It was lunchtime …and finally some happiness because in front of us, was sixty minutes without the nuns. The bells that ignited and truncated everything that we did at St Edmund, had rung and that meant that one of Bridie’s hot luscious lunches was not far away. All we had to do was make the short two block walk to Cloonmore and Bridie’s dated but homey kitchen. We usually met in the alley, the four youngest Brennan lads, and raced and pulled and pushed and punched our way home. Only three of us showed today.

“Where’s Seamus?”

“Oh, he probably got an early out and beat us home.”

Occasionally a nun would lose her mind, forget her warden-like instincts and let the inmates out a bit early, not needing the bell that always sent us into delirium. Seamus, being the youngest of the lads probably wanted a day off from all of the competitions  that accompanied every lunch hour trek.

“He’s probably already home.”

And the three of us took off not wanting the little rascal to be first to any of the largesse that Bridie would bestow on us today.

Michael won the race because he was the fastest, but that didn’t stop Brian and me from trying as hard as we could, always closing the gap near the finish line, the back screen door of Cloonmore.

The patchy screen door that mostly kept the flies away was the crier at Cloonmoore. Every arrival and departure was dutifully announced, first by the squeaky spring that opened and pulled shut the portal and next by the slam that was sure to follow.

“Beat ya!” Mike said, reimposing his superiority and making you yearn for the day that you would be big enough to leave him in the dust. It wasn’t needed.

Slam went the door.

“Beat ya,” Brian said coming in a nearby second and making me yearn more for that day.

Slam went the door.

“Shite” I yelled because I didn’t have Seamus to beat today. It was the only ‘almost’ swearword that Bridie would let us use…only because she used it.

One more slam and then our only thoughts were what grand repast Bridie had for us today.

“That’s only three slams, did you leave my baby behind.” Bridie cried from the stove without looking, inquiring about her baby Seamus, knowing that he was always last.

“Sr. Geraldus had a brain cramp today and let his class out early. We thought he was already home.”

“That one has never had a brain cramp. You need a heart for those.” Bridie responded. Bridie knew what was inside every soul. You couldn’t fool her.

“He’ll be along soon.” And Bridie went back to toasting the grilled cheeses and stirring the tomato soup. It was one of our favorites.

And that’s how every school day went. A race home filled with constant jousting and  some form of competition; who could jump the highest; who could run the fastest; who could throw the farthest. Some days you won, more often you lost, a dead heat on occasion…but always at contest end, Bridie’s luscious treat just inside that old tattered screen door. The aroma from the imminent feast always made you forget the outcomes. No one ever held a grudge or pouted about their loss.

“I’m starved.”

“What’s for lunch?” as if we couldn‘t recognize the scent of the charring bread and simmering soup.

“Grilled cheese and tomato soup,” Bride responded.

“To the sink and wash your hands,” Bridie directed.

Bridie was back in command…her favorite spot. Bringing comfort, warmth and happiness to her troops…the lads…the boys.

And with sparkling mitts, the three of us jumped into our chairs and grabbed our soup spoons in anticipation of the steaming aromatic soup.

‘Oh, I gotta go,” Michael announced. Washing your hands could bring an emergency piddle to the fore.

“Up the stairs,” Bridie commanded, “you’re getting too old for the bucket.”

“Oh, Ma pleeeease,” Mike begged, holding his crotch like he had a broken zipper and no underwear.

“UP,” Bridie commanded again.

Cloonmore had only one bathroom…upstairs. If you know how it is to be a young lad and have to go, you know that there is a need for an emergency plan, and that’s where the bucket came in. Bridie kept it stashed on the enclosed back porch and broke it out only when there was an emergency, which was often. As a young lad, you always waited till you couldn’t hold it any longer.

Holding his crotch and hopping like a dancer, Mike started to make his way up the bare, wooden, curved back stairs. After four steps you turned hard right; after another four steps you turned hard right again and finally landed in the upstairs hallway with the bathroom and relief straight ahead. By the time you got there an unwound your dingy from the underwear folds, you were in a frenzied state.  At release point the first stream rarely hit the intended target and then an AAHHHHH! as the stream met the water and a look up to the ceiling in appreciation of the moment and finally a little clean-up for the wayward initial spray.

Back in the kitchen, “Where’s my baby?” Bridie asked. The empty chair jogged her memory.

“Be-jasus.” Did he walk home with yee, as Bridie’s concern grew.

“No, Ma.”

“Did you see him?”

“No, Ma.”

Our quest was getting to the cheese sandwiches. Seamus can find his own way…and had… many times before.

And then from the top of the back stairs, “He’s up here,” Mike yelled

Amid the oohhs and aahhs of relieving himself Mike had heard some “shniffeling”, as Bridie would say when you had a tear, coming from the adjoining bedroom. Mike found Seamus face down on the bed crying hard and holding the back of his legs with one hand.

“What happened,” Mike inquired.

“Nothing,” Seamus said, still trying to defend.

“What happened baby brother, that hardly looks like nothing.”

“She beat me.”

“Who!”

“Geraldus.”

By then Bridie had made her way up the backstairs and to the sobbing Seamus.

“Get the bandages and oil!” Bridie commanded.

The three of us ran in all directions wondering where the medical supplies had last been left. It was always the way at Cloonmore, everyone finding a new spot to leave whatever they were using.

“Where, Ma?”

“Bejasus, shite, try the medicine cabinet.”

We ran to the cabinet and pulled back the door that had a smokey mirror on the front. Bridie claimed the smoke was to keep from falling in love with yourself.

We ripped through the shelves knocking over the baking soda and spilling the aspirins. Mike clipped his thumb against an abandoned razor.

“Shite!”

The gauze and oil were there. It was like finding a buck in a strewn pair of pants; a hidden popsicle in the freezer; one last donut in the bread drawer.

“Got’ em Ma.”

“Hurry.”

We ran to Bridie and our wounded brother. As she applied the gauze and balm, his gasps softened and then faded away.

On the back of Seamus’ legs from the bottom of his arse to the top of his knees were welts that extended across both of his legs. You could see the crease marks where Geraldus had used the edge of her plywood stick…Mr. Lucky.

After soothing the bruises with the gauze and balm, Bridie tucked her baby in and promised the wounded lad with the best grilled cheeses ever. Down in the kitchen she grilled the cheese sandwiches and warmed up the now chilled tomato soup and made sure that the other three lads were fed and up the stairs she went toting a tray with steaming soup and golden grilled cheese sandwiches. When she got to the bedroom door she looked in and found a child in slumber and softly tiptoed over to the side of the bed and planted one of her soft Irish kisses on his forehead. She again arranged his covers and looked down at her baby Seamus.

‘How could someone do such a thing, and by a messenger of God,’ Bridie thought.

Back in the kitchen, Bridie queried the other lads and discovered that Geraldus had a pattern of child abuse.

“Have you seen this before,” she asked.

“She hit me across the face with it last year.” Sean replied.

“With what,” Bridie asked.

“Mr. Lucky,” all three boys said in unison.

“Mr. Lucky?” Bridie responded incredulously.

Michael chimed in, “She’s been doing it since I was in third grade.”

“Why hasn’t anyone said anything,” Bridie begged.

“She’s real mean and told us that there would be hell to pay if we told our parents. You’d get another whack,” Mike said.

“Well, today’s the last day for Geraldus and Mr. Lucky, boys.”

“She never lets anyone go to the bathroom either,” Sean said. “And the room smells like it.”

We all felt better after downing Bridie’s grilled cheese triangles, dunking each corner in the soup and then biting into them, leaving a stream of soup on your chin with each bite. The combination was one of our favorites and always left us with newfound strength and energy to head back to St. Eddie’s for the next three hours, and take on the Nuns again.

“OK, boys,” Bridie said, “Let’s go see Sr. Geraldus.”

Without a cue, Michael ran back upstairs to check on baby Seamus and again found him sleeping like a little angel. That’s just how everyone in the house treated cute “Seamie”, especially the older girls who paraded him around as if he was their own little doll.

The four of us marched down the alley to St Eddy’s like a crusade looking for the villain, looking to take back the innocence that had been shattered that very morning. You see, one of the most precious things to Bridie was the innocence of a child. It was to be protected from every pang the world could offer…at all costs…even the brutality of a nun.

We marched through the side door at Eddy’s without announcing our presence and turned into the principal’s office, Bridie leading and the three lads in close tow.

“Can I speak to the Principal,” Bridie requested to the school secretary.

When Bridie was determined which was almost always, she donned a look on her face that could scare the pelt off a skunk. Her head tilted, her lip curled and her eyes pierced, like a general at the fore of battle.

“Oh, yes Mrs. Brennan,” the secretary responded, knowing Bridie from her previous forays…the ones that always involved the lads and their mischief. Only today it was someone else’s. And it was more than mischief.

Sr. Michael came out of her office garbed in the typical nun habit with the giant string of rosary beads swinging at her side. The clang from the beads always announced a nun’s arrival. It was the one thing they couldn’t keep quiet.

With one long gaze, Sr. Michael knew that whatever was at hand was serious.

“Do we need the boys,” Sr.Michael asked.

“Yes, as witnesses,” Bridie declared

“Well, come in then.”

We all marched into the principal’s office and stood like soldiers at an inquest.

Sr. Michael closed the door behind us, keeping the inquiry away from the snoopy secretary.

“Who’d like to start,” Sr. Michael started. It was an unnecessary request.

Bridie led in with how Seamus had been beaten with Mr. Lucky and the welts that covered the backs of his legs. Sean chimed in with how he had taken one across the face and how he smeared his pants one day when Geraldus wouldn’t let him go to the bathroom. “And it smelled too,” he expounded. The nuns jaw went agape.

“We don’t need all the details,” Bridie admonished.

“Oh.”

And then Brian and Michael with their own accounts of years past and the abuse Geraldus had meted out at the hands of Mr. Lucky.

“OK, boys off to class you go and keep our meeting a secret.”

“Yes, Sister.”

We opened the door and headed to our afternoon class as Sr. Michael asked the secretary to summon Geraldus to the office. Bridie stood erect and determined. Her lip was still cocked.

“Behave yourself, lads.”

Bridie always hoped for that.

I remember feeling so good walking out of the office knowing that a wrong that had existed for so long was about to be corrected. I was only ten.

After we left, we passed the stocky Geraldus in the hallway with her usual look of disdain. It was a disdain that she carried with her every day and every moment. One that spelled an aura of discard for the very children that she was assigned to embrace. How had she operated this long without detection. Abusers intimidate as well as abuse.

Geraldus entered and Bridie looked her square in the eye. The lip was still curled.

Geraldus flinched. Her gig was up.

Sr. Michael started.

“What possible reason could you have for beating Seamus with your stick,” Michael demanded, assuming that the accusations were true.

“He talked out of turn like he always does,” Geraldus shot back asserting a sense of justification for her actions.

“Why don’t I know about this Mr. Lucky and how long have you been using it?”

“It’s always been my secret weapon and how I keep order in my class.”

Bridie had remained quiet until now.

“Well you’re going to have to find a better way than beating eight year old children with a stick and you’re going to have to find another school too. ”Bridie raised her right index finger and waved it at Geraldus.

“When my child comes to school tomorrow with his bruised and beaten legs …and I will be escorting him, you better not be here.”

“The habit you’re wearing is the only thing keeping you from getting your own beating. And it certainly isn’t hiding the monster within.” Bridie raised her fist and shook it at Geraldus. Geraldus stepped back.

Bridie looked back at Sr. Michael.

“If I find her here tomorrow, there will be hell to pay.”

“Do we have an understanding, ladies,” ignoring their religious status. They didn’t answer or even feel like they needed to because Bridie had certainly conveyed her resolve. Bridie left the silent room and the dilemma that Sr. Michael now confronted.

When Bridie got back home she looked in again on her sleeping angel and thought again of how anyone, let alone a supposed messenger of Christ, could inflict such abuse on an eight year old. It was finally over…at least at St Edmund. And she wondered again how empathy and caring could get so lost and give birth to such evil.

The next day Bridie escorted her healing lad to the door of his classroom to make sure Geraldus was elsewhere and found a sub in her stead. She gave the wounded warrior a pat on the arse just above the bruises and sent him to his desk. Bridie stood back, peaking around the corner to make sure “Seamie” would be ok.

He found his seat and lowered himself into his chair, gingerly and without raising his hand belted out to the sub, “Will we get recess today?”

Bridie just smiled.