I SPEAK TO STARS.

From infirmary I tramped straight to Rosalyn Jackson, steps loud and heavy as if I was trampling ants that swarmed beneath my feet. I imagined those ants were the last bits of hesitancy…and I killed them, killed them, KILLED THEM ALL!

I knew were she was, that divinity in black, new she was in her little office, on her little computer, doing her little website work, posting her little pictures…

When I halted in front of her door, my stomach cramped and agitation whirlpooled through my head. I exhaled all the air out of my lungs and inhaled even deeper, as if about to dive under water, and 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 walked in like I owned the fucking place.

The nun looked at me with mild surprise; nonetheless, her smile was ever welcoming. "Oh, Genevieve? Come on in." She beckoned to the chair.

I was right. As expected, she sat behind her little desk, behind the small, old laptop. And though I did not see what she did, I assumed she was busy publishing monastic propaganda.

I approached the opposite vacant chair, sat on it, 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘐 𝘰𝘸𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵, and just stared at her, silently sharpening my tongue to cut the bullshit right here right this fucking second.

"Just a moment." She typed a few keyboard symbols, clicked her little mouse a few times. Closed her little laptop and continued then, with that unwavering, amiable countenance. "What brings you in, dear?"

"Is it true?" I fired off. Expression – a stone. No hesitation.

[music recommendation: The Stars We Follow by Federico Albanese)

Sister Rosalyn's face, for as long as I could remember, was always pale, but when I'd asked this question, her skin seemed to grow a few shades paler, if that was even possible. And her smile. It faltered to an even, toneless line. Now there were two stones.

"Yes." Was her simple answer, voice completely withdrawn as if she tried her best to not let this word seep through those toneless lips of hers.

I frowned. Stared at her some more and frowned deeper still.

"You don't even know what I'm talking about."

She stared at me in return, pierced me with her brilliant green eyes that search my face for hints and clues, and replied, "Unfortunately, I do. You've come to talk about us."

Something inside of me clearly fell. Some organ, perhaps. My weak guts, or heart, or lungs that collapsed from lack of oxygen in that damn room I sat in. No, not a room. An ocean, a sea of emotions in which I was slowly drowning and suffocating.

I took a breath and exhaled my next question. "When were you planning to tell me?" Could I sound more accusing? Unlikely.

"I don't know." She said, not blinking once. Not even once…this whole time…

I pshawed, heart drumming nervously. "Is that the best answer you can give 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳?"

Her nod was the faintest, her face was unreadable, a stolid mask I could not at any angle decipher.

This seemed like something out of fiction. She was always benign, cooperative and kind, too kind for my liking. Too…sweet. But now? It's like before me sat a woman I had only just met. Distant, quiet, foreign. I did not know that woman, or rather, that other side of that woman, and it frightened me.

"All I know is that," she began murmuring, "this is not how I envisioned this conversation to be."

"And how did you imagine it would go? 'Hi! How r' ya? And by the way — I'm your mother. Long time no see. It's been twenty-one years but hey! It is what it is. Surprise?' " My eyes leeched into hers with fury. "Is this a joke?"

"I'd hoped I'd be the one to tell you the truth." She replied.

"Well, 𝘰𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘺. Seems I've outstripped you. You've failed." I chided. I couldn't help the acrimony I was chopping piece by piece. My tongue had been already whetted to a bloody-cold blade.

"I have. And for that I am deeply sorry," she admitted, voice now saturating with an emotion, which I could not yet pinpoint. "This news is hard to swallow. And these past several years all I have been doing was trying my best to prepare you for it. I was hopeful that by bringing you closer to me, by being there when you needed me, by being helpful…you would eventually warm up to me. So when we're comfortable enough in each other's presence, when we're used to each other, I'd tell you everything."

I could only look at her, just swallowing those hard news that she was feeding me spoon after heaping spoon. And oh, they were tough to digest, clogging my throat like bitter lamps, so I couldn't even produce a simple sound.

"I'm sorry, Genevieve," her voice gave out sheepishly a minute later, her brilliant eyes dimming to sorrow. "A thousand times I am sorry."

"You—" I rasped, cleared my throat from dry shock. "You're 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳…" the words rolled off my tongue too painfully. "𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 on god's green earth were you 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴?" My eyes turned glossy, soon to explode to fountains, but my voice was surprisingly stable. I could still speak without sounding like a broken violin.

"It is a very long, miserable story—"

"Trust me," I broke her off, "I'm willing to listen."

"There are too many things you don't know."

"Clearly."

"I'm serious."

"And I'm not? Look at me." I spread my arms. "Never in my entire life was I more serious."

She sucked her lips in, her face pained. "Genevieve…"

"I'm ready to be enlightened, 𝘮𝘰𝘮. Actually, I was born ready."

"You don't understand…" she shook her head, anguished. "You are 𝘯𝘰𝘵 ready."

"When will I be ready then? When will this 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 come? When I'm seventy-five years old? I am already here, already know enough."

Her face twisted in torment, but she would not speak.

"Try me." I challenged.

She gazed at me with woe. And just as woefully rose and fell her chest. A sigh, I believe. A very heavy, sad sigh.

Silence.

"I will not leave." I added, body vibrating with anticipation.

Silence.

I waited.

She was mute.

My hands formed fists. "𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦. 𝘞𝘦𝘳𝘦. 𝘠𝘰𝘶…"

"I was recovering." She said at last.

"Recovering…" I echoed apathetically. "Recovering from what?"

"From the past."

"𝘗𝘢𝘴𝘵." I spat. "Again this past. What is it about your past that had made you disappear for twenty-one—" 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨! "—years?"

She threw a nervous glance at her little desk clock. "Compline is about to start. Let us pray and have supper. And after…come here. We will have more time to speak about everything."

"What prayer…𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘥?!" I exploded. "I will hardly be able to function now that I know—whatever I know! For the love of god! I need answers!"

"I will give them to you, but please, I beg you, be patient."

𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, I wanted to scream, but refrained, not without difficulty. 𝘛𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘌𝘷𝘦…𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦…

"When…will I have my answers…" I puffed out with subdued exasperation.

"Once everyone is settled in their cells for the night."

"During grand silence?"

"Yes."

I pursed my lips, considering. "I can't wait that long."

"Please, Genevieve. Please, just do this one thing for me. I promise we will speak, without prying ears and interruption." She nearly pleaded.

"Fine." I monotoned. "When we're through with this day, I will be standing right at your door. I will be waiting." I warned. "And if you don't show up for whatever reason, I'll be knocking on everyone's doors until I find you."

Another silent sigh. Exhausted, woeful sigh. "I will be here, Genevieve."

"Fine." I said again, for nothing else entered my agitated head. "I will be waiting."

"Genevieve?" Her voice stopped me just as I was reaching for the door knob. I turned around to her bewildered face. "How did you find out?"

"I speak to stars." I uttered flatly and left.