Chapter 6
Teacher's Pet

October 1969

Father Donahue was Willie's guidance counselor, and he noted the lad's growing depression and lack of friends. The priest suggested William join Choir. The singing group not only got off for practice but left the grounds frequently to perform in small concerts and shopping centers to raise money. But the student had neither an aptitude for music nor interest in learning those bleeding-heart hymns and Christmas carols. He also remembered what happened to John Paul Flynn.

Father's next idea was for him to become an altar boy. This also got you off duty roster, and came with another set of perks. He showed Willie the room where vestments were stored, and where the wine and wafers were kept. He poured a glass of wine for the student and himself.

Willie didn't think he would care to become an altar boy, but he liked drinking wine. It was sweet like grape juice and made his head fuzzy, reminding him of good times with Charlie.

"Do you think Jesus wants us to be happy?" Father asked conversationally one day.

"I dunno, Fadda." To him, Jesus seemed to be whatever someone wanted him to be at the time.

"I do. I think when we make each other happy, it pleases Jesus."

"I guess so," Willie shrugged. Didn't make much sense to him, but what the hell. It didn't cost anything to be agreeable, and Father D was being extra nice, having just poured his companion a second coffee mug of sacramental wine.

"Do you know what would make me happy, William?" The boy shook his head. "If you would tuck in your shirt properly. Here, let me show you." The priest unbuttoned Willie's pants and smoothed down his shirttails in the front and back. He was very slow and thorough.

Each time the child was called to Father D's office, he was treated to candy bars or chewing gum and several glasses of wine. Father showed him how to wrestle on the floor, and tickled him frequently. The boy noticed that his counselor would lock the door during these sessions.

When Willie drank too much, he would get drowsy and be allowed to nap on the little cot in Father's back room. The bed was eventually used for other things as well, but memories of these events were puppeteered to be as muddled as necessary. Novocain to the brain


As time went on, Willie was plagued with conflicting thoughts and fears, none of which he could express. Father Donahue was not only a grownup—but a priest. You can't disobey a priest. That was insubordination and a sin. But "their little secret" felt like a sin too—a big, fat mortal sin. However, a secret it remained, because there was no one the boy could tell. No one would believe him, and he would probably be horribly punished for fabricating such inconceivable lies.

Yet, the priest spoke tenderly to him, tutored him in his studies, hugged him and horsed around like the wise, caring father he had always dreamed of, but those hugs gave Willie the creeps, and he began to flinch and pull away whenever touched by anyone. And there were other times Father made uncomfortable remarks, in front of other students or in the Confessional, which seemed to have a sharp edge or double meaning. Every Saturday in Confession the lad was absolved and told to say two Our Fathers and two Hail Marys as his penance.

Thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven.
Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.
Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.

Willie memorized and recited the prayers, but he didn't have the vaguest idea what the words meant. He didn't think anyone else knew either, convinced that this whole religion thing had some pretty big holes in its bucket.

While he pretended nothing was wrong, Willie was secretly terrified that his group would grow suspicious when Father D would constantly pull him off the recess yard or reassign his chores. Had the other boys stopped speaking to him? Was Carlo sneering in his direction? Somebody called him teacher's pet. Maybe he was paranoid; it was hard to tell. The more he drank, the less he thought about it.

Eventually his fears were realized and Willie was dragged out of bed in the middle of the night onto the floor between bunks. Someone threw a pillowcase over him and held the adolescent down as two others punched and kicked him repeatedly, anywhere it would not show. He knew better than to yell for help. Afterwards, he heard Carlo's voice softly at his ear through the pillowcase. "Someday, he'll find someone younger and smaller, and he'll dump you too."

May 1972

Willie spent a lot more time in chapel, especially at night when he couldn't sleep, staring blankly at the Stations of the Cross or mass responses in a prayer book—Mea culpa, mea culpa. They stole that line from the Peter Pan book, but now he knew what it meant. It must be a common theme in fantasy stories.

Willie glared at the crucifix hanging over the altar. "Yeah, that's what you are—a big, stupid, fuckin' fairy tale!" The boy held his breath, waiting to be struck dead. There was a heavy silence except for the hum of dim overhead lights

"And—and I don't give a flying shit if you're happy!" He flipped Jesus the bird and launched the prayer book at a statue of St. Joseph who smiled benignly at him. No, it was St. Jerome. It said so on the base of the pedestal. Patron Saint of scholars, students and abandoned children. Again, he waited for divine retribution.

Willie stared at the rows of votive candles along the wall and mused briefly on what it would be like to light them all and knock the thing over, setting the whole place on fire. Burn that stupid shithole to the ground. Instead, the child grabbed another book and, dropping to his knees, beat it repeatedly on the seat of the front pew. The banging sound echoed through the cavernous chapel.

Willie was pulled to his feet. His tear-stained face looked up to see a fat lady he didn't recognize. She had short hair and was wearing a bathrobe.

"Whoa, now, what's the matter? Are you trying to wake up the whole school?"

It was Sister Gail, only she wasn't wearing her habit. Hysterically, Willie threw a punch in her direction but the nun expertly dodged it and pulled the boy into a bear hug.

"That's enough. Calm down."

The boy struggled fiercely, but Sister Gail was too big and strong and would not let go. Finally he succumbed and hugged her back, sobbing uncontrollably.

"You're going to be alright." The nun held him fast for several minutes, then lifted his chin to look at her. "Let's pull ourselves together, pick up these prayer books and go back to bed. Okay, bucko?"

"Okay, Sista."


After that, Willie wasn't called to his mentor's office anymore and, a short time later, Father Donohue was transferred to a parish in another city. He shook Willie's hand, promising to write and pray for him. Both knew that wasn't going to happen but the student didn't say anything.

His next guidance counselor was Sister Gail, and they had a rather different rapport. Boisterous and chubby, with a ruddy-faced smile, she liked to punch him affectionately on the arm. If they were alone, he punched her back. The night in the chapel was never mentioned.

Willie sat on the other side of Sister's desk during his annual review. The nun scanned his file while he tried to peek at the upside-down writing.

"Okay, Mr. Loomis, you're 15 years old now. Pretty soon we're going to lose jurisdiction over you. That means you'll move to a juvenile detention facility, return home or go into foster care." The young man stared at the pattern of carpet fibers. "So, what are you thinking?"

Willie's head jerked up; he didn't know he had a say in the matter. "I can go home?"

"Do you want to?" She read from the file: "The situation there has been re-evaluated and found to be suitable." The nun looked up to meet his eyes. "Now I don't know, maybe you're mad at her for sending you here, but you need to know, you mother didn't have a choice; she had to get her act together."

The youth nodded. He knew it wasn't Lyddie's fault; it was that policeman, Mr. Malone.

"Now would be a good time to start re-establishing a relationship with your mom." His heart skipped a beat. "She's agreed to let you come for a visit—next weekend, if you're okay with that."

Willie stood abruptly, pushing his chair back. "I'll go pack."

"Whoa, bucko," cautioned Sister Gail. "Take it easy. A lot has happened in five years, and there needs to be a court order before you can move back permanently. One step at a time."

"Yes, Sista. I'll go pack."