Moments later Sister V. returned to the reception area with a glass of milk and a plate of chocolate chip cookies. “I baked them last night.”
I hesitated, but she nodded as if to say, Go ahead; it’s okay. I grabbed a few cookies, and she sat quietly, watching me stuff myself. The starched white habit that encased her cheeks made her face look like it was gripped in a vise. Her head was completely covered, and I tried to imagine what her hair looked like. Her eyebrows had grown pretty full; I wondered when she would tweeze them again.
“Did you always want to become a nun?” I said, taking a gulp of milk.
“Why do you ask?” She tried to conceal a smile.
“I dunno.” I shrugged. “You seem different from the other nuns.”
“Different how?”
“I dunno. You just seem, you know … nicer.”
Sister V. smiled. She leaned forward and helped herself to a cookie. “You know, when I was your age, being a nun had never occurred to me. As a matter of fact, I dreamed of someday singing on Broadway.”
“Really?”
“That’s right. I knew all the Broadway show tunes and would put on shows for the kids in my neighborhood with my younger brothers and sisters.”
“Did you ever sing on a stage? I mean in front of an audience?”
“I did. In high school I sang in musicals, and I was in a number of plays.”
“What happened?” I asked. “How come you didn’t become a singer?”
“Well, I wanted to, but my parents wouldn’t hear of it.”
“Wha’d they say?”
She laughed. “My mother thought I was stark-raving mad!”
“What’s wrong with being a singer?”