My New Friend Mr. O'Shea
Clip, clomp, thlack. clip, clomp, thlack. clip, clomp, thlack. I heard the sounds of Mrs. O'Shea padding swiftly down the sidewalk. I looked up and noticed her green imitation pearl earrings. They complemented her floral shirt and mint polyester pants. Of course, she liked green, and often reminded us of her Irish lineage. As she walked, every move was deliberate and exact. Her head was tall and erect, and she looked straight ahead as if on a very important mission.
I heard a little pit, pat walking several feet behind her. As he rounded the corner of the church, he gazed timidly at the ground and walked with a cautious air. His grey hair was swiftly parted on the left, the remains combed over to the side making perfect furrows slicked down by thick hair pomade. He lifted his left hand to brush something from his jacket and I noticed a shimmer of gold from his ring finger.
Mrs. O’Shea turned severely toward the man behind her. She seemed quite annoyed, “Come, now. Come,” Looking toward the door, she added abruptly, “We must not be late for choir practice.”
His simple reply, “Yes, dear,” came from barely audible, parted lips.
Smiling, I held the door open for them as they entered the church's narthex. Mrs. O'Shea, supported by her cane, made her way to the center of the stage at quite a fast clip, and waited for someone to assist her up the steps while the man walked at a slow and steady pace down the side of the sanctuary to approach the bass section from the left side of the platform.
Most of the other choir members had already made their way to the front and were seated in their sections. I walked toward the piano with my stack of music and opened up my hymnal while I waited for Jerry to start the rehearsal. I heard him faintly telling us that it was time to begin. I was wondering which hymn he would choose to begin our rehearsal, and whether I would be familiar with it.
My thoughts were interrupted when Mrs. O'Shea announced, “I'm here, I'm here! I sure hope you didn't start without me. I just tried to get here as fast as I could, but with my leg and all, I wasn't sure if I'd be able to come to practice because this morning when I woke up, the pain was so bad. My whole calf muscle was throbbing, and I tell you, it was simply unbearable. Around 3 o'clock in the afternoon,--”
“Excuse me,” Jerry, the choir director said quietly.
Mrs. O'Shea continued, “Well, I finally started to feel some relief when I took some medicine, but I sat in my easy chair for a couple of hours anyway until Wheel of Fortune came on, and then I decided that I was well enough to make an appearance tonight.”
“Ahem, Excuse me,” this time, a little louder, came the director's voice from the podium.
Still, Mrs. O'Shea went on, “I am so glad that you all haven't started yet. I don't know what I would've done.” Each word came forth from her mouth like a bad leaky faucet. She smiled, and as I thought she never would, turned her head toward Jerry.
“Why don't we all rise and turn to hymn 209, All Hail the Power of Jesus' Name, for a warm up,” he said. I could tell that he was attempting to have a cheerful countenance despite the one-sided conversation that Mrs. O'Shea just had down in the front row of the alto section.
I was familiar enough with the tune that as I played along with the singing, I couldn't help but notice how the bass section had improved over the past several weeks since Mrs. O'Shea joined our little group. We came to the end of the hymn and everyone sat down and exchanged grins and small talk for a moment until Jerry lightly tapped his podium.
Clearing his throat, he said, “Why don't we have a word of prayer before we put the finishing touches on our Easter music. Does anyone have any prayer requests?”
Mrs. O'Shea raised her hand immediately and blurted, “Yes, John Davis is in the hospital with bronchitis. He was out playing with the children without a jacket on. I'm sure we all know how that can be with spring almost over,” she paused sympathetically. Jerry lifted his pen as he was about to speak, but Mrs. O’Shea went on. “You don't even really notice how bad it is out, and it only takes one time to not wear your jacket to make you end up in the hospital with bronchitis. Anyway,” she continued without breathing, “I spoke with John's wife and they're putting him on antibiotics in case there is an infection. They upped his asthma medication, too, so he should be on the mend shortly,” she guessed.
“Alright,” Jerry muttered, “Mr. Davis,” He said as he scribbled on a slip of paper. “Are there any other requests?”
“Oh, I have one, please,” Miss Shepherd raised her hand and was acknowledged by Jerry with a head nod. “Please be in prayer for my sister, Mary. We just found out that she and her husband are expecting their first child!”
“What exciting news!” Jerry exclaimed, “I can't believe you kids are all grown up now.”
Mrs. O'Shea exclaimed out of turn, “Oh, that reminds me! My nephew, Nathan, and his girlfriend just got pregnant and they aren't married yet. I would like to pray for comfort since Nathan only works at the drugstore down the street and his girlfriend is really young. I am not sure if their relationship is going to make it or not so we need to pray for them and the baby.”
“Thank you--”
“Oh, and one more,” Mrs. O'Shea added, “Please pray for my leg. You know, I had Polio as a child and ever since, it's been giving me trouble. This cane really hasn't been doing much for me anymore and I've just been feeling so fatigued. I can't get around very well anymore and there really isn't anyone around to help me, and...”
“OK, I will pray for your leg,” Jerry said curtly. I could tell that he was growing more impatient. “Let's bow our heads to the Lord...”
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Sunday morning service came all too fast. I arrived at the church early and sipped a cup of coffee from the hospitality table as I looked over the hymns. In came Mrs. O'Shea and the man, this time they walked side by side.
“Can you please help me up the steps,” Mrs. O'Shea said to him.
“Yes, dear,” he replied.
Over the next few minutes, I got preoccupied in preparing my music, and then I chatted with a few friends before the service began. All of the choir members were up on the platform, so we did a quick sound check before it was time for me to begin the prelude music.
Just as I was about to begin playing, I noticed Mrs. O'Shea approaching the piano. “Hello,” she said to me. “How was your week?”
“Oh, it was a pretty full week, but good, thanks,” I replied as I busied myself, turning the pages of my spiral-bound prelude book.
“Did you do anything special?” She asked.
“Well,” I said, “I got a new piano student, but other than that, nothing too out of the ordinary.”
“Oh, my granddaughter just started taking piano. She has only been playing for four months and she is so talented that the teacher had to move her up to the second book from the very beginning.” Sighing, she continued, “She is taking from Young Cha over at the college. It took a lot of convincing for my daughter to get that lady to take her. With how special our little Elizabeth is, we couldn't let her take piano from just anyone, you know,” Mrs. O'Shea explained.
“I understand,” I said as I managed a slight grin, “I am sorry but I need to get started on my prelude music. It was nice speaking with you.”
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The Easter service was going well. We were in the middle of our third and final piece, a solo sung by Jerry entitled Watch the Lamb. It was not my imagination that the bass section had improved. As the choir backed Jerry up with Oohs and Aahs, I was quite certain that I could pick out one distinct bass voice in particular, and he was sensational.
As the audience applauded, Pastor made his way to the podium to pray over the offering. While our heads were bowed, I heard a rustling noise. I looked up and noticed that Mrs. O'Shea was frantically searching under her seat for something. She stood and walked swiftly down the steps to her usual pew and grabbed her purse. She must have forgotten her tithe, I thought, and then I noticed it.
Her cane was propped against her chair in the alto section.
I eyed it and as I turned my head back toward my music in an attempt to contain my surprise, I noted a certain bass singer as he rolled his eyes at Mrs. O'Shea's turned back.
Finally, I knew his secret. Mr. O'Shea actually has a personality. We can be friends. I inwardly giggled.
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