Merry Sister Mary and the One and Only Killer

3: Sister Mary Steals from a Squirrel

 "Pardon me, sir or madam," I cried, pulling people to the side. "Did you see a red convertible pass this way no more than ten minutes ago? There was a lady in it with a black dress and a big umbrella."

"I'm afraid not, holy mother," some respectfully responded.

"Nuns don't drive cars," others dumb-wittingly replied.

"Perhaps you should call a priest," sarcastically said one.

After half an hour of searching, I fell exhausted on a metal bench overlooking the river. I watched teary eyed as a bus arrived at the ferry dock across the way. I knew without a doubt everyone on that bus was glad to get rid of me. I was stranded without so much as a bible, a fresh cowl, money in my pocket, or even a rosary in my lap. A nun without a rosary is like a butcher without a knife. Useless.

"Shit," I cursed. "Shit, shit, God forsaken shit." Cars zoomed by blasting their noxious exhaust in my direction. An overflowing waste-can spilled paper and food onto the ground. The smell all too unpleasant tickled my nose. A community bulletin board stood nearby, its surface covered with missing children flyers. They flapped wildly in the wind with each passing car. One flew off and nearly slapped me in the face. I growled in frustration. "I'm starting to very much dislike this place," I said. "Worst. Day. Ever." I looked around. "Where am I anyway?"

A sign hung from a nearby building. With carved white letters it said, St. Francisville Courthouse, West Feliciana Clerk of Court, founded in 1903. Its domed top reminded me of an ice cream scoop. Oh my, and the oak trees looked like broccoli! Guess I was hungry so very hungry. Another sign mentioned fine Louisiana cooking down the road. My stomach grumbled at the thought of a nice warm meal.

"Shut up, you," I said, poking at my stomach. It grumbled again. "Bloody digestive system."

I admit, I was at my wits end. My usual snarky confidence was replaced by overwhelming disappointment and dread. Where was I going to even sleep tonight? Perhaps I could find a catholic church nearby and beg to stay. I doubt a small rural town like this had any free lodgings. I turned my gaze to the evening sky and began to pray.

"God," I whispered while folding my hands, "I know you are probably punishing me for calling you out earlier and possibly for looking down that fine man's shirt. Oh, and uh knocking some sense into that baby and its mother, but don't just bloody abandon me on the streets. If the girls at the abbey could see me now. I bet their heads would be falling off their bodies in laughter. God, I'm so hungry. I'll sleep here if I have to, but, please, give me some food." I looked down at my pouting stomach and rubbed my protruding waist. "I can hear the sisters chanting. 'Merry Mary quite contrary, how does your belly grow? With milkshakes, and lemon cakes, beef steaks and stomach aches. Carry your umbrella, it's about to snow.'" I sighed. "I'm glad they kicked me out. I had just about enough of those women. Walking around the abbey all high and mighty. 'Oh, look at me, I pray ten hours a day and don't enjoy life.' Well, to hell with them. Those wankers."

I looked back up to the sky and refolded my hands. "Forgive me, God, I was rambling again. Food, yes, food would be nice." Suddenly a squirrel swooped down from the tree limbs above. "Agh!" I screamed, shielding my face. "Rodents in the trees! Grizzly pieces of fuzz!" I removed my hands and looked beside me. At the far end of the bench flicking its cute, bushy tail was a hissing squirrel. I hissed back. "What do you want?" The squirrel did not seem afraid of humans. It flicked its tail once more. "I'm warning you, Mr. Squirrel. I may be a daughter of the cloth but I am no vegetarian. Don't tempt me. I've had a terrible day and I don't need you making it worse." The squirrel hissed again. "I ain't got no food. Go get you some nuts over yonder. Go. Shoo!" It looked at the tree then at the overflowing trash can. The squirrel hopped over to the trash and began digging through it. "Oh now that is disgusting," I said, feeling an urge to vomit and a loss of appetite. Its little head popped out. A candy bar still in its wrapper was clenched in its teeth. Suddenly my hunger was back. "No way!" I cried. "Don't people know it's a sin to throw away a perfectly good piece of candy." I licked my lips. "No hard feelings, Mr. Squirrel, but you aren't going to be able to eat that by yourself are you? I mean look, it's bigger than your little hamster brain."

The squirrel hopped back on the bench and started gnawing at the wrapper, trying to open it. I couldn't take it anymore. I was so hungry. I lunged forward and snatched the candy bar. The poor frightened animal scurried to the nearby tree. "Ah ha! Mine!" I cried. I felt so successful and happy until I took a second look at the squirrel. It's sad black eyes stared at me in helpless wonder. "Damn this accursed conscious of mine." I unwrapped the candy bar and set it on the ground. "You earned it, Mr. Squirrel. Eat up."

It was at that moment the stranger's umbrella fell from my lap and onto the ground. I had forgotten I was carrying it, a habit probably. Looking down I saw etched in the wooden handle were the words, Property of Mrs. Denise Stanton. I rose to my feet jumping with joy. "Yes!" I cried. "All is not lost! Thank you, Mr. Squirrel! Thank you, God!"

Before I knew it, my thick nun legs were skipping through the air like a prancing pony or a delighted kid departing from school. I'm sure it looked strange seeing a nun sprinting through yards, leaping over flower beds, and ignoring traffic lights, but I didn't care. Let the cars honk, let the people spit out their lemonade all over their porches, let them wonder if the church was on fire, for at the moment I was on fire, and there was no putting me out. Denise Stanton, here I come.