Broken Nose?
Thursday, March 24, 2005
Maundy Thursday – already it had come that year, with the rain the wet and the lovely mists and fogs. Collette loved the weather, despite the sinking mud and gravel at the church office for a third morning in a row. The week was busy – Mansfield, work, class, work, choir, work, service, work… but once again, Collette found it good, and realized that the week was nearly over.
Shamrock was doing quite well. There had been a stack of party pizzas for dinner Wednesday night at the house while everyone watched the Jesus film, and the girls looked over fancy frills and colors to order. Beforehand, however, there had been a slight commotion.
“It’s broken,” Dad had announced calmly, walking into the living room.
Rose walked in sheepishly behind him. Her arms were crossed in front of her, and her shoulders drooped a bit, although she wore a silly smile.
“What?” Everyone seemed to ask at once. “What?”
“Carrie-Bri broke it.” Rose accused.
“I did not!” Carrie exclaimed from the other room. “I hardly hit it. It was just a magazine anyway.”
“You hit her with the binding,” Dad glared at her.
“No, I promise.” Carrie insisted, grabbing an unfortunate magazine from the kitchen table. “I threw it across the room, and it landed like this.”
Carrie smashed the magazine into her own face, where she would have been more likely to receive a dozen paper cuts, than a broken appendage.
Mom came over to check it out. “Martin, are you sure?”
“Let me see it,” Collette told Rose.
Rose turned sideways.
“There’s just a little dent. Let me feel it.” Collette compared Rose’s with Joe’s.
“It does feel different,” Collette admitted.
“Wow, it does,” Joe agreed.
“See?” Dad continued.
“I didn’t! I didn’t” Carrie insisted. “It doesn’t hurt, does it, Rose?”
“Well, yeah…” Rose went on cautiously.
Apparently, the matter was laid to rest. If it started turning black and blue, then they would know. But the evening had continued harmlessly, and all were satisfied.
Meanwhile, on the radio that morning, Collette heard of cultural events. Of the Hawk and Huron Indian exhibit at the Art Museum, of the “English Getaway” for a tour to London and a few days in the gardens and a sixteenth century manor, an auction where old pewter pieces and Norman Rockwell prints and gemstones would be sold, a fundraiser for the arts and dancing…
And the Canadians had a friend to visit the past week. She could have been his sister, perhaps – short and brown hair. She often wore sunglasses, so Collette could not see her eyes. She was happy for the girl, though. How nice it must have been to have a friend from home – Ontario – to share a week with, instead of staying indoors every day with the blinds closed. They went shopping during the day. And there was a delicious smelling barbecue one evening as the skies turned violet gray. Then Sunday she had gone, and Collette felt sorry for the girl once again. But perhaps it was not so bad – perhaps she was an artist or a writer, who drew her inspiration from the indoors, reading thick books.