The woman was standing on the toilet.

   The stall door was locked.  And of course her head was poking up over the top.  Girls and boys were trying to press the stall door open and convince her, just do it.  

  A couple nuns, a priest, and a couple plain clothes other teachers crammed into the bathroom.  The woman standing sighed and crossed her arms and put a long leg against the stall door.  "I just can't.  I can't do it." 

  A hum of what happened started to build in the space of echo in the bathroom.  "And I can't LIE." 

  One of the nuns gasped and tsk'd. 

  The priest went to get the Monsignor. 

  "I'm sorry." 

  The gym teacher made his way in and looked over the stall and the woman looked at him.  "What is it Sue?" 

  "THEY won't let me NOT teach bullcrap."  This illicited audible uh-ohs, gasps, crossing of selves, and prayers.

  The gym teacher rolled his eyes dramatically.  "Wanna be the gym teacher?" 

  The Monsignor was in a plain white under robe and was red in the face from the stair climbing as he was pulled in.  The nuns indicated the children should sit. 

  "Susan Allen what is the meaning of this?" He asked. 

  She crossed her arms tighter.  "I'm stuck." 

  "Try removing your foot from the door." 

  "No." 

  The Monsignor looked at the others and sat on the floor with his back against the stall door.  "Stuck how?" He asked. 

  "I, I'm sorry, but, I cannot believe the tree thing." 

  "The tree thing?" 

  A little boy jumped up and yelled Burn HER at the stake!!!!

  "CHILD!!!!!!!" The Monsignor grabbed him as he struggled to get up off the floor.  "Sister Loretta Joseph take this one to the office." 

  "I'll go there too!" The teacher blew out a train engine steam breath, uncrossed her arms, unlocked the stall door with her foot, and strode through the parting of the people getting out of the way.

  "Better the office than hell," a young nun practically hissed as she started to pull people, little people, to their feet.  Some leaned on each other and came out into the hallway like bomb blast survivors.  Everybody was sweaty.  Some red faced, some paled.

  "You're not a witch are you?" I raced after the woman and asked. 

  She stopped walking.

  "We'll talk later," the gym teacher called down the hallway and lamely waved a peace sign. 

  "I don't think I am.  But if I buy the tree and apple story, then," she blew out another deep concentrated breath, "Then what?????" She put a firm hand on my shoulder.  "I've not lost my faith Lara." 

  "But?" 

  "But there's a lot of attitude towards us, women, that has to do with this tree thing." 

  "Oh."