A Second Chance

By Dawn Natelle

Another long wait between Chapters. Maybe I should ask Rachael to pray for me to get another one out soon: Dawn.

WEDNESDAY, June 1, 2016

June. Finally: lovely June. School will be out in just over three weeks, with the last day of classes on June 28, and with a PD day on June 8 next Wednesday. The other important day this month is June 17, when the video needs to be handed in. Rachael’s team has practically finished theirs, except for the credits, which they would record on Saturday morning. After that there will be a day or two putting it all together, and then it would be done. Of course Mikki will continue to fiddle with it right to the deadline: she is really OCD about it. Rachael decided she was really into filmmaking, and might even be looking to go to film school after high school. And this was the shy, lonely kid who sat down next to her on the bus a couple months ago.

Rachael didn’t ride on the bus today. She walked to school after making sure Bobby got on his bus. Rachael even wondered if the bus was necessary for Bobby anymore. He really seemed to have matured over the past weeks. He had a bike now, and good friends that he rides all over town with. Last night when Rachael was reading to him, he said ‘Merci, Rachael’. Apparently Marc was teaching him a bit of French, beyond what he learns in the one day a week of French they get in Grade Four.

Rachael stopped in to the bakery to say hi to Mom and Dad (she loved calling him that, almost as much as he loved hearing it). Geoff has probably been working since 11, and Mom since 6, so they were well into their day, and Rachael liked seeing the smile they got on their faces when they saw her. This was way better than riding a bus for an hour.

It turned out that Tony Dasilva walked in at about the same time, so Rachael walked in with him. She knew she would have to tell Mikki, so that she would know Racheal was not after her boyfriend. Tony is nice, but a whole world apart from Robert, in Rachael’s eyes.

In English class, during the first period, Mrs. Cathcart announced that she expected a written script from each group, to give her something to mark for the project. That brought groans from all the students. Rachael volunteered to do that for their group, since the script was kind of her thing. But Mikki did look up the way that movie scripts were presented in Hollywood, and said that Rachael only had to do the left side, with the dialog, and she would then do the right side, with the action description. The other two girls would proofread the results in hopes of getting an A mark.

The morning classes today were for the video, and Rachael’s group didn’t have anything more to do on that, so in the class before lunch Mr. Churchill said they could put up campaign posters for Carly as Top Girl. Apparently in the past people got carried away with postering, so now each candidate was only allowed 10 posters. That is really all that was needed … it isn’t that big a school. A couple in the library, three in the cafeteria, and five in the halls would do it. Several of the girl candidates already had posters up, and one of the boys.

Neal, their artist, had drawn four really cute caricatures of her, and the girls decided to write a different caption on each one. Rachael suggested one say “Vote for me or my Mom will beat you up” as a joke, but Carly loved that, and insisted it go on two of the posters. Another four got “Carly Cares” and Rachael wrote “Carly: Cute and Clever” on another without asking. The other three just said “Vote Carly,” which what was what most of the other candidates posters said.

“Nine other girls,” Carly moaned when they found out how many candidates were running for Top Girl. “That will make it hard to win.”

“Not really,” Rachael pointed out. “There are what, 120 students in Grades Seven and Eight. That means only 12 people per candidate on average. You could win with as few as 25 votes, if everyone gets a few votes. There are only three running for Top Boy, so they will need to get maybe 50 votes to win.”

“I guess I will have to trust you,” Carly said with a smile. “After all, you are the math whiz.”

“Posters are a small thing,” Rachael said. “We have to go out into the Grade Seven tables at lunch and talk to them. Talk up the movie nights. Carly organized that one I couldn’t get to. Tell the sevens that they should start their own, and maybe suggest that three or four (no more) go to the library and ask about arrangements.”

The lunch bell rang, and the girls headed to the cafeteria. Rachael stopped at the door for a second, noticing a lot of faces staring at her, and more all the time. It was the new hairstyle. Everyone thought that she was a new student, and a cute one at that. Then she noticed someone at the old Goth table. It was Angela Smith, a girl the old Rachael had occasionally sat with. There seemed to be a small cloud over her head, and as she recognized Rachael, the cloud seemed to grow larger and darker.

“Come on Rachael,” Mikki said, tugging her arm.

“No. I have something to do. You guys go on, and don’t forget to visit the grade sevens.” She headed towards Angela, who seemed to become more and more hidden by the black cloud that no one else seemed to see.

“Hi Ang,” Rachael said. “Can I sit here?”

“It’s a free world,” the Goth girl said tartly. “I’ll move somewhere else.” She stood.

“I wanted to sit with you,” Rachael said putting her lunch sack down. She moved closer to Angela, and taking a chance, enveloped her arms around her. “You look like you need a hug.”

“No,” a resisting Angela said. “I hate you. Stop.” She was tense for a second, and just as Rachael was about to obey and let go, she sagged into the blonde girl and sobbed. “But I do need a hug.”

After nearly a minute, Angela slumped back into her seat, and Rachael sat down next to her. “I don’t hate you, Rachael. I’m just pissed at you a bit. First you dump all the Goth kids and then you get all new friends, and they get all popular. Now you walk in looking like a fashion model. I mean, your hair looks wonderful, and really makes you look cute. You’ve lost weight too, haven’t you?”

“A few pounds,” Rachael said. The cloud seemed a bit smaller, and less black. “You can’t be mad at me for that. You always were skinny and cute.”

“Cute? Not me. Under all this Goth makeup is a face covered in freckles.”

“Freckles and gorgeous red hair,” Rachael said, drawing on old memories of earlier years. “But then you went Goth in Grade Seven. That was why I went Goth at the start of Grade Eight. You looked good either way.”

“But now Goth is almost dead,” Angela said. “Most of the other girls have left since you switched over, and some of the guys have gotten girl friends and are less into it. I think I am the last one, other than the druggies.”

“So maybe it is time for you to change,” Rachael said. “They have stopped calling me Pepe now. You go back to red, and they might stop teasing you with Devila.”

Angela smiled a bit, and the black cloud shrank again. “I hate that nickname. Middle school students aren’t nearly as clever as they think they are.”

“Did you dye your hair yourself, or at a salon?” Rachael asked.

“At Miss Vikki’s downtown. And I think I’ve had it touched up about seven times.

Rachael took out her phone, and dialed Ariel’s personal number. “Hi Ariel. Do you have a time today to take another rehab client?” Angela couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation. “A close friend of mine. Black on Red. Waist length. Seven updates. At Miss Vikkis. Great.”

“She has a light schedule today, and will take you in. It’s going to take a couple hours, although a lot of that time will be you sitting there letting the chemicals do their work. Let’s eat lunch as we walk there,” Rachael said.

As they walked out of the cafeteria, Angela asked. “Am I really a close friend of yours, or were you just saying that to get me in?”

Rachael again hugged her, and said: “Yes. I am blessed with a lot of friends, but you are one of my oldest ones. I am sorry for ignoring you lately. I want you to join our table tomorrow. And don’t make plans for Thursday night. I’m going to find you a date for movie night.”

“A date? Who would go out with me? Are you serious?”

“Yep. This is Xcuts, and this is Ariel. I’m heading back to the school. I’ll tell the teacher why you skipped.” As Angela sat in Ariel’s chair, Rachael noticed that the tiny grey cloud above her head popped out of existence, and Rachael hurried back to school.

With only five or so minutes left in lunch, Rachael quickly found the student she was looking for. Byron O’Shea sat with a group of Grade Sevens, all of which were into computers and programming. Byron was a sort of guru for the younger boys, which partially made up for him being largely shunned by his own grade.

“Byron,” Rachael said. “Got a minute?”

“Sure. Are you campaigning for Carla? They were over just a few minutes ago.”

“No, something else. Two things actually. One is to make a web page for my parent’s bakery. Right now there are a lot of phone orders. It would be cool if there could be a web page that lets people order online, and then pickup in the store later.”

“That sounds cool,” Byron said. “I’m 90 percent sure I could build that. There are modules available that should do it: e-commerce stores. But I’d prefer to try and code it myself.”

“Great. We’ll have to get together next week with my parents. Next thing? Do you have $2?”

Byron pulled out a toonie, and slid it across the table to Rachael. “What’s that for?”

“You want to go on a date Thursday? With a real pretty girl?”

“Who?”

“Angela Smith.”

“The Goth girl? I guess I could. This is that movie night thing I’ve heard about, isn’t it?”

“Yep. And Angela won’t be a Goth much longer. Just come to the library branch a bit before 7 and have a ride home at 9. The movie is The General, and there will also be a bunch of Charlie Chaplin shorts before it.”

“Buster Keaton, I like him,” Byron said, impressing Rachael as the first student all week that had heard of the comic from the last century.

Rachael then headed to the Science lab; only to find that there was going to be a pop quiz. She approached the teacher and told him that Angela would miss the test. He was quite upset about it at first, until Rachael noted that it was a mental health absence and that Angela had been close to a suicide point. At the word suicide (which Rachael only guessed was the cause of the black cloud) the teacher did a complete 180. Since Rachael’s attempt a few months earlier, the teachers were on watch for problems, and he agreed to prepare another version of the test for Angela.

After French class, the girls headed home, with Rachael only popping into the bakery for a second. Larissa had to stop in to pick up an order her Mom had made earlier in the day so the entire group was able to leave together after Rachael got back after delivering her hugs to the back.

At Grandpa’s Bobby got his bike, and after giving Grandpa a quick hug he raced out to catch up to the others then walking his bike the rest of the way to Marc’s house, where the two rode off to find Jerry.

Rachael gave Grandpa a longer hug, and as she gathered up supplies for the church she told Grandpa: “I think Geoff is getting dinner tonight. Swiss Chalet chicken. I’ll make myself a bite at the church. I won’t be back until late. Here, let me unbutton your shirt so it will be ready when you go to bed. You don’t need to button the PJs up.

Minutes later Rachael was at the church, and saw that there were even more people in the lobby for prayers in front of the painting. Rachael nodded to Gary and headed down to the kitchen where Helen was waiting.

For the next five hours the two women baked, turning out multiple batches of cookies. They did peanut butter, chocolate chip, chocolate cake cookies, brownies, Nanaimo Bars, oatmeal cookies, and sugar cookies, which Helen decided to make in the shape of a cross. At about nine, Steve had come down, and Helen was so proud to give her man cookies that she had baked herself. Earlier Gary had dropped down, noting that the aromas were making all the praying people hungry. He too enjoyed sampling the wares before heading back upstairs.

“It is so rewarding,” Helen said as they were cleaning up and packaging the cookies on paper plates for the sale, “when people react like that to something you made. It just makes me feel so good inside.”

“I like it too,” Rachael started to say, when there was a loud noise from the lobby, sounding like wood splintering. The women both rushed to see what was happening.

When they got there, they found both Steve and Gary on the floor struggling with a third man. The donations box for the prayers had been torn off the wall, and the back had shattered. Money was strewn across the floor with the third man vainly trying to hold onto some twenties.

Steve finally subdued the man enough to get some of those nylon ties around his wrists. There was a massive welt on the side of the officer’s face, and it looked as though a black eye was forming.

The third man was now exhausted from the struggles. Gary was gathering up the money from the donation box, and Rachael noted that several others helped, but all handed the money to Gary. Four people were so deeply in prayer that they hadn’t even turned around during the commotion.

“What did you do that for?” an irate Steve asked, as he gently probed the spot where the man’s elbow had crashed into his face as he had wrestled with Gary, who was first on the scene.

“I … I … I need … a dose … of oxy. No money. I heard … lotsa money here.”

“Mike Campbell,” Steve said, looking through the man’s wallet. “Are you still living at 39 Whey Street?”

The man shook his head slowly. “No. Kicked out. Three months ago. I need a dose. Bad.”

“You’re going to be spending the night in the Woodstock lockup,” Steve said. “You’re lucky I am out of uniform, or you’d also be charged with assaulting a policeman. I’ll call the station to have a car sent out for you.”

“NO! Wait.” It was Helen, speaking more forcefully than Rachael had ever heard. The pastor turned to Gary. “Did he pray first?”

“No, he just came in, saw the donations box and ripped it off the wall with that crowbar. He dropped the bar to pick up money, luckily. He could have cause some serious damage to us with that.”

“I want to pray with him before you call the station,” Helen said in her forceful tone.

“WHAT?” Now it was Steve shouting. “You will not. He nearly knocked me out. He’s not going near you. That’s final.”

“You are not my husband yet,” Helen said, steel in her voice. “And even if you were, you would not order me about like that. I feel this man needs help, and the help is on the wall over there.” With that, she took the man’s left arm gently, while Steve held the right arm in a much less gentle manner, but still allowing her to lead the man to the nearest prayer spot.

“Can I have a dose first,” Mike asked. “I really need a dose.”

“No,” Helen’s voice was soft and caring again. “I want to give you something much better. Kneel on this carpet, and then look up at the painting.”

Mike did as requested, and then slumped into a prayer position. He would have smashed into the floor if Steve had not had his arm so firmly.

“Please cut the restraints,” Helen said.

“But …” Steve stopped his argument at the glare she gave him, and nodded to Gary who had already pulled out his pocket knife.

When released Mike moved his hands to support himself, and then Helen grabbed his left hand and prayed with them. After several minutes, she turned and looked at Steve and nodded for him to step back. Steve still had a hand on Mike’s arm, but reluctantly let go, to allow his girlfriend to pray alone with the man who had just smashed his face in a drug-induced frenzy.

Rachael had gone to the kitchen and made up an ice bag, and she handed it to Steve to use on his face and eye. They stood and waited and Gary tried to make the donations box usable again. There were still people coming and going as Mike and Helen prayed. Finally Helen stood, and then Mike. They turned and came up to Rachael, Steve, and Gary. Mike flung himself to the floor in front of them.

“Please. I am so sorry for hurting you. Call the police. I don’t deserve to live with good people like you.” Mike glanced at the painting. “He told me I am cured from my addiction, but I owe so much to so many.”

Mike then gave his story. He was 31, and had been on drugs for five years, almost four years ago it had gotten so bad that he had been fired from the bakery he worked at in London, and had returned to his hometown of Ingersoll where the addiction got worse and worse. He had broken into homes to steal goods to pawn, and even had broken into a pharmacy before they stopped storing Oxycodone in their shops. He had been 12 days without a dose, and it had been trying to break the habit, but his cold turkey had led him to this rage to get money, and then a dose.

“He told me that this drug was insidious,” Helen said, referring to the painting. “It makes a little spot in the brain that only it can fill, and from that point on the person just can’t do anything but work to get another dose to fill the hole. The Lord has filled the hole with love, and Mike is no longer addicted.”

“That sounds like what they’ve told us about Oxy at the station,” Steve said. “Now we have to decide what to do. The cop in me wants to lock him up, but what is that going to do? The soon-to-be Pastor’s husband says he won’t be helping society, and it is 50-50 that he’ll wind up addicted to something else. But where will he stay? What will he do?”

“He can stay in my shed,” Gary said. “I can give him work to do. No pay, but having work is an important step to recovery. I know.”

“What did you do in that bakery?” Rachael said, asking the question that she had since she learned Mike had worked in a bakery.

“I was a baker. I took the diploma program at George Brown College in Toronto after high school, and then worked over five years in Angelo’s in London. In the back. As a baker. I had papers, but who knows what happened to them over the past few years.

“I want him,” Rachael said. “My Dad needs help in his bakery. Constable Steve, can you take him down there? It must be past 11. Dad will be working by now. I’ll come along, and help explain to Dad.”

She turned to Mike. “This is your Second Chance. It isn’t a job. Not yet. You will have to prove yourself to my Dad, Geoff. If you work hard, and can show you know your stuff, he’ll probably keep you on. I know he was going to pay good money, but at first you will be on probation. It is up to you as to whether or not you succeed.”

“Okay,” Steve said, although he didn’t sound 100 percent convinced. He looked at Helen: “You are a special lady, and I want you to be my wife. I’m not asking now, just letting you know that I will be asking soon. You won’t object to being asked by a man with a black eye, will you?”

“No silly. Ask when you feel right. You do know what the answer will be, don’t you?”

Steve drove Rachael and Mike to the bakery, where Geoff was just getting started. Steve and Rachael explained the situation, with Steve making sure that Mike was brought here instead of a jail cell. Rachael stressed Mike’s background, and that he could ease the workload for Geoff and Maria.

Steve then drove Rachael home to a dark house. And Rachael went up to bed.

Dear Lord

Thank you, thank you, thank you. I’m sure you have answered my prayer for a baker to help Mom and Dad. I just wish we could have found him in a less painful way for Steve. And thank you for helping me find Angela before it was too late. The black cloud does mean what I think it does, doesn’t it. She will have a new look tomorrow, and maybe even a boyfriend. And Steve and Helen. How perfect for them.

Amen