The Orphan

“I don’t believe in God”. The Nun had been sent to attract some new blood. Really?! She was a dag — totally. No-one would want to become a nun if it meant being like her. Her classes usually dissolved into laughter. They could be quite mean really. Yes, God had helped me. A lot really. But what proof was there? What point was there? I didn’t have an alternative but I knew I didn’t want to be like her. She probably inspired me to give up on God if anything. For two years I had been going to church every weekend, on my own. I would pray for my mum who would stay home on Sunday mornings while I went off to church, having big indulgent breakfasts with her Jewish friends. I’d been sent to Catholic schools but my only real religious instruction or modelling was from school — certainly not from home. Maybe that’s why I took to it so ardently. God was on my side. He helped me. I knew that if I prayed, anything was possible. I was powerful. I could do anything. For two years I had prayed daily, abided by the rules, been a good girl. It gave me a sense of security.
I remember the day I gave up on God. I remember how my grades toppled after that. I remember being in the area below the classroom, out in the yard. I remember the colour brown. I remember the bitumen. Perhaps I came down to earth after living in my ivory tower where nothing and no-one could touch me. I was on my own. Life shifted. I had to do it on my own. I no longer had God there to help me. Like an angel plunged to earth I was on my own. Perhaps I could fit in with the other kids. I wouldn’t be Charmaine the brain anymore.