Confessions Of A Parochial School Student.

That car short ride was one of the most awkward experiences I had ever had. I didn't know what to say or where to look, so I ended up watching the rain hit the passenger's side window more than half the time. I was surprised to find out that he drove a fairly recent make and model of car. A black '94 or '95 Ford Taurus, I was never really certain about a car's year. I snorted a bit in an attempt to hold back my laughter as I thought; Did you expect a horse and buggy?

"Pardon?" he asked, his voice just an octave higher than the swish of the windsheild wipers, and I realised that he'd heard me, "Are you well, Miss Jacobs? Shall I turn up the heat?"

"I'm fine, Mr. Lismore, I was just..." I stumbled over what to say, how to hide my tracks, "Thinking of something a friend told me..."

"Hmm," he seemed distracted. It couldn't be the typhoon he was attempting to drive in, could it? "Indeed."

I glanced down at his briefcase and saw that his initials were A.S.L. which caused me to bit down so hard on my tongue that I thought I tasted blood. Anyone with an internet connection would find those intials humorous, though, even as the thought crossed my mind, I knew how utterly immature it was.

I spent the rest of the trip wondering what his full name was, as he's always been "Mr. Lismore" to everyone who occupied a locker space from the first day he'd arrived. Come to think of it, he was probably "Mr. Lismore" to most of the faculty as well.

"Where do you live, Miss. Jacobs?" he asked, interrupting my mental speculation of what males names that begin with A and S sounded best together and "Lismore-ish".

"Uh, I...live on 2708 East Lilac..." I gave my address as automatically as a machine, just as quick as my parents had drilled it into me at the age five after I'd nearly been kidnapped at the local mall. Actually, that wasn't entirely true. I'd found my way out of my mother's line of vision for ten minutes to check out the toy isle and they found me curled up inside the stuffed animal bin, fast asleep. I'd missed my nap that afternoon.

As we pulled into the driveway behind my mother's suv, he turned the car off and turned to me. It was dark save for the porch light which added little to no illumination inside the car. He reached overhead and flicked the dome light on. "Miss. Jacobs," he began, and I found myself, not for the first time, wishing he would call me by my first name, but I knew it would be too forward to suggest. If I was worried about asking him to drop the formality about names, how would I ever aquire the nerves needed to find out if...

"Miss. Jacobs," he began again, gaining my attention once more. God, I must seem like the poster child for A.D.D. "I feel as if I must be completely honest with you. You are a very good student. Not expectional, no, but I do believe that you could go far...if only you..." Oh, great, here it comes...the "apply yourself" speech.

I wanted to reach for the doorknob, but held myself in check, knowing any movement that wasn't aimed at complete and utter attention at every word he was saying would be viewed as disruptive and disrespectful and probably gain me a lifetime of homework and denentions.

And half of those denetions wouldn't even be with him. He'd been known to hand off his most unruly students, well, unruly by his standards, to the school janitor for a more...janitorial type...punishment. Or education. Depending on how you wished to look at it.

"...didn't become so distracted in class," he went on, much to my shock, and now he really did have all my attention, "I am uncertain of any of your other classes, as I am not privy to them, but as for mine, well, there is a time and place for daydreaming and fidgeting and I will not have it from a student while I am attempting to teach. Do you understand?"

I nodded, even though his voice and very present was making me feel a mixture of...of...something I really couldn't explain. I knew I needed out of that car. I needed cold, wet rain on my face, on my skin. Anything to stop the burning, prickly feeling that had begun wriggling over the topmost layer of my skin.

He was still looking at me with those blue, blue eyes of his. Unblinking. He wore his glasses and I wanted so much to reach across the seat and lift them from his face, smooth the lines of his brow with my fingers and trace where I'd touched with my lips.

I knew I needed to open the door and leave before I did something I'd regret later. Where was the door latch? Why wouldn't it open?! My fingers fumbled and I felt a moment of sheer panic. It was short, but percise and terrifying.

Until I felt Mr. Lismore's arm snake across my lap and his upper body press a bit into my side, to flip the latch open for me. "Is there anything the matter?" he asked, his dark brows meeting in concern, "You are white as a sheet, Althea, are you certain that you aren't coming down with anything? Miss. Jacobs?"

I flinched away as he reached to touch my forehead. It was a familar gesture, one my own father and mother have done to me on many occasions, and yet it was as strange an act as if he'd shown up one day wearing tights and a rainbow coloured beret singing showtunes at the top of his lungs. And...it was not lost on me, he'd addressed me by my first name.

Was it just a fatherly concern for my well-being that had lowered his guard...however momentarily...and caused the slip? I was going to have to go to confession this week for the thoughts that began rushing through my mind, not the least of which was hoping he felt something other than a paternal, mentor/student affection for me...

"I'm...I'm fine, Mr. Lismore..." I said, quickly, feeling the heat from his hand as he brushed his knuckles across my brow, almost stroking my hair before he seemed to catch himself and cleared his throat, returning his hand to the steering wheel, "I guess...I'm...just tired...and..."

"'Sorrow can be alleviated by good sleep....'" he quoted with a slight smirk and I finished with; "'...a bath and a glass of wine.' Thomas Aquinas. But, you know I'm still too young for wine, Mr. Lismore..."

I wanted to ask him why he would choose that particular quote. Did I seem sad to him? Or perhaps he was distressed himself about something. Or...perhaps we were both mistaking the one emotion for something completely different. Although, yearning and sorrow could often seem the flip side of the same coin, I thought.

"Then I suggest taking Mr. Aquinas advice regarding the bath and a good night's sleep," he said, and let himself out to walk around and open my door for me. He didn't open his umbrella this time and the rain was pouring down in sheets. In moments, we were both soaked though. I thought I saw something more than the occasional gleam of cold, sarcastic wit in his expression and I said, without thinking, as I swung my back-pack over my shoulder, "You might want to do the same, Mr. Lismore..."

I stopped thinking as images of Mr. Lismore in the bath had, once more, caused my flesh to feel heated and I mentally scolded myself for reacting like an over-sexed teenager. But, you ARE an over-sexed teenager! Well, not literally, of course. I was thinking more...figuratively, I guess. I told my mind to shut the hell up as I turned to race up my walkway and towards my front door.

I didn't look behind me, but I had the feeling he was watching me, until I could unlock and open the door. By the time I finally did look, like Lot's wife, I couldn't resist the temptation, all I could see through the driving rain were the twin headlights of his car as he backed out of my driveway.

To be continued...