Thieves in the Temple: A Prequel to Purple Rain

CH. 24 Sweet Baby- Prince

Mona searched her bookbag frantically. She told herself she could not have been so stupid to lose her notebook. Stories, poems and drawings bound together by an industrial sized rubber band. The spine had broken because Mona saw no reason to use the pages in order. Her father gave her this six by nine book of blank pages with a hard back. It did not say journal on it. He told her she could use it for anything she wanted so that is exactly what she did. Misplacing it was unconscionable. "Could Kid have taken it?" she thought. No, he would never do that. He had no need to. Nothing was hidden from him. She retraced her day in her mind. What was the last think she wrote? The recollection came quickly and she could feel her cheeks go flush. Mr. Jessen's class. He told them to put everything thing beneath their desks before the exam. He was not a teacher she knew. She was only assigned that class for end of the year standardized testing. She brought her journal because she knew she would finish early as she had in years past and have nothing to do.

She rushed to Mr. Jessen's class to get the journal. Normally, she would be meeting Kid after school but only seventh graders where required to report to school that day. The eighth graders were having their class picnic. As she rushed down the hall trying to remember which class was the right one, she got a disturbing thought. What if the teacher read it?

When she entered the room, Mr. Jessen smiled to welcome her as if he was expecting her. She was relieved he had not left for the day. Maybe he had not read my journal, she pleaded with the cosmos. She walked over to the desk were she sat earlier but the journal was not there.

"I have your journal, Mona," Mr. Jessen said calmly.

Mr. Jessen was in his late thirties. He talked slowly pronouncing the endings to every word. He was book nerd with coffee stained teeth. He wore square framed glasses. His face was thin and his chin pointy.

Jessen leaned against his desk and pointed to the seat in front of it. Mona obediently sat her stupid, idiot, dumb absent minded behind in it, fearing if she did not listen to him, she might not get her journal back.

"Mona, your father asked me not to say anything but I knew him at UC Berkley."

"Really?" Mona tried to act interested. She kept looking around for the journal but Jessen was not revealing his secret. Mona was not interested in her father's friends.

"He thought it might be awkward if you ended up in my class," he said, leaning against his desk. He blinked more than other people.

"Did he?"

"I told him I would keep a look out for you while you were here at J. Edgar Hoover Junior High."

Mona wondered why he had to say the whole school name, J. Edgar Hoover Junior High instead of just calling it Hoover like everybody else.

"What's the boy's name I've seen you with in the cafeteria?"

She puzzled at him.

"The Negro boy."

She still did not answer.

"I think I have him in my remedial class. I'll tell you a secret, Mona. They don't allow us to call it a remedial English but that is exactly what it is."

Jessen was stalling. Mona slipped her hands under her thighs.

"Mr. Jessen," Mona tried to be polite. "I just came to get my journal. I'll tell my dad we met. I'm sure he'll want to know."

"I didn't know you were such a talented writer," he dropped this compliment like an atomic bomb. Mona's hands moistened against the cracked wooden seat. Jessen strolled around his desk, pulled a small key from his shirt pocket, unlocked the top drawer, and opened it. He placed Mona's journal on top of his desk, then strolled back to his leaning position.

Mona struggled to take a deep slow breath. Who did he think he was holding on to someone else's property? Danmeier wore a white shirt with a forest green cardigan like Mr. Rogers, but he was no Mr. Rogers. He smiled as he slid the journal from behind him without looking. He opened her journal and read. His mouth moved but no sound came out. He pushed his glasses closer to his eyes with his middle finger. When he got to the part, he decided to vocalize:

"I knew a girl named Nikki

I guess you could say she was a sex fiend

I met her in a hotel lobby masturbating

With a magazine

Her girlfriend called her Ginger and I'll tell you why

She lifted up her skirt so we could both taste her cherry pie"

"This made for interesting lunch time reading," he said looking up over his square frames.

Jessen salivated. Mona could feel the hunger in his dull, grey eyes. She writhed in the seat. She wanted to yell at him but fighting back tears was more important now.

"I wonder what your father would think if he knew you were writing this kind of..." he searched the ceiling for the right word. "Poetry. Or maybe we could call it ..." he searched the ceiling again, "creative writing." Mona was confused at his idle threat.

"Or maybe he already knows," Jessen taunted.

Mona let out a defensive, "No, he does not know."

"Maybe it's the Negro boy who has introduced you to such colorful ideas?"

"No"

"So you came up with all of these stories on your own, did you, Mona?" he smiled a nasty, impressed smile. "Well, I took the liberty of making photo copies of some of your most...creative work. I thought I might want to refer to it later."

"For what?! You have no right," Mona said swelling with anger. "That book is personal!"

"I know it is, Mona. But what you don't realize... maybe because you came here from California, but the content of such a book could get you expelled from school here in Minnesota," he said condescendingly. "People here in Minnesota don't have such free minds as what you are used to," he continued. "If I showed that book to the principal, well, your parents would be so embarrassed...again." It was clear he knew how her father lost his job at UC Berkley. "I think the best thing to do is for me to give it back to you and tell you not to bring it to school anymore."

He handed it to her with his left hand and placed his right on top of hers when she reached for it.

She drew back her hand with the book quickly, struggling not to let tears fall from her eyes. She was tangled up in the student desk by her book bag but managed to get free without falling.

"I think you are a talented writer and I would love to help you hone your craft." Mona ran out of the room with the journal clutched to her chest. "Whenever you are ready," he called out even though she had already left the room.

Every story she had written ran through her mind vividly as she ran down the street to Morris' house. The one about the boy and girl in the barn, the strangers who fell in love while waiting for a train, the two girls who kissed under a bridge. She was mortified anyone had seen the fantasies her mind crafted. She had drawn pictures and written poems about the love of her life. She needed to see Kid right away. Only he could make her feel alright.