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“Eugene - what is it?”

“Sister Mary Elizabeth, may I please go to the boys' room?”

“You just went to recess; now put your hand down.”

“But Sister...”

 

The black and white-habituated nun stood at the front of the class, clinching a long wooden pointer with a black rubber tip, which she aimed directly at the boy way back, and with a single word, she demonstrated her controlling power.

 

“Eugene!”

 

Sister Mary Elizabeth pulled the loaded pointer away, ending the conversation as she turned back to the blackboard to teach whatever lesson the time of day dictated her to teach.

 

“Now class...” She continued,

 

With one hand tucked into her black habit, she waddled like a serious plump penguin across the front of the classroom, whirling the pointer in the air and jabbing the blackboard as if she was dueling with the ideas she drilled into the intimidated class of five and six-year-olds.

 

Eugene thrust his antsy, wiggling hand up again, raising it as high as it could go without him getting out of his seat. He continued to shake and wave his hand around so urgently that the entire class could not help but sense his distress, and turned their attention away from the current lesson and over to him.

 

“EUGENE?”

 

The annoyed Nun said loudly, with a most stern, disapproving tone, "What is it now?"

 

“Sister, may I PLEASE be excused?” he begged.

 

Without a word uttered, and with tightened lips, the Dominican Sister cracked the pointer down hard on her solid oak desk; all the first graders snapped to attention and remained so. She marched around behind her immaculately organized desk and turned sharply down the last aisle, heading straight for Eugene.

 

Her veil flew up above the yellow brick ledge that ran the length of the classroom, sailing like a kite; it streaked the bottom row of cold, moisture-dripping windows. The fogged-up windows were all latched shut, but the winter wind was whistling through the mullion gaps.

 

Sister Mary Elizabeth made an abrupt stop next to the last desk. She slammed her foot down and looked at the boy. Her damp veil dropped limp to her side, and steam seemed to come from her nostrils and opened mouth as she said in an escalating volume,

 

“EuGENE!.”

 

The Nun from above stared the boy down. Eugene pushed himself into the corner of his desk and looked up to her, scared.

 

The sound of her tough leather, low-heeled shoes tapped out a tense beat on the beige tiled floor, as she stood there with her arms folded

 

“Stand up!” she said

 

Eugene continued to look up to her.

 

“Stand-up!”

 

She repeated with the stern pious certainty that comes when you sincerely believe you are a messenger of God himself.

 

“Yes Sister” Eugene said, with a meek - what did I do now - tone.

 

He slowly swung his cold feet out from underneath his one-piece desk and obediently planted them just in front of the book compartment below his seat. As he stood, he lowered his red head and hid his freckled face with no desire to make eye contact with anyone.

 

With his knees clinched, his hands folded together over his cold zipper, and with far too much attention being paid to his current bladder condition, he assumed a demoralized, accused criminal pose and fidgeted nervously.

 

“Now open the cloak room,” The no nonsense Nun, said

 

She continued to tap her foot and pointed her rubber-tipped stick toward the cloak room doors. Surprised and embarrassed, Eugene shot up, his eyes opened wide, and he looked at her incredulously. He understood what she said, but did not believe her command.

 

“Open the door.”

 

He looked at her again

 

“Open the door,” She repeated sternly

 

“But Sister?”

 

“Open the Door - Eugene,” she emphatically demanded

 

“Yes, Sister,” he said in defeat

 

He reached for the door handle that was only a step away from his last row seat and pushed open the three-piece folding door, exposing one section of the long classroom closet. A line of boots stood at attention, and a row of hooks, covered with overcoats, hats, scarves, and mittens, seemed to obediently stare back, all surprised to see the light of day so soon after recess and long before lunch time.

 

Eugene looked up at Sister Mary Elizabeth with a timid - mission accomplished - stare.

 

“Now get in there,” she said bluntly and pointed into the closet.

 

“But Sister?”

 

“You heard me – get in there.”

 

He looked at her not for mercy but surprise. Then he looked at the class for their agreement that this was an unjust demand. Those staring at him quickly looked away just as Sister Mary Elizabeth said,

 

“Class - face front.”

 

With only the accused and the accuser involved, Eugene said just above a whisper,

 

“But Sister, I really have to go. PLEASE”

 

The door swung shut in his face. Eugene stood there momentarily motionless in the space between the closed door and the moist wool winter ware, looking out through the thin slit between the sliding door panels.

 

Sister Mary Elizabeth righteously and triumphantly strolled to the front of the classroom. She waved her pointer stick toward the blackboard, hit it twice to get the class's attention, and picked up right where she left off. The morning lesson was neatly scrolled across the entire blackboard in perfect cursive, which only a few in the class could decipher.

 

Eugene began to fidget. The door began to shake.

 

“Sister?”

 

A squeaky call came from behind the closed closet doors, now wobbling in the back of the class.

The class giggled nervously when they heard Eugene’s call from within his temporary detention room. Sister Mary Elizabeth gave no reply.

 

“Sister,” he repeated.

 

Giggles filled the room. Sister Mary Elizabeth looked at the class with a clenched jaw, furrowed brow, giggle ending stare, letting them know they had better ignore the shaking door and his repeated request for her attention.

 

“Sister, Sister!”

 

The door swung open. Eugene stood there holding his crotch.

 

“Sister, I have to go to the bathroom really badly.”

 

“Eugene! You shut that door immediately and keep still.”

 

“But Sister, I can’t hold it,” He said as he fidgeted

 

“That is not my problem,” She replied and looked away

 

“Sister, please”

 

“Close the door Eugene” She calmly repeated.

 

The futile banter passed over the seemingly invisible class. They were reluctantly forced to listen to the begging necessity of nature calling, falling on the deaf, callous, and cold ears of the totalitarian parochial authority.

 

“Sister, I am going to the bathroom,” he said and hopped from one foot to the other.

 

“If you leave without my permission, I will send you to the principal's office,” she said in a raised voice.

 

“Sister, please”

 

Eugene knew his pleading was ineffectual as he felt the cold, damp air from the leaky windows and the wet cloths around him contracting his weak little bladder to the point of no return. He had only two choices - to pee or not to pee, and he knew the peer pressure penalty if you pee in your pants, it was no choice at all. He had to pee and would certainly not do it in class.

 

“Sister, I’ve got to go,” He said urgently

 

Then he darted out of the clammy closet and ran down the center aisle, right past eight rows of nervously giggling classmates, turning directly in front of Sister Mary Elizabeth.

 

“Eugene – Ah - Go to the Principal's office,”

 

Rushing intently, Eugene grabbed the cold knob of the heavy wire mesh windowed door and pushed it open.

 

Sister Mary Elizabeth's bewildered voice cried out a faltering demand,

 

"Eugene, come back in here."

 

It was a last-ditch pitch attempt to assert her diminishing authority. The class could not control itself and burst out laughing.

 

Eugene ran out into the empty hallway and pushed the door shut behind him, slamming it a bit harder than he meant to. He flew down the corridor without a pass and whizzed past an alternating row of classrooms full of obedient students. His rushing foot steps echoed off the shiny terrazzo floor and high plaster walls until he skidded to a stop in front of the BOYS ROOM door, which happened to be directly across from the Principal's office. He thrust open the spring-loaded door and rushed in. Eugene made it to the row of full-length urinals just in time and stood there in urinary ecstasy, knowing it would only get worse from here.

 

As he zipped up his affairs and left the boys' restroom relieved, he walked directly across into the Principal's office, sat down, and waited resolutely, yet nervously, outside Sister Jude’s inner sanctum. Sister Jude heard the boy enter and said through her closed office door,

 

“Eugene, come in here,”

 

“Yes, Sister”

 

He dejectedly mumbled, not expecting she would hear him and thinking she probably wouldn’t want or care to hear him.

 

He opened her door and slowly entered. Eugene had been to the Principal's office many times before for various reasons.

 

“Eugene, sit down,” The intimidating # 1 Nun said.

 

Eugene got up onto the solid hardwood chair, his skinny legs dangling down a few inches off the floor. He held his head to his chest, expressing the gravity of the situation.

 

“Eugene, Sister Mary Elizabeth said you deliberately disobeyed her orders and left the class. Is that true?”

 

“Well, Sister Jude, I had to...”

 

“Is it true Yes or no?”

 

“Well, Sister,” He faltered.

 

“Yes or No,” she insisted.'

 

“No.”

 

“NO!” The Principal responded in abrupt disbelief.

 

“You did not leave the class without permission.”

 

“Well Yes but...”

 

“So you did disobey Sister Mary Elizabeth.”

 

“Yes. But she made me…”

 

“Eugene, - enough - just admit it!”

 

“Yes, Sister, but I…”

 

“Eugene!” Sister Jude interrupted and began her prepared speech.

 

“How many times have I told you that if you continue to misbehave, I will be forced to put you on the SPANKING MACHINE? Do you want that?”

 

Eugene had been threatened with the SPANKING MACHINE many times before and imagined it to be a “mid-evil” rack-like, impulse curbing device that had been passed down by a secret order of Nuns from the dark ages. He and the other first graders were supremely frightened by the potential power of the infamous torture device and were kept in check by the mere threat of being strapped to the SPANKING MACHINE.

 

“But Sister”

 

“Eugene, don’t challenge me. Do you want me to put you on the spanking machine?”

 

Eugene knew he was licked. There was a silent guilt coming from every part of his body.

 

“Well, do you?”

 

She pressed him, knowing he would certainly knuckle under.

 

Eugene thought and thought. He knew he would be finding his way back here again and wondered what to do. He sat silently, staring out of the tall, narrow window behind Sister Jude’s head. The contrast of bright back-light from the snowy outdoors and the black veil protecting her face made it hard for him to look directly at her, so he looked out at the icicles on the awning above her office window as she continued to drip the cold reality of threatened torture on his little head.

 

“Well, Eugene, do you?”

 

Eugene looked squarely at her face and passively said,

 

“OK – I guess so.

 

Then, gaining the strength of a religious martyr and said,

 

“Yes. Put me on the spanking machine.”

 

“What!” Sister Jude said with flabbergasted shock.

 

She lunged forward, then snapped back and sat deep in her solid oak chair. She grabbed hold of the arms and squeezed them for emotional support.

 

”Just do it.” Eugene said with his chest out as he lowered his head again and added,

 

“I suppose I deserve it and God must want me to be punished, so just put me on the spanking machine.”

 

Eugene had done it. He knew he must be guilty of something, and he was ready for his punishment. He looked up for her response. Sister Jude’s jaw dropped so far that the starched white crown of her tight habit dug into her forehead, creasing it into a mass of wrinkled, worried skin as a bead or two of sweat leaked out.

 

“But Eugene, aren’t you sorry?” She said in a relenting way.

 

“Yes, Sister, I am. I am very sorry, but I don’t know what for, and I know I will make another mistake, and I know I’ll have to go to the bathroom again, and Sister Mary Elizabeth will just...”

 

Sister Jude was caught so off guard that she was not able to conceal her nervous look as she glanced back at the small boy in the buttoned-down white shirt, with a snap-on tie, rumpled pants, and jacket. She said compromisingly,

 

“Well, Eugene, perhaps I can talk with Sister Mary Elizabeth?”

 

Eugene instantly sensed something odd. Sister Jude had never been willing to come to his aid before, and everyone knew Sister Mary Elizabeth was much tougher and stricter than any of the other Sisters were.

 

Something was up. He knew it.

 

“But what about the spanking machine?”

 

He asked, wanting more information about her unexpected clemency and his surprise pardon.

 

“Well, I am sure if you promise to never disobey again, we can spare you from the spanking machine this time.”

 

There was definitely something odd going on. Eugene began to see a glimmer of light in the once dark and scary passage that led to the Spanking Machine. He knew, as though God himself had shown him the way, this new light would give him the right to pass through - unharmed.

 

Eugene now knew there was no spanking machine. Why else would I be spared? He thought. To test this redemptive revelation, he beseeched the tough love Nun to give him a small taste of the medicine she had so many times said would come from a session on the so-called “Spanking Machine.”

 

“Sister, I think I deserve it. Take me to the Spanking Machine.”

 

“Well, Eugene it is in the basement in a special room.”

 

“Yes, Sister, I know, but I am ready to go.”

 

“Eugene, I don’t think that will be necessary, but I may need to call your Mother”

 

Eugene’s Mother and her mere manual spankings were old hat and of no real consequence this time. He knew his Mother would understand his bladder problem, and on this occasion, he would prevail. He pressed on.

 

“But Sister, I think I should get the Spanking Machine.”

 

“That won’t be necessary.”

 

She said, as sternly as she could, given the loss of her most powerful weapon, then added

 

“Now go back to your classroom while I decide what to do with you.”

 

Sister Jude took an embroidered lace handkerchief out from the sleeve of her habit and dabbed her forehead as Eugene slid off the seat and walked out, leaving the disciplinarian to wonder what deterrents were still left to her.

 

Eugene did not say a word or let on that he knew there was no “SPANKING MACHINE.”

He was quietly ecstatic. There was no Spanking Machine, and he could not wait to tell the rest of the class. However, before he went back to his classroom, he went into the BOYS ROOM again. There was still an hour until lunch, and it was a cold, damp day. He knew he had better go one more time.

 

Eugene entered the classroom with a relieved smile on his face, not the defeated frown that usually accompanied him after one of his visits to the Superior Mother Nuns’ office.

He walked confidently past Sister Mary Elizabeth, walked tall past his silently curious classmates, and made his way all the way back to his most remote seat. He sat down, looked out past the fog-streaked windows at the cold gray winter sky, and saw a new world where justice may be lurking.

 

When the lunch bell rang, his liberating news spread faster than spilled beans on a slippery cafeteria floor, and all the first graders knew in a flash they were free from the fear of the “SPANKING MACHINE.” A safe, warm glow of relief filled each mischievous little soul and pumped new life into their big, playful hearts.

 

Eugene was their rogue hero, a Catholic grammar school Spartacus. Sister Mary Elizabeth, Sister Jude, and Eugene had new rules of engagement. His Right of Passage gave him the divine wisdom to know not to test his lucky break. He took measured steps to stay safely within his protected place so the disarmed truce he created would stay in force, God willing.