EYE PATCH

We are living in the twilight of the gods when all that was good is no longer loved. And an eye patch darkens all that we would know.

Jesse did usually cause trouble, but he believed some thoughts must be given voice. 

The shirt said Ask me about my Savior. The letters were small and red, set against a gray background with a question mark bent into the likeness of a cross. He wore the shirt to school every day for a week, but it wasn’t until Friday that it became a problem.

“Mr. Burns? I’m sorry to interrupt your class, but would you send Jesse to the office.”

Jesse collected his books and trudged out of the classroom. He walked to the end of the hallway, turned left, then right, and reported to the principal’s secretary.

“Hi Jesse.”

She was frowning, never a good sign.

“Come in Jesse,”

The principal filled the doorway, and his scowl seemed to fill the room.

“Sit down. I’ll be right back.”

The principal left the room to give instructions to the secretary. She took a yellow sticky note from him and dialed the phone.

The principal returned to his desk, sat down, and stared at a spot on the wall above Jesse’s head. His mouth was slightly twisted in concentration, and he drummed his fingers on the desktop. Finally, he sat up and took a deep breath.

“Jesse you can’t wear that shirt to school. We have a dress code. You can’t wear a shirt that offends other students.”

“No one has said anything. And Miss Bliss said she likes the shirt.”

“That may be, but Mr. Burns and at least one parent have complained. Separation of church and state. You can’t wear anything that promotes a religious message.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make anyone feel bad. But the shirt says what I believe, I’m not ashamed . . .”

“This is school, Jesse. Not church. We don’t believe anything here.”

The principal paused. He sat back and raised his eyes again to the empty spot on the wall above Jesse’s head. He continued to lean back tiredly in his chair and continued.

“I mean . . . we don’t promote any specific beliefs here. Everyone is welcome.”

Jesse remained silent.

“Jesse, you’re a good kid. But we have a policy. You can’t proselytize at school. Other kids and the teachers might believe something different, so you can’t force your beliefs on anyone else.”

“What’s “pros-el-it-tize?"

The principal stared hard at Jesse.

“You can’t encourage other students to believe something against their will. That’s the teachers’ job. No. I mean . . .”

The principal stared at the spot on the wall. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. I need more money, he thought to himself. Then he let a long, loud sigh escape.

“That’s not exactly what I meant. You’re a student. You’re not supposed to make your classmates believe what you believe.”

“Okay. I won’t. Have I?”

“Yes, in a way, you have. This is the point Mr. Burns made: When you wear that shirt someone might be moved to actually ask you about Jes… to ask you about what your shirt says. Then if you gave an honest answer, that person might start to change his or her beliefs . . .  against their will.”

“Can a person do that? Believe something against their will. My friend Joey has a shirt that says I’m not apathetic, I just don’t care. But I still care about school and stuff.”

The principal sat back into his chair again. He closed his eyes, and after a moment felt the darkness growing tighter around him. He opened one eye and saw the right half of Jesse’s shirt, Ask me. . .”.  He rubbed both eyes and sat up so quickly his chair rolled back a few inches and he had to grip the edge of the desk and pull himself back into the proper position.

“The point is, Jesse, that you cannot wear that shirt anymore. We’re sending you home for the day.”

He stood abruptly and the chair slid back and crashed into the wall.

“Mrs. Black, have you gotten a hold of Jesse’s mother?”

“Yes. She’s on her way in. She was a little startled. She thought Jesse had been hurt. But when I told her it was only his mortal soul that was in danger, she seemed relieved.” Mrs. Black laughed wickedly. 

The principal came back into the office and stood over Jesse. The boy dropped his shoulders and turned to face the older man.

“Sir?”

The principal returned to his chair and sat down tiredly without returning the chair to the edge of the desk.

“Yes, Jesse, what is it?”

“Don’t you want to know the answer?”

“The answer to what.”

“To the question you’d have to ask if you did what my shirt says.”

“What question is that, Jesse?”

“Try it and see.”

The principal tried to lean back, but the chair was against the wall, and he had to remain upright. His eyes returned to the blank spot on the wall above Jesse’s head. He noticed a tiny hole high on the wall, no bigger than the point of a pin. He closed his eyes and felt his whole self being sucked into that tiny hole. The room felt hot, his mouth was dry, and his palms began to sweat. 

He opened one eye, Ask me about . . .

He opened his other eye . . . my savior.

The principal stood abruptly and strode to the doorway.

“Mrs. Black. No interruptions.”

He turned back into the room, pulled the chair back to the edge of his desk, and sat down. He leaned forward with his elbows on the desktop. The principal rested his chin on his folded hands and said . . .

“Alright, Jesse. Tell me.”