The Special One. James Griffin

you very well knows I was raised a good Methodist girl.”

      “That’s what I’m talking about, Rosie. Your special way is God’s way, call it Catholic or Methodist. God doesn’t see the difference.”

      “Ah was taught to love mah neighbor. That’s what ah do.” Rosie declared with a huff, yet never losing the smile in her voice.

      “And each of us is more blessed because of it.”

      “Ah thank you, Father Carroll. Now I’ll be movin’ on ta ma nex room. You take good care o’ Miss Rhetta here now! I’ll see you later this evnin’, Miss Rhetta…”

      As the softer steps left the room and made their way down the hall, one could hear an angelic voice, singing,

      No more shall lords and rulers

      Their helpless victims press,

      And bar the door against the poor

      And leave them in the distress…

      Rhetta felt a pressure on her bed’s mattress as her priest sat beside her. His sweet scent, one of a man who might smoke an occasional cigar, met her. She felt a heaviness placed on her chest, then she felt him open it; it was a book. Father Carroll spoke, in a voice she had heard only in the confessional, just above a whisper:

      “Rhetta, I’m going to read a benediction to you now.”

      “In the Name of the Father, the Son, and of The Holy Spirit, we pray.”

      “Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy Kingdom come; Thy Will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily Bread, and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen”

      “Glory be to the Father, to the Son, and to The Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be. World without end. Amen.”

      “It is of the Lord’s mercies we are not consumed. Because His compassions fail not. Oh Lord, make haste and come to the aid of your servant Lorhetta.”

      “Rhetta, dear, Julie and Emily were in yesterday afternoon. They asked that I say a novena for you. I told them I’d be more than happy to do so. “

      “They’re both looking well, and that Emily… she’s already a grown woman. And three generations of piano players, to boot. “

      “They miss you and love you, Rhetta, as do we all as St. Mary’s. Cathleen has gotten more food delivered to the house than she knows what to do with. Poor woman will probably need to go on a diet soon because of your accident!”

      “The doctors are making their rounds now, so I will go. We’re all praying for you, though. The eight o’clock Mass just isn’t right without you there. Hurry back to us, as soon as you’ve finished up doing what you need to do, alright?”

      “God bless you, Rhetta Sweeney.”

      Rhetta felt his hand touch lightly on her brow, then patting her on her lower chin. While he did this she became aware of the sensation of bandaging on her left upper face, felt his eyes on her there.

      Scuffing of many shoes now, sounds of papers, people moving…

      “Oh, Father, we’re sorry; we didn’t know you were here.”

      “It’s fine, Dr. Birnbaum. I’m done here. Just let me gather up my things and I’ll be off.”

      Rhetta felt the prayer book’s weight being lifted from her chest, listened as the large steps left and went down the hall, then felt a new weight fall on her tummy.

      “Let’s see… How were the overnights, Debbie?”

      “No change in bp. Fluid output almost normal.”

      “Stop the diuretic.”

      “Noted.”

      “Let’s have a listen.”

      She felt cool air on her left breast, then the very cold stethoscope. Then it was on her neck.

      “Clear. The old gal is comin’ back to us, I’d say.”

      “At least her body is.” said a female voice.

      “Now you know these things can take time, Dr. Simon.”

      “Check her eyes.”

      Suddenly the room erupted in light. There were seven people standing at the foot of her bed! All dressed in white! I can see you! Can’t you see I can see you?

      “REM, same as yesterday. Stable. What does the family say?”

      The room went dark again…

      “Nothing yet, and it’s still a bit soon to ask.”

      “Debbie, how’s the stump healing?”

      “We saw a bit of color yesterday, but no temp.”

      “Let’s take a peek.”

      Rhetta felt her blanket being pulled back and her gown lifted, then a tingly sensation in her left leg.

      “It’s a bit warm, but to be expected. Watch her temp closely. You know the drill.”

      “Yes, doctor.”

      “We’re done here. Who’s in 251?”

      The shuffling of feet as they file out, then applause from across the hall. Someone must have won something big. Yes. A washer-drier combination.

      4

      “Rhetta? Lorhetta? Your father’s already out in the car! Hurry, dear! I’ve got your music… just please hurry down, will you? The show starts in twenty minutes!”

      “Oh bother, Mom! The library’s a whole two blocks away.” Rhetta mumbled to herself as she slipped the second dark red barrette into her long wavy brown hair. Then came the lipstick, matching the red of the barrettes as well as her nails. Pursing her lips twice, then blotting them with tissue, she sat back on the vanity seat in her bedroom and considered the vision looking back at her in the mirror.

      “This dress is so not appropriate for a concert, but I don’t care; it looks so good on me I’m wearing it anyway.” With her fingertips she puffed up the shoulders a bit, which were already gathered together into coral-colored floral shapes, reminiscent of peonies. Matching coral piping ran the lapel’s borders, the rest being polka dots on a white background. The top button was meant to be left open, but the next one down was about an inch lower than her mother would appreciate. The 21 year old Rhetta Sweeney knew fair enough ahead she’d hear about it once in the car, but by then they’d have no time to switch. Batting her eyelashes, she smiled into the mirror. She should have; she was a knockout and knew it. A knockout with talent.

      Sure as shootin’, her mother shook her head in bewilderment as Rhetta climbed into the back seat of the blue 1950 Plymouth Clipper her dad had just polished up. Turning around to look at her daughter, May Sweeney blew air upward, her lower lip pouting. “Lorhetta, is that a proper dress for a piano concerto?”

      Rhetta covered her smile with the back of her hand, looking out the window as her dad pulled the car into the road. She knew he cared more about the shine his almost-new car had more than what his daughter was wearing. And Daddy always got his way… almost always.

      It was the summer piano concerto competition at Codman Library. As flippant as she might have appeared, Lorhetta Sweeney was a fierce competitor, and she had done her homework. She actually relished putting people at ease with her demeanor, lowering their level of expectation with her appearance and comportment, then dazzling them with her raw talent. After all, the girl practiced more than just the piano all those hours each day of her young adult life. Yes, this Boston girl was well aware of the fact that how one walked up to and sat down at a piano could be just as influential as what she did after sitting down. And she didn’t