My classroom was the
first next the nun’s lounge. It was a typical room where academics are learned
the hard way. Students in dark blue uniforms sat at single desks with nothing
in their field of vision other than an oversized crucifix, a black board, and a
nun teacher. The only sound admitted there was complete silence. The teacher’s
lecturing voice, the white clay whining against the board and the students’
pens rubbing against the paper were the only tolerated exceptions to the strict
rule. A rule is only a rule if a punishment is duly enforced against those who
chose to be flippant. On the wall across the crucifix, an instrument the size
and shape of a cane but with a different purpose was hanging to remind and
redirect the deviant ones. The only unauthorized noise I ever remember were loud
female laughs coming from the nuns’ lounge. I always wondered what in that
whole place could possibly trigger any form of hilarity.
I graduated from Mount Carmel without ever
finding out what, or who the jokes were on. I went on to college, and never
really gave much thought to my time spent there after that. I didn’t keep in
touch with any one, either. Lives get shuffled, and childhood friendships fade
as adult personalities flourish. People usually love to recall the memories
they cherish, and clearly there was nothing endearing for me to remember. Those
years were fossilized in my past, and had no business doing in the present. Or
so I thought.
One morning, in line to
order at my local coffee shop, I though the wait would be smoother if I would
grab one newspaper from the fixture. I skimmed through the headlines to see if
something less ordinary would catch my fancy. Wars, scandals, politics, only
old news on that day. I was about to give up and put the smelly paper back when
right at the bottom of the page a quirky article screamed for my attention:
“First Lesbian Wedding Celebrated in Town.”. I thought to myself “This place is
finally learning”. I quickly turned the pages to get to the full article. Once
I reached page 10, I eyed a picture showing two brides holding hands, smiling
from ear to ear while posing for the photograph. I wouldn’t have thought more
of it had the two wives not been sisters O’Riordan and Katolicsky, former Mount
Carmel math and English teachers, respectively.
Barely able to keep my
jaw from dropping, I approached the counter to pay for the paper, and left the
coffee for another time. The news had gotten me more awake than 20 expressos in
a row. I kept reading without wasting a second. The article was recounting how
the “two newlyweds had met while working as teachers at the same school. They
had been secret lovers for 20 years before deciding to quit religion, and
benefit from the new legislation on same-sex marriage”. I finally knew the
reason for so much laughter and happiness back in that nun’s lounge room. I was
also happy I now had a new old sweet memory.
