Chapter 2: A Ray of Hope

James was naked when he woke on Saturday morning. His bout of self-pleasuring the prior night filtered back into his consciousness. He had performed an act that he had vowed that he never would. It was a vow made only to himself. He had never broken his vows made to others, and to God, only this private one. As he lay in bed perusing the cracked ceiling he allowed that fact to rationalize the act, but the self-permission struck him as weak and he knew that he would struggle with it many times before final resolution.

It was time for his morning run. He dressed in running clothes and stepped out the door. The sunny weather was gone, along with his innocence. There was a drizzle that kept everything damp and it felt chilly. As he descended the stairway to the ground he wondered if the blonde goddess of the prior day would reappear. He stretched for a few minutes before starting out and looked around. No one was about, blonde or otherwise.

He set off on his run, thinking about his route. Yesterday's run had been a good introduction to his new surroundings, but hardly satisfactory for a routine. He decided to circumnavigate the school grounds. That would extend his exercise to something more challenging.

It was the Saturday before Labor Day. He wondered what he was going to do with himself. He knew no one; had nowhere to go. Descartes could only keep one company for a limited time. Even the library would be closed. He thought about the difference between loneliness and solitude.

He had thought that he craved solitude. He found all of it that he wanted. He thought that the difference was in the desire, or lack of it, to be alone. It was simple enough. He was finding that that there were deeper truths to be understood. There was a spectrum of the state of aloneness, wherein a person could find oneself drifting from red to violet without full awareness of the shift until it was too late.

Solitude caused a person to think, learn, meditate and achieve understanding. A person could exercise a mind and a body. Improvements of all sorts were possible that could not be achieved in the company of others. Outside influences were a distraction. As one would approach understanding, the intrusion of exterior influences would invariably disturb the purity of thought, the perfection of reasoned truth.

"Whew! I'm going bonkers already," James said out loud.

He was contemplating the meaning of loneliness, too. He really hadn't had a chance to experience it. Since he had driven into town he had been often in the presence of others, either at the diner, the school office, Mrs. Wilkinson, in the stores. He wondered to himself if it was the expectation of loneliness that worried him, or if the contacts had been less than satisfactory. He feared loneliness, but understanding of it eluded him. He looked ahead to days of nothingness if he could not travel back to the sweeter end of the spectrum. Yes, it was tricky business, this state of aloneness.

"I should have bought a television," he panted as he rounded a corner.

His blonde ideal did not appear. It might have been the rain. Maybe she had peeked out at the gray sky and slid back into bed and snuggled up to whomever she had slept with. It was sure that she had someone to sleep with. The young and strong, the beautiful, those who were sure of themselves, never worried about loneliness. They could choose solitude or togetherness when and with whom they wished. He pictured her snuggling with her lover, or husband, or husband-lover, thinking about the next steps the snuggling might lead to.

After a while he rounded the final corner and stopped in front of his Victorian-style rooming house. He walked up the long driveway to cool his muscles down. He would put on some coffee and take a refreshing, hot shower. This morning he decided to try making some breakfast. Later, he thought that he would take a ride around the countryside and learn what he could. He reminded himself to buy some wine for Nathan's party Monday night. The run had been good for him.

During his solitary travels over the weekend James made sure to find out where Nathan's street was, based on the directions that Abby furnished him as he departed the school office on Friday. It was on a cul-de-sac on the edge of the village. It was unclear if it was inside the village or just outside within the Town jurisdiction. Its location allowed it to take on a village or country look at the choosing of the occupant. As James drove past at six in the evening on Labor Day it looked as Nathan had arranged a little of both.

It was a ranch-style house—all on one floor. It wasn't a starter house or a down-sizer, but large and sprawling. It appeared to have been built more recently than most of the houses in the town. It sat atop a knoll on a double lot. The grounds were neatly kept. The house was made of red brick with a large picture window the focal point in the center. Evergreen shrubs flanked it and the dark green blended nicely with the brick. It was an edifice composed strictly of right angles. There were no arches, curves, oblique or acute angles. That fact stood out because it imposed a tone of plainness on the place despite its size and quality of construction. All-in-all, it was nice, but meticulously without ostentation.

The rainy weather of Saturday had given over to the comfortable sun of late summer. The driveway and street were full of cars. James finally found a remote empty space down the street and parked. He chuckled as he thought that the Nathan's house looked like a miniature of the school that he was in charge of. He grabbed his bottle of wine that had, unfortunately, warmed up and set out for the big house on the knoll. As he approached, the smell of a barbecue and traces of gray smoke rose from over the crest of the roof of the house. As he drew closer he could hear the cacophony of a dozen unconnected chattered conversations.

He didn't bother with knocking or the doorbell—just followed his ear to the source of the noisy crowd. As he entered the back yard James realized that it was the same scene that he had witnessed countless times during his teaching career.

As he looked about he could see that he could classify most of the party-goers into one of three categories. Huddled in one corner of the patio were a group of women, each with a glass of white wine in hand. James identified them in an instant—wives of teachers. They chattered away about little. Each looked slightly uncomfortable; as well they should, since they would rather have been elsewhere. They were probably counting down the minutes on an internal clock, nursing their Chablis and explaining to themselves why Nathan's big house wasn't really that much nicer than their own, after all.

In another corner stood a similar group, except they were the male counterparts of the first group—husbands of teachers. They were positioned around the keg, trading lies about fishing and golf. They looked a looked a little more relaxed than the women. They didn't care about Nathan's house and each knew how much beer remained in the keg.

James looked around at a half dozen smaller groups—the teachers. Not all of the teachers attended, of course. Many had their own family commitments. They were divided by department or discipline. They were undoubtedly discussing the budget for the coming year and how their department took all the cuts while the football team got new uniforms. It wasn't that James was cynical; even in a private school the scene played out without end.

He thought that he would try to guess the teachers' groups' subjects but felt a hand slap the back of his shoulder.

"There you are!" He recognized Nathan's voice and spun around to face him. James lifted the bottle of wine as his offering and Nathan took it with a simple 'thanks' and did not release his hold James' shoulder until he offered his hand to complete the greeting. It wasn't a strong, forceful grip that Nathan employed. It wasn't intended to be physical. The act and presence of it was enough to let James know that Nathan was in control. "Glad you could come. Let me show you around."

"I was an idiot to forget to invite you the other day," Nathan went on as they filtered through the crowd. "Abby told me that she took care of it and I was relieved." They stopped at the keg and Nathan poured James a beer. He didn't ask if he wanted one—just assumed that he did. James accepted it from him and he took a gulp.

"Just serve yourself when you want to eat," Nathan called out over the din. He pointed to a reserve of already-cooked hots and hamburgers and a bank of salads lined up on a table nearby. "This is our last barbecue of the year, so it has to be a good one!"

To James' surprise he was quite hungry and he loaded a plate with a hamburger and potato salad right away. Until that moment he hadn't realized how poorly he had fended for himself in his apartment. Nathan's eyes widened as he glanced at the heavily-laden paper plate.

"For me, cooking is still a learning process!" James confessed with a grin. Nathan laughed and said that he understood.

"Let me introduce you around," Nathan offered. "I suppose that we should start with your own department." He led James to a group of three men and a woman. They stopped their conversation as Nathan approached and stood waiting attentively for him to start speaking.

"This is James O'Toole. He'll be joining the Math Department this year. I thought that I'd bring him over so you could all get to know each other." With that, Nathan turned and left the group.

Each succeeding math teacher extended a hand to greet James. There were Bill, Ed, John and Doris. Each of the four appeared to be uneasy for an unknown reason. James felt that he would be fortunate if he could only remember their names. Doris appeared to designate herself to lead the questioning. She was a short, plump woman, about fifty. She had salt and pepper hair with streaks of blonde that made James suspect an abandoned attempt at coloring. Her face bore an aggressive expression, full of suspicion. James knew that they had never met, but somehow thought that he knew her.

"Where are you from, James?" she started. "Where did you teach? Where did you go to college? Why did you come down here to Bates?"

James answered each interrogative as it was posed. On the last one, he followed Nathan's advice.

"I realized that I had to switch to the public schools for the retirement and benefits. The Catholic Schools just can't give those." There were traces of nods from the audience. "I'm not getting any younger," he added, laughing at his own joke. His audience politely laughed along with him.

"Did Nathan hire you as the Department Chair?" one of the men blurted out.

"No! I didn't know a thing about it until I met with Nathan a few days ago," James replied in all honesty.

With that answer his fellow teachers broke into smiles and relaxed their postures. The mood turned more cordial.

"What are you teaching?" Doris asked.

James told her and a silent groan emitted from the group, ruining the mood.

"Four Sections!" Doris responded with disgust. James was confused. "We just got our load cut to three sections last semester. Nathan's trying to undo it through the back door. Of course, you had no way to know." James shrugged. In fact, in the Catholic school he had always been used to four sections, and took on a fifth on a few occasions when staffing was short.

"Sorry," he apologized. "I didn't ask for them. Nathan just told me the other day in the office."

The group of four rolled their eyes and seemed to accept his explanation.

"Where are you living?" Doris demanded. James sensed the end of the inquisition approaching.

"On Whitman St.—in a big Victorian house," James answered.

"Oh! That's my mother's house. I grew up there." Doris piped up. She decided to release James at that moment. James got the feeling that she would be comparing notes with his landlady the next morning.

After that, the group melted away. Doris, and one of the men, collected their spouses and started to edge toward the exit. One of the men wished James good luck. It was then that James saw her.

She had been inside the house. She strode out to join a group of three male teachers. Each wore a polo shirt and khaki trousers. They all had thick necks and narrow waists. Each crisscrossed sinewy forearms over their chests like steel belts. There was no mistaking that they were the gym teachers. Attaching herself to the group was the blonde runner from Friday morning.

She, herself, wore khaki cropped pants and a polo shirt. It fit so well, neither stretching the fabric nor allowing excess material to sag from her form. With her perfect, toned body, what else could she be but a physical education teacher, unless she was an athlete? Perhaps she was both. She assumed the center of attention of the group and obviously enjoyed it. She was careful to show a lot of teeth and come tantalizingly close to rubbing her perfect body up against that of one of her male colleagues, but never quite actually touching them. If she had recognized James she did not show it. He tried to convince himself to amble over and give himself another chance at her. But, he stopped. What chance did he have? After the rebuff of Monday morning he would only be inviting humiliation, especially as she was flanked by the polo-shirted Adonises from her department. He turned and headed for the door to go in the house.

Against one wall was the usual lineup of ladies waiting to use the rest room. He decided to head in the other direction. In the living room there was a gathering of people having a conversation. In the midst of it he spied Abby. As she saw him, Abby motioned James over to their corner.

"Listen, everyone!" she said in a happy voice. "This is James O'Toole. He's just moved down to Bates to teach math this year."

There were introductions all around. It was a friendly group. The last to be introduced was Abby's husband.

"Bubba McIntire!" the big man thrust out a meaty paw and grabbed James' hand before he had a chance to offer it. "Well, it's really Edmund— so you know why I like 'Bubba' better!" At the joke the whole group broke into hearty laughter.

"Bubba's just in today from the road!" Abby informed James. It seemed that the rest of the group knew it already.

"I've got my own rig. I drive over the road." he proudly stated. "I was just in Texas carrying piping from Pennsylvania for oil platforms. I'm going back down south on Wednesday."

"Oh, no!" cried Abby. "I thought that you were going to be home for a while." It appeared that he was breaking the news to her and the group at the same time.

"I forgot to tell you; sorry honey," the big man confessed sheepishly. "You know how good the money is on these oil platform runs."

Abby fell silent. The others started chattering again. No one noticed James looking at her. He couldn't help it, and compared her to the gym teacher-amazon-goddess out in the yard. James started telling himself that Abby's breasts were a lot larger than he originally thought. Sure, the younger gym teacher had it all over any woman in looks, but Abby wasn't so bad. The two women were so different, and the similar too. The biggest similarity was that both women had the ability to fuel fantasies in lonely men. The widest difference was that the goddess was inaccessible on her pedestal, while Abby, on the other hand was not.

She was older, a bit more ordinary, and flirted with him in the school on Friday. At least, he thought that she flirted. At any rate, when it was only a fantasy to be indulged James could make it flirting or not as he chose. She had called him into their group, a friendly act, which James knew would never have come from the blonde.

James told himself to quit staring. Bubba was standing next to him, and he might not be quite as friendly if he figured out what James was thinking about his wife. It would be a high price to pay for the indulgence of a daydream. He excused himself to go outside and freshen up his beer.

"I'll go with you—I need one too!" Bubba exclaimed, and James wondered if he had already been caught and the big man was going outside with him to set him straight.

"I'm not that good at that long-term gabbing," Bubba told him. "I've got the idea that it doesn't suit you very well either." He slapped James on the back, and they made their way to the keg. "I've only got myself for conversation when I'm in the cab of my truck."

The crowd was thinning. The keg was almost empty. With full beers in hand, they turned back inside when a man called out Bubba's name and got his attention. He moved to the side to talk with his acquaintance.

James realized that he didn't want to go back inside to stare at Abby again, to perhaps get caught and embarrassed. He aimlessly strolled round the yard. His stomach was full; he worked on his beer sip by sip. At the edge of the patio he stopped at a brick wall about waist high. He leaned against it while he looked out on the sun setting over the hills in the western sky.

"Hi, there!" he heard a female voice behind him. James turned to find a woman standing beside him. She was in her late forties; could have been fifty. She had a kind of 'Dolly Parton' look. She was a little more made up than the other women. "You're new!" she exclaimed.

"That's right, I am," James answered. "I'm James O'Toole. I'll be teaching math this year."

"I teach English, myself," she said. "I'm Victoria Morgan."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Victoria," James answered politely.

"You'd better call me 'Vicki'," she corrected. "Everyone does."