Faces in Time Read Online Free PDF Page A

slams the car into gear, tosses the device atop the t-shirt and paper where his copilot would sit, and turns the Chevelle around rapidly. Sending dirt floating up in the air into a gritty haze around the tree and spattering specks on his rear fender, his glowing taillights are a bouncing blur.
     

     
    He pulls his car into St. Christopher’s parking lot, the third school of the evening. It is the only one of the three that he did not attend. He has, however, been to St. Christopher before to see its plays.
    For the first time in his life, he parks his car in a handicapped space. Despite his current urgency, he has to convince himself that it’s alright because the play must be nearly over and it’s not likely anyone will show up to use the spot.
    He walks along the side of the gym breathing in the childhood smell of the exhaust of industrial air condition units. The warm, synthetic breeze reminds him of awkward dys waiting in the long lunch line that would extend outside of his own school’s cafeteria. That uneasiness reminds him of why he’s here, and he quickens his step.
    He had been in this gymnasium in his youth for several different plays. It is a standard rectangular school gym with a deep stage that is cut into one of the long walls, making a performance on it look like the audience is watching a video screen mounted flush against a wall.
    The stage itself is spacious and professional enough with curtains, lighting, and proper sound equipment, but two basketball goals are raised above the stage, which can draw the audience’s attention away from the play.
    Despite the folding chairs for the audience, the bouncy acoustics, and the painted markings of the basketball court on the floor, St. Christopher plays have been the envy of every school in the area, leaving many to wonder how the school gets so many students who can sing year after year.
    Without much thought, he finds his way inside, pays for a ticket, and nods his head as he is told there are only a few minutes left of the play.
    He opens the door, which allows a slant of light to fall upon the darkened audience. Immediately, he sees that hat. It sits on the seat closest to the doors in the first row. The woman next to the ostentatious headpiece appears to be the woman from the newspaper photo. The door shuts behind him quickly pulling the light back out with it.
    By the splashy level of the children’s overdone singing, he knows this must be the finale of a play that he has never seen.
    He steps close to the front row. All eyes are firmly lined up to the stage with the intensity of believing their momentary undivided attention will produce a successful life for their children as opposed to years of sound parenting. The thunderous applause does seem to hold some power over reality as it echoes and bounces in the gym. He is to the far left of anyone’s view.
    The stage lights grow brighter as the children strain to hold the climactic final note. Following the cues of the vocal intensity, the increased illumination on the performers as they turn to face the crowd; the audience of family, faculty, and neighbors rises to its feet with more robust applause. They are all consumed with the stage.
    The hat remains sitting on the chair next to its socialite owner.
    He can feel the heat sizzle in his fingers as he reaches for it. He takes a quick scan over the audience to his right. He may as well be invisible.
    His fingers grasp the brim and smoothly pull it off the chair, and as he turns away from the newly empty seat and the crowd to walk back toward the doors, he hugs the flamboyant hat tightly to the right side of his chest.
    The applause continues to pound out of their proud hands, creating a pulse like a drum roll that arouses both his adrenaline and his nerves.
    The room, despite the brightened stage illumination, is dim, devoid of any house lights. His eyes scan the darkened shapes along the wall, and there it is in its dark blue spray-painted majesty