Merry Sister Mary: Three Can Keep A Secret

4: Sister Mary Picks Her Seat

I pressed my nose against the glass. The air outside the car got colder with each ray of sunlight that faded over the horizon. Watching the many beautiful glittering dresses walk by a small part of me as a woman envied wearing those gowns, while the rambunctious nature that encompassed most of my being was thankful I could throw on the same thing every day and not worry about expensive attire. There was a joy in simplicity.

The anticipation had grown too strong. I couldn't wait any longer. My fingers gripped the door handle ready to push.

"Leblanc, could you be a dear, and park the car while I secure our place in line?"

"I don't think leaving you on your own is a great idea. There is a parking area nearby if you have a moment to–"

"No time like the present, Sergeant," I interrupted. "Besides, if something terrible were to occur, one would be wise to scope out the scene." I snatched my ticket off the dashboard. "See you inside."

Leblanc waved his hand in defeat. He knew best not to dissuade me when my mind was made up.

"Then be careful and in a few minutes look for me."

"I'll keep your seat warm," I said with a wink.

"I'd rather you didn't," he said with a laugh.

I slammed the car door forcefully causing Leblanc to stick his head through the window with a loud shout. I blew him a quick kiss and mouthed my apologies, but nowhere did my legs stop pressing forward. This nun was on a mission.

My feet wobbled on the cracked sidewalk. One thing I'd come to learn about this fair city was its historic charms and the qualities of such that come from the wares of time. In essence, the streets were full of holes.

"Good God," I yelped, avoiding a large hole where a brick should have been, only to find my stubby heels smushed in some fairly recent horse manure. Left behind probably by some horse drawn carriage or a saddled police officer, the soft feces dusted with flies tickled my nose and ruffled the edges of my gown. Disgust crossed my face just as a beautiful young couple crossed my path. We exchanged a glance. From their perspective, a wayward nun stood ankle deep in shit while her face contorted in desperate efforts to hold back her dinner. Their pace quickened. From my perspective, the warmth of steaming fresh horse pies insulated the base of my heels from the growing cold. The feeling of the calm toastiness that comes from moving out of the cold and into a warm room mixed with the feeling of disgust permeated my facial expressions.

"Ugh," I belched. I lifted my feet to dryer grounds and through prayer I managed the strength I needed to scrape the crud off my shoes. I painted the nearby concrete stoop in a way reflecting the works of Jackson Pollock. Stepping back I gave the canvas a nod of approval. Abstract art could be a new talent I never knew I possessed.

Unable to fully leave the scene with clean shoes, I continued on. The smell should mellow out in time. Scooting down the sidewalk I soon arrived at the entrance. A line of people in lavish garbs paraded two by two. I planted myself at the end of the line behind two gentlemen with sparkling red shoes. The line moved quickly enough. My eyes wandered around the facade landing on the giant marquee displaying in bold letters, MACBETH.

I may not look it, being my obvious career pursuit, but all nuns are allowed some dark deviltry behind closed doors. Like Sister Beth's floor stash of communion wine, or Sister Sophia's ant farm she keeps hidden despite dropping the box into the trash during breakfast or how Sister Nora sizes up the cucumbers at the supermarket but never uses them in a salad. We may never know such sins, but having one or two toes in forbidden waters keeps us grounded with the rest of the sinners. As for me, I loved to read about everything dark from murder stories to true crime to a horrid obsession of Shakespeare.