Mrs. Porter's lips were twitching. She kept looking up at the clock on the lunchroom wall. 'Finish your meals, people. Lunch is over in six minutes.'
Jimmy raised his hand. Mrs. Porter stared at him as if he had just pulled a booger from his nose. He kept his hand up until she asked what he wanted.
'May I go to the rest room, please?' he asked.
Mrs. Porter pressed her lips into a line and looked up at the clock again. 'Have you finished your meal?'
'Yes, ma'am.'
'Very well, then. You may throw away your trash and go to the rest room. You have five minutes.'
'Yes, ma'am.' Jimmy stood.
The blind man touched his shoulder. 'It was a pleasure to meet you, Jimmy,' he said. He held out his hand.
Jimmy put his right hand into the blind man's grip. The blind man's hand was big and soft. It was as if Jimmy's own hand had been swallowed.
'Remember to listen and feel, Jimmy,' the blind man said. 'With your heart.'
'Yes, sir,' Jimmy said. He was anxious to leave. He didn't have much time. The blind man seemed to want to hang on to his hand forever. Jimmy pulled free, picked up his tray, and hurried to the garbage can. He dumped his trash and leftovers, put the dirty tray on the counter, and walked out of the lunchroom as fast as he could.
He would have started running as soon as he was in the hall, but Mr. Sturner was standing beside the lunchroom's double doorway. Jimmy could feel the principal's eyes on his back. The blind man was right. You didn't always have to be looking at people to know they were there.
He turned the corner and stopped at the door to the boys' rest room, his fingertips touching the wood. He looked behind him. Mr. Stumer had not followed. The glass wall of the school office was right across the hall, but the secretary had her back to him. She was eating a sandwich. There was no one else in sight. The only sound was the murmur from the lunchroom.
Jimmy took his hand away from the rest room door and ran down the hall to talk to Jesus.
The auditorium seemed deserted. Only the stage lights were on. The door swung shut behind Jimmy with a reverberating
'Hello?' he called. His voice was too loud in the big, empty space.
He walked down the sloping center aisle past the curved rows of metal-and- wood chairs. His shoes squeaked. The wooden seats were all standing up against the metal backs. They had made a lot of noise when everyone had stood to go to lunch. Jimmy had enjoyed it. He wished that he could hold down twenty or thirty at once so that he could listen to the clatter when he released them.
When he reached the gray-enameled cement apron between the front row and the stage, he paused to gaze at the spot where the blind man would have landed. It would have hurt a lot. He might have broken his arms or legs. He might even have been killed. Jimmy was amazed all over again at the blind man's bravery and faith. So what if his hands were like dough? Jesus didn't care.
Jimmy crossed the apron to the right side of the stage and climbed the steps that Mr. Sturner had climbed. His shoes were as loud as hammers. He stopped halfway up and looked out across the rows of seats. No one was there. The doors remained closed. He continued upward.
His footsteps were loud on the stage too. He started walking in a shuffle, and the noise was like the sand blocks in music class. He headed for the split in the middle of the brown velvet. When he reached it, he stuck his head through. Behind the curtain, the light was orange.
'Jesus?' he whispered.
His whisper didn't echo. It was if he had said the name to himself, under the covers in bed. No one but him could hear it. He would have to speak up.
He stepped through the split. 'Jesus?' he said again, louder. He pressed his hands together and swiveled as if he were a radar antenna. He pointed his fingertips first at one part of the stage and then another. 'Jesus?' he called. 'Are You here, Jesus? Come in, Jesus. My heart is open to You, Jesus. Come in, please. Over.'
There was no answer, no whisper in his ear. He went to the center of the stage, held his arms out straight before him, and turned around and around so that the prayer beam from his fingertips swept the entire stage. 'Jesus, this is Jimmy Blackburn,' he said. 'I accepted You as my Savior last Easter. I have to talk to You. Over.'
Still nothing. Jimmy became dizzy, so he began turning the other way. 'Jesus, I have a prayer,' he said. 'I have something to ask You for, in Your name. And anything asked in Your name You promised to do. I know You're here. You whispered to the blind man. Come in, Jesus.'
Jesus didn't answer.
Jimmy stopped turning. He pointed his fingers skyward, then closed his eyes tight. 'Jesus, please make Mom and Dad happy. I pray this in Your name, Amen.'
He listened for the Lord's voice, but all he could hear was the swoosh of blood in his head. All he could feel was the stage rocking under him, trying to make him fall.
He opened his eyes. He was alone on the stage. He had been too late.
Jesus was gone.
Jimmy knew that he had to get back to the lunchroom. He called 'Jesus?' once more to make sure, then parted his hands and let his arms drop. Maybe Jesus had gone to the lunchroom with the blind man. Maybe, Jimmy thought, he should have spoken his prayer there instead. But then everyone would have heard.
His dizziness subsided. He walked back through the split in the curtain, into whiter light. The empty seats were spread out before him. He raised his right hand and stepped forward, toward the edge of the stage. His footsteps were as loud as a giant's. He imagined the gasps and the fear. Would he know when to stop? Would he fall? Would Jesus save him?
Something crackled under his foot. He both felt and heard it. He stopped and looked down.
His toes were four inches from the edge. He was standing on a long strip of brown paper tape that was stuck to the stage. It was almost invisible against the wood. It lay parallel to the edge of the stage.
Jimmy put his other foot on it too. It crackled again. The tape had ridges and air bubbles.
He stepped off the tape and squatted at one end of it. The end had curled a little. He grasped the curl and stood, pulling. The tape came up with a sucking sound. Jimmy wadded it into a ball and then compressed it in his hands as hard as he could. Sharp corners of tape jabbed him. After he stuffed the ball into a pants pocket, his palms were red and sticky.
He hurried down the stage steps and out of the auditorium. The doors banged shut behind him. As he passed the office, he saw Mr. Sturner and the blind man talking inside.
Jimmy made it back to the lunchroom before the bell rang. He'd had more time than Mrs. Porter had said. He sat in his place at the table and stared down at a spot of ketchup so he wouldn't have to look at anyone else. All he could hear was his own breath. All he could feel was the ball of tape in his pocket, biting into his leg.
When the bell rang, Mrs. Porter marched the class back to her room single file. As the children settled into their desks, the bell rang again. That meant that the fifth through eighth graders were going to lunch. They would have twenty minutes to eat. Then, Jimmy knew, they would have an assembly to hear the blind man speak.
