The Shoeless Principal
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I watched Stan look down at his thick and stubby fingers, squeezing them into fists for a few seconds, before releasing them, and studying his palms. He picked at them twice before looking up at me.
“I had to stay quiet and not discuss it with anyone, stay clear of the newspapers, and media,” he said. “Felt like I was trapped in a twisted episode of the Twilight Zone. My four years gone, vanished, or more like vanquished. My marriage annulled along the way, too, which is a whole other novel for another day, a mini-series, in fact. It was like I never existed in Cambridge for all that time, nothing but a disturbing and anguished nightmare.”
“Wow,” I said. 
“There was a sweet older lady selling peonies outside the gourmet market every day,” Stan said. “I always purchased two flowers from her around 8:30 a.m. I miss her the most - she was always cheerful. You look handsome, Mr. Principal, or I love that saffron scarf today, Stan, it brings out the hope in your eyes.
“You remind me of Audrey Hepburn,” I said to her once and she nearly cooed. You know you’re not the first gentleman to say that. 
“Poor lady must have wondered whatever the hell happened to Stan Lucca,” he said. “I had to turn my back on her, on the whole damn neighborhood.”
“You’re the first person he’s shared these facts with, Ed,” Sheila said. “It’s like he’s opening his vault, and everything is just tumbling out.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I nodded; “Thanks, Stan and Sheila, thanks for sharing this story.”
“After the hospital,” Stan went on. “A friend of someone in the know at Bender, had a connection who offered me a job at his high school in the next town over from here, so I rented a U-Haul and gathered my possessions out of the Meriden storage place and drove here to my new home. People say how lucky I am to still be working today, which galls me some.”
“Why’s that?” I asked. 
“Well, I mean, it’s not like I killed anyone for Christ Sake, just had a major league meltdown in public,” Stan said. “Silly, sloppy, melodramatic, all that and more, but at least my heart still throbs, right?”
“You’re a survivor, Stan,” Sheila said.
“Sheila and my life mentor, Ellis, rescued me,” Stan said. “That’s the naked truth.”
“Tell Ed what Ellis said to you,” Sheila said.
“You’ll survive this and bravely step forward,’” he said on day one. “We’re going to take our shoes off every Tuesday and Thursday before our sessions, and at the end, place them back on.”
“That seems overly simplified, Ellis,” I responded.
“Trust, Stan,” he told me. “You trust me, I trust you. Water flowing. Off and then on, symbolic but important. Babes start in kitchen sinks, tubs, then kiddie pools, shallow ends, and on to the Olympics they go. Stepping forward all the while.”
“Yes,” I said. “But I don’t swim competitively.”