“Why, that's incredible,” Alicia said, aghast. She was fiddling with her guest tag, the way she'd done all the while Ted had spoken. “And everybody still believes… that's what's with all the funny looks?”
“Yeah. It all became part of school legend. I was the kid who got away with murder.”
“That's awful…. If I had known, Ted, really, I wouldn't have-- well, we just wouldn't have come.”
“No, I'm glad we did now, honestly,” he said. “If I didn't show up, I would have looked guilty. Besides,” he added, “maybe it's a way to exorcise some old ghosts-- not just Adam's.”
“What do you mean?”
“It didn't really end after Adam died. I spent five more years in this school, all the while the other kids steered clear of me and the nuns-- well, they saw me as evil incarnate. I'd get punished for nothing. Other kids would get punished for talking in class or chewing gum or running in the halls. I'd get punished for not quite sitting up straight or not opening a textbook fast enough. And most of the time the punishment wasn't standing in the corner or writing out times tables; it was getting locked in the second floor mop closet, sometimes for the whole day. It was a very shallow closet, and so you were forced to stand the entire time-- there wasn't enough room to sit. Every time one of the nuns passed the closet, they'd hit the door, just pound it once with their fist. I know it all sound quite horrible-- I can see by the look on your face-- but really I was surprised they didn't chase me around and try to dowse me with holy water. They truly believed I'd shoved Adam out of the bell tower-- you couldn't convince them otherwise-- but that wasn't the reason they carried on this--warfare against me; it was because I wasn't willing to confess it all, to cleanse my soul of the mortal sin. They never saw my refusal to confess as a sign of innocence, but rather as a sign of evil.”
“Evil?” Alicia said, now actually smiling. “You? You're about the least evil person I ever met. But, really, this is all incredible. What about your parents? What did they say about all this?”
“Well, they originally sent me here so that I'd grow up well disciplined. They weren't really concerned at the type of punishment I'd get, even corporeal punishment. It was different then-- not at all like today. As far as what happened up in the bell tower, I told them the truth. Whether they believed it or not, I never found out. They seemed to believe it, but you never know. All you can really do is tell the truth. If people don't want to believe, what exactly are you going to do? You can't force somebody to believe you. You just live with the fallout, even if it's not fair.”
“Well, I think it's all really disgraceful,” Alicia said firmly. “Especially that they could treat a child like that.”
“It was a different time,” Ted told her.
“That doesn't excuse it,” she said, and he couldn't disagree, just shrug his shoulders weakly.
Alicia turned round, then, and defiantly eyed the other guests. “I take it we will not be mingling very well. I'm going to get us a couple drinks,” she said, disgusted, and rose to head for the makeshift bar that was set up next to the stage.
Ted watched her walk away. She carried herself boldly as she navigated round the other tables, as though wishing, just hoping, somebody would make some comment to her. His eyes drifted over the auditorium then. It did seem so very small, and all the people so very strange. He might have shown up at the wrong reunion, at a different school entirely, and not realized it at first glance. There were one or two people he believed he recognized, but he wasn't sure. Every now and again, a face no longer familiar to him turned his way, a fleeting and guarded glance cut short when the person noticed that Ted was looking back. A quick peek at the murderer, and then a whispered aside to another person at the table. Oh, they we still talking about him, and if they weren't talking, they were thinking.
He was mesmerized by the dull colors of the room, beneath the colorful glittery decorations that hung from the ceiling. His mind drifted, and he began the old habit-- broken years ago already-- of reminding himself that he was a decent human being.
