The Possibilities of Sainthood (9 page)

“Guys always look good in baseball hats, don't they?”

“They
so
do,” I said, zipping up my bag, but not before Lila got a glimpse of what I'd been packing away.

“What's that big red book you're always carrying around anyway?”

My Saint Diary was not something I was ready to share, so I just told Lila it was for a project I was working on, which is also when I noticed Veronica standing nearby.

“You know I don't like it when people call me Toni,” I said, unable to mask my anger.

“Well,
sorry
,” Veronica said in a mocking tone. “God. I was just kidding around. You're so sensitive. You really
are
the baby of the family, aren't you? Maybe that's why you couldn't deal with Michael . . .”

“Veronica,” I said, cutting her off, confused why she'd know to bring up Michael. “You may think I'm a baby, but you should really spend some time thinking about why the only person willing to hang out with you at HA is your sister.”

“Does she mean Michael McGinnis?” Lila whispered, obviously confused since we'd just been talking about Andy.

“Um, Lila,” I whispered back, “not
now
.”

“Oh, right, sorry,” she said, giggling.

“Come on,” I said, grabbing her arm and pulling her toward the door. “My cousin is always starting rumors. Let's just go—I have a free period next and I'm meeting Maria at the library. Come with?”

“Sure,” Lila answered, shooting Veronica a dirty look in solidarity before leaving the classroom. “Now, let's forget
about your cousin's attitude problem and get back to discussing the finer points of Andy Rotellini.”

“Well, to be honest, he's one of my favorite topics,” I said, laughing, feeling at the moment that Lila, as air-headed as she could be sometimes, might make a good Patron Saint of Loyalty.

“Hildegard, Hildegard, where are you?” I said under my breath, still half-listening to Lila, who'd followed me to the top of the old metal staircase that wove up the center of the library stacks like a fire escape, chatting the whole time about Chad Dawson, a sophomore hockey player from Bishop Francis. Holy Angels had quite a collection of saint biographies and other saint-related writings, though I was probably the only person who actually checked them out. I ran my fingers along the spines packed together tight on the shelf, crouching low, straining my eyes in the dim light. A cloud of dust hung in the air and I tried my best not to sneeze.

“I'm pretty sure he's not into Hilary because he spent most of yesterday before practice telling
me
about why Bishop Francis was going to win the season opener against LaSalle Prep.”

“Hey, Lila, do you have a hair tie I could borrow?”

“Oh, sure,” she said, digging into her purse and handing me a bright red band. “I really hope Hilary isn't into him, though, because that would be really uncool for us to like the same guy.”

“You should just ask her,” I said, doing my best to gather all my hair into a tight ponytail to prevent it from falling across my eyes.

“I'm worried she might actually say she
does
like him,” Lila said, plopping down next to me. “And why are we way up here again?”

“You and I are here and not Maria because Maria has been here a gazillion times with me and she'd rather e-mail her boyfriend in the first-floor computer lab,” I said, pulling the book I'd been searching for off the shelf, and releasing another cloud of dust into the air. My hands were gray with the filth of neglect. “And I wanted to find
this.”
I held up the book so Lila could see the cover.

“Hildegard of Bingen, the
Scivias
,” she read, mangling the pronunciation of
Scivias
as if it were “skeevi-as,” as in skeevy old man.

“No,
Scivias
like ‘civitas' but drop the
t
,” I corrected her, feeling geeky for doing so. But then, spending all your free periods researching the saints
was
pretty geeky. It was important for me to know the history of the people whose ranks I was hoping to join—a crucial part of being a saint-in-training, since it wasn't like I could apply for saint school or anything. And anyhow, I loved their stories.

“Okay, so who is Hildegard and why do you care? Is this for a research paper or something?”

I wiped the remaining dust off the book with a tissue, and read out loud from the introduction. “ ‘Hildegard of Bingen was a visionary who acted as adviser to bishops, kings, and popes on matters of war, church laws, spiritual affairs, among other important issues, which is unusual for a woman of the twelfth century. The most powerful men of the day sought her counsel—including Frederick Barbarossa, the Holy Roman Emperor—believing that Hildegard had a special connection with God.' ” Lila's eyes were beginning to glaze over but I plunged ahead anyway. “Hildegard was this amazing, bold woman, Lila, who didn't take no for an answer—not even from
the Pope.”

“That's cool,” Lila said, distracted, taking out a mirror from her purse to apply lip gloss. “It's really a shame you're always putting your hair up, Antonia, because, seriously, you have the best hair out of anyone at HA. If I had your hair, I'd
always
wear it down.”

Okay, so I couldn't expect everyone to be as enthralled with the saints as me.

But how could someone
not
see that Hildegard of Bingen was utterly exceptional? In addition to being a visionary (which means, well, Hildegard
saw
things, you know, visions of the Virgin Mary and Jesus and hell and some other really interesting stuff, which today may be grounds for being put in a mental institution but was normal for saints back in the day), Hildegard was a composer, an artist, a playwright, and a physician. Most remarkable, though, is the fact that Hildegard became famous throughout Europe
in her own time.
Meaning,
before
she died. Hildegard
was practically a living saint—at least as close to one as I've ever encountered in my research. I took this as a sign of hope for my own aspirations—the bit about being alive to enjoy one's saintly status.

The only downer about Hildegard was her commitment to perpetual virginity. Hildegard was, you know,
a nun.
She was
really
devoted to this particular vow, too.

But, except for the visions, composing, artistic talent, and knowledge of all things herbal—areas in which I have no ability—we were practically twins! We both wrote letters to popes. We both gave them suggestions. And we both did this
before
death! I was obviously part of a Catholic girl feminist trend that stretched back for centuries.

There
was
the fact that we were both celibate to also consider—at least for the time being—but I pushed that thought from my mind as best as I could.

“Can we go back downstairs now?” Lila said, sneezing. “It's kind of creepy up here and my nose is starting to run.”

“Yeah, I've got work to do before the bell rings anyway.” We got up, brushing off our skirts, and began our spiral descent to the first floor, where we found Maria typing away at a computer in the corner.

“Did you get what you needed?” she asked when I sat down at the carrel next to hers.

“Yup,” I said, dropping the heavy book so it made a loud thud on the desk.

“Did Lila have fun?”

“I'm not sure
fun
is the right word . . . it's more like she
had allergies,” I said, just as Lila let out another loud sneeze at a table nearby. Maybe I should propose a Patron Saint of Allergies next month.

“I tried to warn her,” Maria said, shaking her head, and went back to her e-mailing.

Thinking about Hildegard made me wonder how I could beef up my saint résumé beyond my encyclopedic knowledge of all things saint-related and my history of letter writing to people in high church places. As an aspiring fifteen-year-old saint, what else should I be
doing?
How does a saint-to-be make her mark today? There was no way I was entering the convent, but if I was truly called to sainthood, then maybe I needed to be
doing
more saintly things on my way to great public renown.

I took out my Saint Diary and turned to the “Notes” section. After some thought, I began to write:

 

What Could Antonia Do? (WCAD?)

1. Stop giving my mother agita about my uniform (at least while I am still in the house) because even though some saints drove their mothers nuts during their lives (poor Monica, St. Augustine's mother, she just about didn't live through all her son's transgressions), I bet most of them had less, let's just say,
difficult
relationships with the women who bore them.

2. Instead of hoarding all chocolate to
myself and hiding it in my room and not offering it to others, even a piece, ever, because I regard all chocolate that comes into my possession as mine and not for the enjoyment of anyone else, I will be less selfish with my favorite sweet and give it away—most of it. Oooh! Perhaps especially to Andy since giving away chocolate might (a) give me a reason to speak to him and (b) make him notice me and think I was different from other girls, because, I mean, what teenage girl gives away chocolate of her own volition? Totally worth the sacrifice if it works.

3. Do more petitioning strictly on behalf of others and not just for myself because a good saint is always thinking of others, and some of them, like Julian of Norwich and Catherine of Siena, basically spent their whole lives in seclusion for the sole purpose of praying for other people. And, again, since I am not ever, in my right mind, entering a convent, perhaps doing a little more other-centered petitioning would be a saintlike thing I could do.

4. Wear a bra.

I admit, wearing a bra might not be the most obvious-sounding step toward sainthood, but here is the deal. Centuries ago—and still today among certain groups of the Catholic devout—saintly people believed that if they made their bodies as uncomfortable as possible to the point where they more or less tortured themselves, it would bring them closer to God. There were many preferred bodily discomforts to choose from, including—but not limited to—wearing a
hair shirt
(which is a tunic with scratchy, prickly things on the inside that hurt your skin), a cilice belt (which one might imagine as a spiky thigh garter that cuts into your leg when you walk—weirdly kinky and totally gross), self-flagellation (whipping yourself, and no, I am not kidding, people used to do this all the time), and, for the less masochistic, sleeping on a wooden board at night.

In my humble opinion,
wearing a bra every day
totally fit the virtual self-torture category given that (a) I absolutely didn't need one since I was a good deal flatter than the boards some of those people probably slept on and (b) was it just me, or did wearing a bra feel like you were strapped into some sort of a harness? Despite my mother's advice that girls my age should not go without one, I was pretty much antibra—not in a bra-burning way but more in a why-should-I-wear-something-totally-unnecessary-given-my-lack-of-boobs way. This made wearing a bra in the name of becoming more saintly a perfect idea because it was both uncomfortable and frugal since I
already had a drawer full of them ready and waiting at home.

I would start wearing a bra
tomorrow.

I felt more saintly already.

We still had twenty minutes before the end-of-school bell, so I decided to do some virtual-Vatican-fig-tree-follow-up before I actually had to deal with the real fig trees tomorrow. I logged onto my e-mail account and began typing.

 

To: [email protected]
From: Antonia Lucia Labella [STMP: [email protected]]
Subject: Patron Saint of Figs request
Sent: November 18, 2:43 p.m.
Attachment:
antoniaschoolpic.jpg

 

To Whom It May Concern (ideally the Pope if he's available):

This is just a follow-up to my letter from earlier this month about the dire need among Catholics worldwide for a Patron Saint of Figs. This saint would be important not only for fig-eaters (fig-eaters are a devoted sort of people which is already a good sign for needing a saint, i.e., people who eat figs
really
love them) but also for fig tree caretakers everywhere. I am about to spend an entire 48 hours of my life winterizing the fig trees in the backyard of our family store (I may have said something about that in my letter) and having a saint specialty for figs would be really
helpful in getting through this process. Since there is already a Patron Saint for RUNNING WATER, I don't think it's too much to ask to add someone who specializes in figs to the list.

Again, I am available for the job if you need someone. I'm attaching my latest school picture so you can update my file.

Thanks for your time!

 

Blessings,
Antonia Lucia Labella
Labella's Market of Federal Hill
33 Atwells Avenue
Providence, RI USA
[email protected]

 

P.S. You should know that I am kind of a minor miracle magnet lately. By minor I mean, you know, little stuff like avoiding familial conflict by praying for my cousin to stay away from work and then finding out my prayer was answered and she was home sick with the flu, thus saving my mother hours of grief.

 

Wait. Maybe Francesca's coming down with the flu and staying home from the market was not the most becoming of miracles to which I could attach myself in an effort to win over the Vatican and change saint history. I backspaced. Little stuff like
what
?