English at every opportunity.



Max

Yes, why were you looking for me? I am sorry I was not online.

Jackie

That’s okay. It’s just that I had some bad news, and I needed to talk to someone.

Max

What news is this?



This was the first time Jackie was confronted with talking about it to anyone other than her family. Even typing it was harder than she realized it would be.



Jackie

It’s my dad.

Max

Your father, yes?

Jackie

Yes. He’s dying.



The words lay there on the screen, flat and without emotion. Pixels without meaning. Only they held all the meaning in the world for Jackie.



Max

Is this some American catchphrase for which I do not know the meaning?

Jackie

He has a brain tumor.



There was a long pause before Max responded. Jackie filled the void with a million unpleasant thoughts.



Max

Solnyshko, I do not know what to say. I am, what is the word, condolences.

Jackie

Thanks, Max. I’m sorry to dump this on you.

Max

Nyet, this is what friends are for.

Jackie

I’m not sure that’s something I would know anything about.



Jackie hated herself for sounding so pathetic, but she didn’t know what else to do, how else to be. The reality of her father’s condition was starting to settle in, to become inescapable, and Jackie started to cry.

It was silent weeping at first, followed by audible sobs, ending with near-hysterical wails of despair.

The teacher, a nice woman named Ms. Onorati, was at her side in an instant. With a gentle touch, she took Jackie’s elbow, helped her to her feet, and guided her to the nurse’s office, whispering platitudes all the way down the hall. The Facebook chat was left unresolved.



Max

Solnyshko?

Max

Jacquelyn?

***

Glio caught a whiff of something grotesque coming from the limbic region of Jared’s brain and stopped dead in his tracks. No, he thought, not grotesque, dangerous.

He was interpreting electrical impulses that had been converted from nearly undetectable odors and rendered as unconscious thought. The undetectable odors were coded and relayed to Jared’s brain by a vestigial organ, the vomeronasal organ, located between Jared’s mouth and nose.

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