try out living in a cabin in the woods of Maine and write a novel. Desperately I searched my brain for every option to avoid ever seeing Jame Patterson again.
Chapter 12
29 Years Ago - Our Lady
of Sorrows High School
I crashed and burned at the end of tenth grade. The party girl life didn’t work out very well for me. Screaming fights with my parents about my running around, drinking, talking back just made my life even worse.
Sister Margarita wisely nurtured my art talents as well as trying to lead me back to the safe and “good girl” path. She tenaciously hung in there with me as I carved a swath of destructive behaviors that school year.
“Cath, we need to talk about what you’ve been doing to yourself.”
“No we don’t, Sister. I’m fine. I’m having fun. My grades are good enough so what’s the big deal?” (Oh I was SO sure of myself that I didn’t acknowledge the love and concern in her eyes.)
“Sit down, Cath!” I slumped quickly to the bench. She never talked to me like that before and my nun-obedience reaction kicked in.
“Look at this!” Sister M pointed to my artwork strewn haphazardly on the art room counter.
“Yeah, so…?” It looked fine to me.
“See that oil painting on the right? And the water color next to it?”
Was this a trick? Of course I saw them. They were right in front of me. My two best creations if I do say do myself.
“Now look over there on the left side.”
Okaaaay. These were a little messier, a little less detail, a lot more careless.
Sister Margarita dramatically raised her arms high and said. “THAT’S the problem! LOOK AT YOUR WORK!”
Now I was really confused. What did she want from me?
“Stay there until you figure it out and then come tell me. And I have a solution for your problem.” She swished her black habit around and abruptly left the room.
Yeesh, what was that all about? Think she’s going a little crazy now that it’s the end of the school year. Probably needs her summer vacation.
I looked at my work. No big deal. I sat there for a long time in the hot, overly bright art studio and studied my pieces.
Separating what I thought was my best art from my worst, I started to see a pattern. All the ones I put on the right side, the vibrant colors, the edgy designs, the joyous creative work was done in ninth grade. The dark, depressive, angry, sloppy work was from this year.
Okay, the light bulb went off. As much as I hated to admit it, this was my life in front of me. Ninth grade was full of happiness, expansion, trying new things and loving life, while tenth grade was the opposite- not caring, raging, messy.
All right, Sister M- you win. I got it.
She was in her tiny, meticulously organized office grading our final artist reports.
“You’re right, Sister. This year’s art work is a waste.”
She looked at me doing her famous one-eyebrow raise. “And…?”
“And I wasted a lot of my year. I know I was out of control.” And to my utter surprise and embarrassment, I started to cry.
Out poured my story of Jame and me and the break up last year, about how I felt so sad and get-even raging mad.
“So what kind of year did you give yourself, Cath?” Her open face and caring smile broke through that last chunk of wall I had built up.
“Well, (hiccoughed, hiccoughed) I thought I had a fun, crazy, happy year, but I guess I really trashed everything. My parents hate me. Maddie isn’t even hanging around with me much. My only friends are the drunk junior boys.”
It was pretty painful to see this ugly life I had lived for these past ten months.
Taking a big sigh, I felt a weight lift off me. I turned my tearstained face towards hers and waited.
“So here’s a solution to turn your life and talents back in a positive direction. There’s a six-week session at
Chapter 12
29 Years Ago - Our Lady
of Sorrows High School
I crashed and burned at the end of tenth grade. The party girl life didn’t work out very well for me. Screaming fights with my parents about my running around, drinking, talking back just made my life even worse.
Sister Margarita wisely nurtured my art talents as well as trying to lead me back to the safe and “good girl” path. She tenaciously hung in there with me as I carved a swath of destructive behaviors that school year.
“Cath, we need to talk about what you’ve been doing to yourself.”
“No we don’t, Sister. I’m fine. I’m having fun. My grades are good enough so what’s the big deal?” (Oh I was SO sure of myself that I didn’t acknowledge the love and concern in her eyes.)
“Sit down, Cath!” I slumped quickly to the bench. She never talked to me like that before and my nun-obedience reaction kicked in.
“Look at this!” Sister M pointed to my artwork strewn haphazardly on the art room counter.
“Yeah, so…?” It looked fine to me.
“See that oil painting on the right? And the water color next to it?”
Was this a trick? Of course I saw them. They were right in front of me. My two best creations if I do say do myself.
“Now look over there on the left side.”
Okaaaay. These were a little messier, a little less detail, a lot more careless.
Sister Margarita dramatically raised her arms high and said. “THAT’S the problem! LOOK AT YOUR WORK!”
Now I was really confused. What did she want from me?
“Stay there until you figure it out and then come tell me. And I have a solution for your problem.” She swished her black habit around and abruptly left the room.
Yeesh, what was that all about? Think she’s going a little crazy now that it’s the end of the school year. Probably needs her summer vacation.
I looked at my work. No big deal. I sat there for a long time in the hot, overly bright art studio and studied my pieces.
Separating what I thought was my best art from my worst, I started to see a pattern. All the ones I put on the right side, the vibrant colors, the edgy designs, the joyous creative work was done in ninth grade. The dark, depressive, angry, sloppy work was from this year.
Okay, the light bulb went off. As much as I hated to admit it, this was my life in front of me. Ninth grade was full of happiness, expansion, trying new things and loving life, while tenth grade was the opposite- not caring, raging, messy.
All right, Sister M- you win. I got it.
She was in her tiny, meticulously organized office grading our final artist reports.
“You’re right, Sister. This year’s art work is a waste.”
She looked at me doing her famous one-eyebrow raise. “And…?”
“And I wasted a lot of my year. I know I was out of control.” And to my utter surprise and embarrassment, I started to cry.
Out poured my story of Jame and me and the break up last year, about how I felt so sad and get-even raging mad.
“So what kind of year did you give yourself, Cath?” Her open face and caring smile broke through that last chunk of wall I had built up.
“Well, (hiccoughed, hiccoughed) I thought I had a fun, crazy, happy year, but I guess I really trashed everything. My parents hate me. Maddie isn’t even hanging around with me much. My only friends are the drunk junior boys.”
It was pretty painful to see this ugly life I had lived for these past ten months.
Taking a big sigh, I felt a weight lift off me. I turned my tearstained face towards hers and waited.
“So here’s a solution to turn your life and talents back in a positive direction. There’s a six-week session at
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