Orphan in Limbo

Memories (2)

"I can already imagine the amaze of meeting somebody who seems a soulmate of yars at first sight or the soul which exactly matches with yars." The brunette whispered timidly, cheerfully by gesturing with a hand she will be right back within a few minutes and getting from the sofa sluggishly as if her physical stamina bear a semblance of seventy-year-old elder. Her heart warmed at the mention of her mother how she met for first time the love of her life.

"We will wait for ya, sweetie!" The middle-aged lady exclaimed as Odette walked away from the living room by limping up to the kitchen without attempting to slump or the baby kicks interrupt her essential goal.

"It's fun to discuss such topics rather than bickering with Odette, Judy! I didn't mean to be mean or something, but I hate it when you just act like little kids instead of like grown-up." The former priest evoked out, nibbling on his bottom, berry-coloured lip as it curled by snaking an arm around Jude's shoulder, his colossal, veiny hand kneaded lightly her upper back, in order to soothe her.

"Ugh, she said worry and pity are similar! Didn't you just hear her?" She muttered, whereas Odette was beyond lucky for not hearing her mother's utterance after filling an ordinary glass with fresh, lukewarm water by resuscitating her body from the barrens once she sipped it.

"Rara avis, let's not talking shit about Odette and instead focus on the positive moments and vibes!" He patted amiably her shoulder, assuring her.

"You're probably right!" At the moment, the juvenile singer held a glass of water, whilst her other free hand propped the wall and poising her posture, in case, if an accident befalls her.

"I'm back." She drew their attentions momentarily with her arrival by limping up to the leather couch.  "Did I miss something?"

"No, no! You haven't missed anything special, darling!" The older woman replied. "Everything is fine to assure ya."

"Oh! I know these cheesy tricks." The brunette chuckled ironically as she said in jeering manner. "Being okay with something even if it doesn't seem alright at all. Let's return to yar story, mom!"

"Oh yeah! The day I met yar fathar was just one of the best days in my life along with the one we found ya and we got married."

--- Flashback ---
--- September 1939 ---

The September autumn breeze assaulted Boston and its outskirts with the lukewarm, fresh climate. The hints of the genuine autumn as the summer days were dying.

Agitation could be the best emotion which airbrushed the young nun since she received the good news from her mentor, Mother Claudia for the young British Monsignor, whose crucial goal is becoming a Pope in Rome and step on the long, glossy scarlet aisle of Rome, being addressed as the exalted Pope by a hive of nuns and priests. His arrival was suppose to take its place in the early days of September. It was the day when Briarcliff wouldn't be reckoned as a tuberculosis hospital, consequently, transforming it in a mental hospital for criminally insane with its essential goal to save wretched and lost souls, whose lights aren't being guided by God anymore. 

As a cab was already parked on the sideway past the grandiose angel statue which was part of the almost former tuberculosis hospital's yard, the oxfords of the juvenile, aspiring priest which stomped the grassland by approaching the horde of nuns and their leader the Mother Superior as well.

The nuns weren't many as they were 4 only. The first one was the youngest one as she was scarcely an young adult or perhaps in her late teens. Her bashful, light brown as almond eyes kindled a cold pigment flame of her benevolent, fragile and sheerly innocent nature. The stray strands of her strawberry-brown waterfall of tresses ideally framed her youthful, yet mildly childish complexion. Naivety oozed of her honeyed voice tone and eye contacts which she managed up with people her seniors. At last but not least, her skin tone was as pale as ghost and she wasn't tall at all. 5'2 was exactly her height with lean body structure, framing her petite figure. She was Sister Florence.