Paramythia (pa-ra-mee’-thi-a): An expression of consolation and encouragement.
“I feel so sorry for you. With the facial tic, We don’t know whether you’re smiling or “tic-ing.” I said to Don with my best tone of sincerity in my voice—a sort of whining certitude with an upward inflection. At school, when Don started to tic, he was escorted out of class by the day’s assigned student. It wasn’t so much the tic, but the noises he made—it was a whooping sound that ended with raspberries topped off by a snort. The sequence of sounds was repeated over and over until he stopped tic-ing. Ten years ago Don would’ve been tied to a chair in the school basement all day. But now, Don was “mainstreamed” in the classroom’s front row. He wasn’t even tied down! This was good for Don. He only “blew up” once a day, if at all. When the tic was unwound, Don was a great guy. We all laughed when he called himself “The Ticking Time-bomb.”
I had heard that holy water could cure things like tics. You “anointed” your target with it and they were instantly cured. I had asked my priest for some and hie told me to get lost. The fount at the church’s entrance was under CCTV surveillance 24-7. I wanted to help Don, but as far as I could see, holy water was out of reach. Then, the good news came. We were going on a class trip to The Cloisters, in New York City. I wasn’t quite clear on why we were going there, but I knew the Cloisters had Catholic religious connections. Given its location in NYC, maybe I could “score” some holy water there. New Yorkers were notoriously crooked. I had a good chance of scoring.
We left early in the morning, taking a bus we went over the George Washington Bridge. I was thinking, “After all he did, all he got was a bridge named after him.” Then I remembered Washington, DC, and corrected myself inside my head. I had recently seen “Mission Impossible” so I was ready to steal the holy water if I had to. In my backpack, I had a piece of rope and a pair of black leather gloves. I would do whatever it took to get Don cured. We pulled into the parking lot, got off the bus, and headed for the Cloisters’ entrance as a group, with me lagging behind.
When I got to the entrance there was an old man outside, he held up was looked like a Tabasco Sauce bottle and asked “Holy water?” I said “Hell yes!” He told me it was $2.00. I handed him $2.00 and he handed me the bottle. When I got inside, I looked at the bottle—the label said “Holey Water” like holey socks. I had been scammed. I looked outside and the old man was gone. We toured the Cloisters and it was awesome. As we exited we went through the gift shop. There were pictures of baby and grown-up Jesus, plastic replicas of the Holy Grail, book marks, sandals, and low a behold—holy water! I bought two gallon jugs. They were hard to get back to the bus, and even harder to get home. I couldn’t wait to dump them on Don and cure him. If he had been on the Cloisters trip, I probably would’ve doused him on the bus.
I lugged the two gallons of holy water to school the next day. I doused Don after we took our showers after gym class. He immediately broke into a classic Don tic. The I remembered the counterfeit holy water in my back pack in my gym locker. I ran and got it, almost slipping on the wet floor. I ran back and shook a couple of drops on Don’s head while he whooped and tic-ed uncontrollably.
Suddenly Don went silent, then he started whooping and tic-ing again. I shook more holey water on his head and everything stopped. Was he cured? Time would tell. Don hasn’t had a tic-fit for two years. I subsequently discovered the holy water sold in the Cloisters Gift Shop at the Cloisters was fake—it was ornamental.
People say the old man at the entrance was an angel of God, and charged $2.00 to induce a show of faith. Nobody could account for the misspelling of “holy.” Since the incident, I’ve been acclaimed as a saint—anointing Don with Holey Water and curing him is considered a miracle. I’m waiting to be afflicted by stigmata to make the grade. In the meantime, I’m selling bottled water online: http://www.holeyh2o.com. The water is called “Squeaky Springs” and it comes from a secret location in North Jersey.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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