The sisters from Our Lady of Fatima convent walked into the church shortly before benediction began. Sister Vanilla was a novitiate and a young beautiful one at that. I call her Vanilla because she scented of vanilla. Unlike the other sisters who were frocked in the traditional habit, Sister Vanilla and four others were garbed in a dowdy white shirt and an ill-fitting dark skirt which was gathered at the waist – the uniform of novitiates I reckon. But no amount of hideous clothing could’ve concealed Sister Vanilla’s true beauty. The outlines of her hips and full bum kind of managed to show despite the skirt and the extra extra-large blouse couldn’t screen her enormously endowed bust. She’d a face that could hold anyone’s gaze a second or two longer than necessary and a figure that could get the beholder to think things; those things.
My heart rose and fell when Sister Vanilla stopped next to the row where I sat engrossed in wondering thoughts and asked if she could join me. Sure why not? I could even give up my space for her. But the church wasn’t filled and such display of chivalry was uncalled for.
Sister Vanilla sat next to me and my tummy swarm with butterflies. Throughout benediction, I thought of nothing else but how closely I was sitting to the world’s most fetching sister. Her voice was as lovely as her face and when she chanted those Latin hymns, she sounded like Lark the song bird. I’d no hymn book so we shared hers. We shared her prayer book and bible too. But I’d my own bible.
Was Sister Vanilla feeling the same way I was feeling sitting next to her? Was I having the same effect on her like she was having on me? Most certainly! Else why did she choose to sit next to me of all the spaces in the church? Why didn’t she stick with her fellow Sisters? She was developing a thing for me, I was sure and I felt duty bound to tell her the feeling was mutual. I’d walk right up to her after benediction and tell her I feel the whole world about her. She would tell me she’d been waiting for me to say that all her life. We would hug and kiss and tears would spill down our cheeks then I’d slip a ring on the middle finger of her left hand. Two weeks later we would wed in the same church and my! I’d save her the sorrows of living a celibate life.
When benediction was over, Sister Vanilla joined her Sister friends once again. I’d hesitated about telling her how I felt about her when I’d the chance, now it was kind of late for presently she and the other sisters were waiting for the mother superior by the bus which would convey them back to the convent. A seminarian joined the sisters by the bus and was making small talk. He must have said something funny for the sisters all burst out laughing. Sod him! It should’ve been me, see? I was watching the sisters from a distance but I can swear Sister Vanilla was giving the seminarian ‘the eye.’ Or was I just imagining things? Perhaps it was me she was giving ‘the eye’ after all. But I won’t know; I was far off.
The moment I summoned the courage to walk up to the gay Sisters and request an audience with Sister Vanilla was the same moment mother superior chose to show up. Soon enough, she was behind the wheel and before long the bus cranked into life. The mirthful sisters waved gaily at the seminarian, then boarded the bus. I watched heart brokenly as the bus drove pass me; out of my sight. Why was I thinking of Sister Vanilla after all? I should’ve known she was already taken – God sure takes the good ones.
© Pever X 2012. All rights reserved.