Waiting to Believe by Sandra Bloom Page A

sober me up for whatever life has in store for me.”
    â€œYou mean, break your spirit?”
    â€œOh, no! I wouldn’t want that!”
    Kacey sat down on an overturned washtub. “Well, that’s fine for you, but I hate being named after a male saint.”
    â€œBetter get used to it. I don’t think you’d get anywhere applying for a name change!”
    Kacey smiled at her friend. “Well, maybe we could give each other nicknames! It wouldn’t be the same as “Joan,” but at least I’d have something I like in private.”
    Lisa looked skeptical. “It’d be a stretch.”
    Kacey backed down. “Yeah, I guess so. I can’t imagine trying to call you Muffy or something. How about if we just keep calling each other by our real names?”
    â€œAgreed,” Lisa said. “You’ll always be Kacey to me.”
    â€œAnd you’ll always be Lisa.” Kacey paused. “Or maybe Johnny!”
    19
    Kacey rolled over onto her back. She had awakened before the bell. Her four roommates were still deep in sleep, but she had been called to wakefulness by something. She frowned for a moment. Then she remembered: July 17. Today is my birthday.
    She looked to the window. Is the sun shining? Sunshine on her birthday had always been important to her. She was a lover of the light. She rose and walked to the window, looking down on the neatly kept lawn, the precisely trimmed shrubs, and the dew, like diamonds, glinting under the early-morning sun.
    Eighteen. One of life’s milestones. Images of past birthdays flashed through her mind like Super 8 home movies.
    She looked over at the clock. 5:06 a.m. On the farm, her father would be up, moving about the kitchen. Making coffee. Frying himself two eggs, basted. Dropping a piece of whole wheat bread into the toaster. She saw him sitting at the table, spreading the Star Tribune out in front of him as he began to eat. Would he take note of the date on the masthead? July 17, 1963. Would he recall: “Kacey’s eighteenth birthday!”
    The bell. The others rolled over, flexed their bodies, reached for their robes, and tumbled from bed. In silence. Lori, now Sister Mary Callistus, gave Kacey a smile as she hurried toward the door on her way to the bathroom. Kacey smiled back. Does she remember it’s my birthday? Or was she just surprised to see me up before the bell?
    Kacey grabbed her own robe, about to follow them, when she spotted Lori’s clean white T-shirt lying on her bed. Kacey looked again at the shirt and then at the black Magic Marker resting on her bedside table. A wild thought! Quickly she spread the shirt on the bed and grabbed the marker. With swift, bold strokes, she drew two circles on opposite sides of the front, connected by a short line: a perfect barbell. Why not , she asked herself. It’s my birthday. I get to have some fun! Leaving the shirt on Lori’s bed, she hurried to the bathroom. This would not, after all, be just another day.
    She heard muffled laughter as she returned to their room from her shower. A sound never heard in these halls. Coming through the door, she saw Lori wearing the T-shirt, the barbell spread across her more-than-ample breasts. Debbie, Elaine, and Barbara stood in a semicircle in front of Lori as she struck suggestive poses, to the delight of all. Kacey broke into laughter at the sight. She was just about to close the door when Mother Mary Bernard grabbed the doorknob from the other side and burst into the room. “What in God’s name is going on in here?” she gasped, snapping her eyes shut in dismay at the sight before her. Opening them again, she exclaimed, “My Lord in heaven!” and then riveted Lori with a paralyzing stare. “What can you possibly say for yourself?” she demanded.
    Kacey immediately took a small step forward. “It’s my fault, Mother Mary. I drew the barbell.”
    The mistress of novices