An excerpt from Resilient Ruin

From the day my uncle dropped me off at a Catholic girls' boarding school:

Uncle Thomas parks his Chrysler in front of Holy Family Academy. It’s on the edge of a one-block business district with a bar, combination post office-general store, and gas station. That’s about it.

He removes the key from the ignition and slips it into his pocket. “It’s only because of your mother that the sisters are taking you in. Some of them remember the summers Mary Agnes spent here as a child.”

I’ve never thought of my mother as a girl. She’s only been black-and-white pictures to me. I wonder if being here will spark something more than the void that claims my insides at the sound of her name, Mary Agnes. What will it be like to walk the halls where she walked, eat where she ate, maybe even sleep in the same room?

As Uncle Thomas and I approach the front door, I wonder, though, how I could possibly belong here. All my life I’ve been on the edge of the Catholic church, never really a part of it. Still, the fact that I’m Catholic is one of the first things I learned about myself. Maybe this is my chance to be the person I started out to be.

As Uncle Thomas and I walk through the front door and into the foyer, a nun emerges from a hallway to the right. Her wide smile exposes a row of slightly crooked, yellowing teeth.

“Hello, Thomas. It’s good to see you again.” She gives his hand a vigorous shake. She turns to me and says, “You must be Laura. I’m Sister Mary Cecelia, and I’m pleased to meet you. I knew your mother, dear.”

“Pleased to meet you, too.” I look down at the sturdy, lace-up shoes Aunt Barbara bought for me yesterday. She also purchased a plaid uniform skirt, navy blue blazer, several pairs of white socks, new underwear, a couple of blouses, one casual skirt and sweater set, a pair of wool slacks and a new pair of plaid pajamas that I absolutely love. The battered suitcase Uncle Thomas carried in contains the most items anyone has ever bought for me at one time.

After exchanging a few pleasantries with Sister Mary Cecelia, Uncle Thomas says he has to go. “Behave yourself,” he says to me.

“I will,” I say, fully intending to do so.

Another nun approaches and introduces herself as Sister Mary Claire. One of her eyebrows is raised a crack above the tortoise shell frame of her glasses, giving her an impish appearance. I wonder how old she is but figure it’s not appropriate to ask nuns such things.

“Let’s get you settled.” She takes me by the hand and leads me upstairs. At the dorm, she escorts me to the sixth bed from the door against the inside wall. I put down my suitcase in front of the dresser that will be mine.

“We’ve got thirteen girls in the senior class now,” Sister Theresa Clare says.

“That’s really small. There are 650 in my old class.”

“That’s really big.” She stifles a giggle.

“Your dresser will be inspected regularly, and if your drawers are messy, you won’t be able to go into town on Saturdays, or go home for weekend visits.”

“I’m a slob. I’ll be stuck here for months,” I say.

“It’s not that hard to pass inspection.” She puts my suitcase on the bed, opens it and one by one lifts my new clothes and shows me how to fold them so they’ll fit neatly into the drawers. Nobody has ever helped me put away clothes before. I think this can’t be right. Nuns are supposed to be mean and cold, but the two I’ve met here are the opposite.

“Do you think the other girls will like me?” I ask.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t they?” she says.

I can think of lots of reasons. I might say something stupid straight off that will turn everyone against me. They might not like the way I dress, the way I walk, the look in my eyes, or they might take a dislike to me on general principles, like at home, where it seems I have to earn every scrap of acceptance I get.