The Story of Harold Morton

Part One of Three:

Stained Glass Inspiration

It was never his intent to once again seek what he never seemed to find.  Yet, like heroin shooting through his veins, the desire of Number Seven drew him in without warning as she rejected his latest submission for publication.

Harold Morton began dating his wife, Evelyn, during their Senior year in High School.  Inwardly drawn and knowing nothing outside of the comfort of Evelyn’s mannerisms and touch, Harold married her the summer after completing college.  English diploma in hand, jobless, Harold drifted as Evelyn assumed a nursing position at John Hopkins Hospital in Maryland.

  After Evelyn left for her day shift, Harold would lock himself inside the apartment to work on his novel with his constant companion: a glass beaker.  To his wife, this beaker appeared to be something left over from one of his chemistry classes before he made the decision to study English.  To Harold, this beaker was an inspirational lifeline.  Using money left over in his parent funded student account, he bought inventory in marijuana and daily filled the beaker converted bong; inhaling to ease his mind from the constant bickering of expectations from Evelyn and her parents:

  “Do you have any job leads?  What about taking a job as a writer for such & such local newspaper?  Harold had standards and he would not lower himself to work for a small town local.  His wife and the In-Laws viewed any job as a source of income.  He viewed these publications as nothing more than black and white ink on paper to support a colorful stream of advertising revenue. 

Despite his daily habit, Harold had an amazing physical drive for his bride which satisfied the best aspect of being newlywed and helped to offset the more routine aspects of their relationship.  Nightly on repeat, Evelyn arrived home from her job at the hospital, she and Harold ate dinner in or out, talked about her patients, bed pan mishaps, an aggravating doctor or two, watched t.v. or a movie together and then went to sleep. 

As the beaker nightly decorated a shelf in their living room, Evelyn neither questioned the beaker’s slightly unusual appearance nor its holes. 

In fact, outside of his job search, she never questioned Harold’s daily activities and showed little, if any, interest in his writing.  To Evelyn, his writing at home was a hobby; a sport for fun; something to pass the time until her husband could secure a full time job.  Unmotivated to actively seek a job, the summer neared an end without success for Harold. 

Newlywed vulnerability exposed, Harold felt pressured as his Father-In-Law once again berated him.  Escaping the job search, Harold applied and gained admittance into the Master’s program in English Literature at John Hopkins University.  Shotgun, Harold knew he must complete his first novel now.  He would never have time to write for leisure once he started his Master’s degree.

Acceptance letter in hand, Harold was on top of the world as he began his daily writing ritual.  Harold tapped water from the sink, filling the bong, packing cannabis in the top of the stem, waiting for smoke to build in the chamber.  As he was held back from that which he desperately craved, his eyes fixated on the multi-fluorescent colors of the bong to pass time.  Its glass reminded him of the stain glass windows in the church he attended for the first eighteen years of his life.  He inhaled the freshly circulating smoke several times.  In one moment, he knew the bong to church comparison was so wrong and in another moment he fervently pounded words into his computer as an idea was born that would catapult his novel forward.

The words flowed as he described school children playing baseball in the church yard.  The usual team captains were elected drawing up teams of us against them.  A wiry boy, Timothy O’Shanahan was the last to be chosen by the lesser of the two captains.  The odds were not in favor of Timothy’s team, yet somehow as the least expected hero, Timothy, came up to bat, the ball sailed through the air, past the outfield, crashing through a stain glass window.  Members of both teams fled in a panic leaving only Timothy, paralyzed by fear as he remembered overhearing his Mom chastise his Father with the words: “May you be in heaven a full hour before the devil knows you are dead.” 

Timothy thought “what if I don’t make it to heaven, because I am immediately damned to hell for breaking God’s window?”  He dreaded the nuns arriving on the scene.  He hoped if anyone, Sister Mallory would arrive and not one of the yardstick wielding nuns.  Sister Mallory always had kind eyes for Timothy.  To Timothy’s surprise, Father Gallagher arrived driving the premise for the novel: the irresistible temptation of an affair with Timothy’s mother, a beautiful young parishioner with a troubled marriage to an abusive alcoholic. 

Timothy’s mother, Rachel, would protect her son at any cost.  She knew she could not ask her husband for the money to repair the window.  If she told her husband, he might break one or all of Timothy’s bones depending on his day or mood.  Father Gallagher recognized the situation, using his power to leverage Rachel’s fear of her husband in exchange for personal sexual favors as repayment to repair the glass window.  The novel builds as Father Gallagher and Rachel’s relationship continues, a pregnancy ensues, and a respected priest protects his position at any cost as he rises to a Bishop over the Diocese.  

As a writer, the novel allowed Harold to draw on his own Catholic upbringing.  He juxtaposed the priest’s action versus God’s teachings and the story’s outcome took on a moral tone.  As he completed his final draft, Harold shot a copy to an old friend who told Harold he should consider submitting the novel for publication.  Publication was always Harold’s goal for the novel, but to win the publication game, he would need to hire one of the best agents.  This would take money; something Harold did not have and his wife would not support. 

Harold’s parents were wealthy, but he knew they would only loan him money under the direst of circumstances.  So he concocted a story about their old car being virtually beyond repair and his wife being in the early stages of a risky pregnancy.  He told his parents that the pregnancy was a secret and he did not want Evelyn to risk the car breaking down with a baby on the way.  His parents were overridden with guilt and concern for what would be their first grandbaby.  The plan worked just as expected when they wrote Harold Morton a cashier’s check for $25,000.

Harold took a small reserve fund to buy more pot and established a separate bank account to hide the money from Evelyn.  Fueling a bong to celebrate, Harold toggled the world wide web in search of a Literary Agent. 

To Be Continued…