Against the Wind Part 3 ...A Morning Crisis
I could have conceived of in my wildest imaginings.
― Iris Murdoch
Janice Turner
Drinking has always been my downfall—it cost me my career as a cop and later, as a teacher—sleeping with an underage girl is a new low, even for me.
Emily tossed me out of my flat and now I'm forced to scrape together whatever cash I have just to get by.
Six months pass, and I’m slapped with a paternity suit—Nicky’s pregnant.
I’m working nights in a brewery of all places—watching bottles endlessly pass before a light.
And yes, I'm just watching and passing up the two free beers they allow on lunch break and then again at the end of my shift. Got to set some boundaries...
But it's soul-killing.
Twenty minutes of staring mindlessly at brown bottles filing past—and then, for variety, I rotate to a new task—risking losing an ear to flying glass on a packing belt as beer bottles drop into cases with occasionally twisted liners.
Half my salary goes to atone for my sin. I become what every cop hates—a pedophile.
I can’t be a cop because of booze—now I can’t teach kids because— My mind won’t allow me to frame the thought. I have to push the word out of my head.
How did this happen? I know—Booze, of course. The fact I can’t recall the details is nothing new—it happens all the time on benders—and doesn’t lessen the guilt.
My life goes on this way for two years until one day there’s a knock on my door. I open it to Janice Turner, an ex-student.
“Hi, Mr. Devine.”
I’m slightly hazy—fortunately, just getting started—so, I can put on a sober face.
“Hey Janice! What are you doing here?”
“I found out where you were staying and wanted to drop by and see you.”
Her face is so open and innocent—it actually hurts me to look at her.
“I’d invite you in, but, under the circumstances…”
She smiles. “It’s all right, Mr. Devine—we can talk out here.”
She motions to what passes for a garden. You don’t get much in a cheap motel.
We sit at a picnic table so old and weathered it’s turned gray.
“So, what’s on your mind, Janet?”
“I know all about it, Sir—so you don’t have to be embarrassed. Nicky filled me in on all the details.”
“I see.”
My head’s aching and I scrub my face with my hands. I can feel heavy stubble—I probably look a mess.
"You say Nicky told you all the details?”
“She told everyone all the details. Kinda made me mad.”
“Ya well, that’s what happens, I guess.”
“Do you know what happened, Mr. Devine?”
“Not really—I was drinking—a lot. I was totally out of it.”
She pauses for a long moment then finally whispers, “I thought that’s what you’d say.”
I colour with shame. “Guess we all need an excuse.”
“I know you didn’t do it.”
“Aw, Janet—thanks. I know you mean well.”
“No, Sir—I mean I know you didn’t do it, because one night when Nicky was drunk she told me what really happened.”
Even through the fog of a morning-after hangover, Janice's words explode like a landmine inside me and I'm left staring at her in open-mouthed wonder.