The Squared Circle by JAMES W. BENNETT

she said. “It’s nothing like a church hymn. She has a lot of talent, doesn’t she?”
    â€œI guess she does, but I don’t know much about music.”
    After another ten minutes, it was plain that his mother intended to keep on playing. “She won’t be stopping for quite a while, will she?” Barb asked.
    â€œI doubt it. Maybe when it’s too dark to see the notes.”
    â€œMaybe we should go then.”
    â€œSure,” said Sonny, relieved.
    â€œI can meet her some other time.”
    â€œSure.” On the way out of the church, Barbara stopped long enough to do the knee-touching thing again, but Sonny didn’t feel like asking her about it. On the walk she asked him, “Why did Father Breen bring up the spring retreat? Do you want to go?”
    â€œI don’t want to go. My mother wants me to go.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œSo she won’t feel guilty about playing your church’s organ. You should see her on Sunday mornings, when she thinks she’s going to Mass. Then her hair isn’t right, or her makeup. She ends up not going.”
    â€œThat’s too bad, Sonny.”
    Sonny shook his head. He was feeling impatient. “She doesn’t even want to go. What she wants to do is play the organ when there’s nobody in the church. The truth is, I think there’s something the matter with her mind. She thinks if she goes to Mass, it would give her more of a right to play the organ. But she can’t get her act together, so she thinks I can do it for her if I go to a retreat. You know what I’m sayin’?”
    â€œI understand what you’re saying.”
    â€œYeah.” He didn’t say anything about her drinking or the nerve pills. He’d already told her more than he was used to telling.
    They were silent for a couple of blocks and then he said, “What’s a scattered Christian?” He didn’t really care, but it would be better than a long, embarrassing silence.
    â€œThat’s you,” she giggled.
    â€œHow is it me?”
    â€œYou’re not a Catholic, so you’re lost. If you’re lost, I’m supposed to help you get found. I’m supposed to convert you.”
    â€œI don’t care about that.”
    â€œDon’t worry, I would never nag another person about religion. I believe religion is a personal thing; each person has to make up their own mind.”
    When they got to her house, they stood inside her screened porch. The shadow from the large spruce trees was dense. He kissed her once but then he said, “I’m not going on a religious retreat just to make her happy.”
    â€œI don’t think you should,” she replied. “A person shouldn’t do a thing like that just to please someone else.”

4
    Sonny spent the night in Sissy’s guest bedroom. At breakfast, he told her he was having spells where he lost his concentration.
    â€œSpells? Didn’t you just score a thousand points in that New York tournament?”
    â€œIf you mean the NIT, it wasn’t anything like a thousand points. I’m not talking about basketball, anyway. I mean other times and places. It’s like getting lost in thought.”
    â€œLost in thought about what?”
    â€œUsually memories. Certain things make me think about other things. Mostly it seems to be about Brother Rice, my ninth-grade coach, or Barbara Bonds. She’s an old girlfriend.”
    Sonny was finishing a bowl of Cheerios while Sissy poured him a tall glass of orange juice. She was wearing an old flowered housecoat with a zipper front and walking around barefoot. “It sounds like normal reverie activity,” she told him. “Are they bad memories?”
    â€œNot necessarily. It’s just different. It’s not something I usually do. The memories seem …” How to say this? “They seem important.”
    Sissy poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down