When the train finally chugged to a stop and his fellow passengers filed slowly out of the narrow compartment, banging boxes and bags into his knees as they went, Sean Elliot found that he could not bring himself to rise from the uncomfortable seat his lanky frame had been crammed in for the past six hours.
His nose was already running, eyes already itching and watery. He blew his nose laboriously into his handkerchief with a quiet groan. Ten years gone by and still nothing had changed.
Sean Elliot still seemed to be allergic to New York City.
When Father Dominic had informed Sean of his new post in Manhattan, Sean hadn't complained. Of course he hadn't, though he was sure one word to the kindly old priest would have sent him elsewhere. Father Dominic liked him. He would not have questioned Sean's request. But Sean had remained quiet, as was his nature. He hadn't wanted to cause trouble, hadn't wanted to be a pest. If this were what the church—and God Himself, of course—wanted of him, he would be a humble and obedient servant and comply. Of course. Sean accepted the post and packed his bags without so much as a sentence of complaint, though his insides were twisting themselves in painful knots. And as the train passed into New York from Massachusetts, he could not help feeling a pang of sadness and yes, perhaps even dread, despite the fact that he was returning to the place that had seen him through the best years of his life.
He sat alone in the empty car for some time, gazing at the shadowy buildings that were looming outside his window, half hidden by thick April fog, fearing the moment he would have to walk back into the city of his youth, a place he had left behind so abruptly, all those loose ends fluttering in the breeze like ribbons in a girl's hair.
Ribbons in a girl's hair. They were always green—emerald green that would make her eyes glow. Oh, her beautiful blue eyes. Always laughing, teasing... Sean suddenly stopped himself, shoving the image from his mind. There they were again. The hints of feelings, feelings that made his cheeks burn with shame. Don't think about that anymore. He purposely let the clasp of his luggage snap onto his fingers. Pain. There, that was better. The other feelings shrank away like cockroaches scurrying from a bright light. Think of that, instead. Or the others. Think about them. They were much safer than she was. What had the years done to them?
Prodded by an impatient conductor, Sean stood and collected the rest of his bags, wondering still at what had become of his past. Would the memories overcome him like a thousand angry phantoms as he walked the streets, suffocating him with a sense of nostalgia that he simply could not resist?
Descending the stairs, Sean uttered a prayer into the mist that covered the city like a blanket, muffling the sounds of the street vendors shrilly hawking their wares nearby.
Dear Lord, creator of all that is good and pious, I am your humble and loyal servant, obedient to you and you alone…Please protect me.
Protection from what, exactly, Sean still was not sure. But it was protection that he felt he needed most desperately, and it was protection then that he prayed for.
Two Weeks Later
"Father Sean!"
The shout shattered the comfortable, contemplative silence that had settled upon Sean's small apartment like a fine dust, and made him jump, clobbering his head against the bookshelf that he was attempting to put together.
"Father Sean! Have I come at a bad time?"
Having extracted himself from the shelf, Sean sat back on his heels to see who the unwanted visitor was, all gruff voice and booming baritone. "No, Father Anthony. Not a bad time at all," he said with a tight smile, trying in vain to replace his rush of irritation with compassion for the visitor. He had been trying to assemble the bookshelf for half an hour, and maybe five minutes more and he would've had it done…But the old man was not to be ignored. Being the only other priest at Saint Benedict's, the portly fellow was all Sean had, really, by way of a companion. "What can I do for you?"
"I was just in the neighborhood, and thought I'd make a friendly visit. How's the apartment?" Father Anthony began walking about the bare room, pausing at every window to push it open. Sean watched. And sniffled. Where was his handkerchief?
"It's…coming along. I do wish there had been room in the rectory for me. I feel distanced from the church, from the parishioners…" Sean sighed, "it's a shame."
"It certainly is," returned Father Anthony, content with the spring air slipping through the apartment and now lowering his considerable girth onto a wobbling kitchen chair. "But we have no other choice. The sisters from Saint Agatha's are staying a bit longer than expected. Not that anyone minds, bless their souls. But as soon as the room is free, I promise …It's all yours." He smiled at his young counterpart. "But until that day comes, this isn't a terrible arrangement, now is it?"
Sean paused to survey his new home. It was nice enough. A big room that served as both a kitchen and a living room, with windows lining the wall to let the spring sunlight pour in and a bedroom adjacent to it, tidy and small. Perfect for any young man on his own.
But Sean hated it. No…not hate. Resentment. Yes, that was the right word. Resentment. He was a priest. He should be living in the Rectory, as priests are meant to do. Not an apartment a few buildings down. Finally, after years of sacrifice and hard work and endless study, Sean Elliot was now Father Sean Elliot, and still he did not feel like a proper priest.
The entire thing was absurd, if you asked him.
But no one did. And even if they had, Sean wouldn't have said anything. He kept quiet, confessed his sins of bitterness, his feelings of inflated self-regard. He built a bookshelf. He waited.
"No sir, not terrible. Not at all." When was Father Anthony going to leave him again to sniffle and sneeze in peace?
After eyeing the young man for a few quiet minutes, Father Anthony rose laboriously to his feet, frowning. "Sean m'boy, it is a glorious spring day. God has given us a gift!"
Sean simply nodded, unsure of what else to do. Father Anthony was an odd fellow. This was a man renown for his unorthodox ways…and Sean wasn't even sure if he had consulted with the Arch Diocese about Sean's peculiar living arrangements. "Yes, sir," he agreed tentatively, "beautiful."
"Then why are you sitting inside?" He thundered, a wry smile on his lined face. "Get out there and take a walk! Enjoy the city! Get the feel of it under your fingers, under your feet. New York City is like no other city in the world. Have you been out walking since you've got here?"
Sean shook his head. "N-no sir. I was busy…"
"Enough housekeeping, Father. Get your rear end outside for some fresh air, and that's an order!"
This sent Sean scurrying. "Yes sir!"