Sister Mary Frances

[SacTown Chronic]

“Stephen Akin, please report to Sister Mary Frances’ office.” “Stephen Akin, please report to Sister Mary Frances’ office immediately.” Another school yard altercation, another summons.

“Why do I keep doing this”, I ask myself as I head towards the sprawling complex that houses St. Christopher’s administrative staff.

Because you like it, that’s why. Heck, at this point, you probably need it.

My heart pounds as I show myself in the office and take a seat near the door, in case a sudden exit is required. I’ve done this drill before but I’m as nervous as, well, a schoolboy. I notice that my palms are sweaty and my hands are shaking in anticipation of what’s to come.

Easy, man. You’ve done this drill before. Be cool.

I’m escorted into Sister Mary Frances’ office by her secretary, whose disapproving glances at me trumpet the fact that I’ve really stepped into it this time. As I walk into the office, I get my first chance to gauge the mood of the youngest nun to ever hold the title of Principle at St. Christopher Catholic Academy, and she is pissed. Nonchalantly, I make my way to the guest chair in front of her desk.

“I understand there was another altercation.”

“Yes, Sister.”

“You know the drill, Stephen, are you willing to apologize and ask for forgiveness?”

“I am not.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want forgiveness, and I’m not sorry.”

“If you are unrepentant, Stephen, you know what I must do.”

“Whatever.”

Because I know what’s coming, and the desire to be cool overrides everything else, I stand and hold out my hand before being instructed to do so.

Whack.

The ruler stings the back of my hand.

Whack. Whack. Whack.

The back of my hand turns red and welts appear on my skin.

“Have you learned your lesson, Stephen?” “Are you sorry?”

“I have not. I am not.”

“Hold out your other hand.”

I ignore her instructions and instead of switching hands, I rotate my wrist and forearm until my palm is facing up.

“Hold out your other hand, young Mister Akin.”

“No!”

Whack.

Whack. Whack. Whack.

No matter what Sister Mary Frances does, I refuse to switch hands. It’s a game of chicken and I have no doubt as to the outcome. I need this, after all.

Soon my hand is red, swollen, and hot to the touch.

“Go back to your room, Mister Akin”, says Sister Mary Frances between deep breaths, having finally lost her taste for this, “and think about how you’ve offended God and get on your knees and ask for forgiveness.”

Knowing from experience that time is of the essence, I race back to my room in the men’s dorm on the D wing, slam the door shut, and dive on my bed. Alone in my room, I’m free to replay the scene in my mind.

My burning, swollen hand clenches into a fist and I reach for the only me that seems to matter these days. Slowly I start to stroke myself as I remember the harsh words and stern justice meted out from compassionate eyes. My last thought before giving myself up to the memory of the love shown by Sister Mary Frances fills me with both pain and hope:

She’s not ready yet. But I’ll wait for her. Oh yes, I’ll spend seasons in the abyss waiting for you, Sister Mary Frances.

[Cadaverous Pallor]

Heehee.

[lashbear]

Raunchy !!

[Strangler Lewis]

Neat story.

Query: did you mean to misspell principal? I kind of like the idea of an authoritarian nun holding the title of "Principle" as if she embodies what is right.

[SacTown Chronic]

Ugh. I hadn't even noticed, SL. Foiled by my peeviest of pet peeves.

[tracilicious]

Nice!

[Betty]

What a delight!