Kiss & Tell Page 11

  “You can’t.”

  “Watch me,” Willy said.

  Achoo! Sister Peaches rubbed her nose and sniffled. “What if Mother Superior were to find out?”

  “Don’t ask, don’t tell,” Willy said with a smirk. “Do you have a tampon on you?”

  “What? Why do you want a tampon?” Sister Peaches asked.

  “Fork it over, Peaches,” Willy said, holding out her hand. “I know you carry everything in that frock of yours. You’re like a walking talking medicine cabinet.”

  Sister Peaches sighed. She felt around in her habit then pulled out a tampon. Willy took it from her, unwrapped it and threw the tampon over her shoulder.

  “Why’d you do that?” Sister Peaches asked.

  “I only want the paper,” Willy said. “We did this in high school when we couldn’t buy any rolling papers. We used tampon paper, same thing.”

  Willy crushed the bud on a nearby tabletop and began to roll a big fatty, humming Puff the Magic Dragon. By the time she got to the second verse, the joint was ready for smoking.

  “Not the best rolling job, I’m afraid. I’ve lost my touch. Now, fire me up, por favor,” Willy said with the joint hanging off her bottom lip.

  “Huh?”

  “Light? You got a match or a lighter?”

  Sister Peaches sighed, rummaged in her habit and brought out a pack of matches. Willy wasted no time in lighting the joint and inhaling deeply. She held the smoke for a long time before exhaling then she erupted in a coughing fit.

  Sister Peaches pounded her back. “Oh no! Don’t die! I’ll get kicked out. Do you know how humiliating it would be to get kicked out of a convent with a dishonorable discharge?”

  Willy gasped until she caught her breath. She grinned and held out the joint. “Wanna toke?”

  “No, I most certainly do not,” Sister Peaches said.

  “C’mon…” Willy teased, wagging the joint under her nose.

  “No.”

  “Just one toke.”

  “No.”

  “Just a teensy weensy toke?”

  “No.”

  “It’ll cure your sneezing.”

  “It will?”

  “Yep. You said it yourself; it’s medicinal. It cures what ails you.”

  “We’re not supposed to do it.”

  Willy took another big drag and said through the cloud of smoke, “Has Mother Superior actually ever said, ‘Sister Peaches, do not partake of the pot?’”

  “Well… no.”

  “It’s natural and organic, right?” Willy asked.

  “Yes.”

  “The Good Lord put it here on earth, right?”

  “Yes.”

  Willy smiled. “Then don’t you think the Lord meant for us to use it?”

  Sister Peaches thought it over. Willy could almost smell the wheels burning rubber in her brain.

  “Okay,” Sister Peaches said.

  “Yay!”

  “But just one little toke,” Sister Peaches said.

  “Of course,” Willy said as she handed the joint over.

  Sister Peaches took a hit and spasmed out, her lungs giving forth to a coughing fit that would’ve made a tubercular patient proud.

  Willy patted her on the back. “You need to take it in slow and focus on your diaphragm like this.” She demonstrated. “See, it’s all about controlling your breath,” she said in a raspy stoner’s voice.

  Sister Peaches tried again. This hit went better. “This is pretty good stuff,” Sister Peaches whispered, handing the joint back to Willy.

  Willy laughed out loud. “Yes, it is. Some real kick ass shit.”

  They erupted in a fit of giggles.

  Spice It Up!

  While Willy and Sister Peaches were getting their groove on, Allistair and Sister Helena were ending their workday on kitchen cook duty. Allistair was in a great mood. She was really getting into this communal living. So what if she had to be a nun, she thought, she wasn’t getting laid anyway. And the benefits of the nunnery were amazing. Her skin already looked better than ever just from one day out in the sunshine pulling weeds and watering the oregano.

  Oregano. Allistair was still under the impression that the pot plants were oregano plants. And as far as she was concerned, her wimple was crammed full of fresh oregano. That’s why, when she tasted the huge pot of spaghetti sauce that had been simmering on the stove all day, she dumped in two handfuls of fresh oregano leaves. And a spoonful of garlic. She was bound and determined to show these bland-tongued nuns what a great cook she was. She intended to have them begging for a second helping of her world-famous spaghetti sauce.

  Allistair taste-tested the sauce. Mmm mmm, good. She smacked her lips. It was so good she took another taste. She could bottle and sell this stuff. She could be the new Paul Newman. Boy o boy, the nuns would go crazy over this, she thought.

  Little did she know how right she was.

  Peaches Learns To Cuss

  Willy and Sister Peaches had wandered out of the pot barn after smoking half the joint. Stoned and relaxed, they went to sit on a big moss-covered rock behind the pot field. Willy lay on her back with her hands behind her head, staring up at a perfect cerulean blue sky. She pondered the color of the sky. Novelists and poets liked to use the word “cerulean” to describe the color of the sky. Or they used “gunmetal gray” if it was cloudy. Today had started out gunmetal gray and had ended up being cerulean.

  Willy was content for the first time in days. She wasn’t worried or pissed off or anxious or feeling inadequate. She was one with the universe. She knew she owed her contentment to the power of pot. She wasn’t a regular smoker, more like sporadic. If somebody had some and offered it to her, she would partake. But now she was seriously considering becoming a pot connoisseur. If she had to be a nun, pot would be her coping mechanism.

  “Peaches? Do you mind me calling you that? The whole sister thing reminds me of hanging out with feminists who read a lot of Mary Daly and listened to Joan Baez while eating bean sprouts and tofu and went to those to women-in-the-woods retreats and didn’t shave,” Willy said.

  “You can leave off the sister. Most of us do when we’re in private. There’s only a few true nuns here anyway,” Sister Peaches said. She was lying back on the rock next to Willy. She had been staring up at the clouds, making animal pictures. “See, that one looks like an elephant.”

  Willy leaned up on one elbow. “Aren’t you a real nun?”

  “Yes and no. Most of us are here because we’ve had some personal disaster and needed a place to go. I’m a novice. That’s sort of like a trial period. I can still back out if I want.”

  “Are you thinking about backing out?”

  “Of course not. Where would I go?” Sister Peaches said. “This is the only place that’s ever accepted me. I love it here.”

  At that moment, Ernest hopped up on the rock next to them and closed his eyes like he too was drinking in the sunshine. That was when a light bulb went off over Willy’s head. Ernest was a cat. And he was in a catholic church. Catholic. Cat-holic. Hmmm, maybe there was some sort of cat freemasons group who founded the church thousands of years ago and were Illuminati. Or maybe she had read too much Dan Brown.

  Ernest scoffed and said, “You should be ashamed of yourself. Dirtying a novice nun. If she gets kicked out of here it’s your fault.”

  “Kiss my ass,” Willy said.

  Sister Peaches looked at Willy. “Pardon me?”

  Willy laughed. “Not you. I was talking to Ernest.”

  “She can’t hear me,” Ernest said. “Only you can.”

  “Fuck you and your telepathy,” Willy said.

  “Suck my dick,” Ernest replied.

  “You don’t have a dick,” Willy replied.

  “Sure I do,” Ernest said, “It’s retractable.”

  “Fuck you,” Willy said with a sneer.

  “Are you okay?” Sister Peaches asked. “You’re not going crazy, are you?”

  “I’ve nev
er been better. I just want that fucking cat to shut up.”

  “I wish I could cuss like you,” Sister Peaches said. “Maybe everybody would take me more seriously if I could cuss really good.”

  “Cussing is easy. But the first thing you have to learn is what I call the Cuss Face.”

  “There’s a face for it?” Peaches said.

  “I’ll teach you.” Willy stood and grabbed Peaches’ hand. She pulled her to her feet. “Make a face like this.” She demonstrated by scrunching up her face and curling her upper lip. “Just think of something that makes you really mad and screw up your face to match.”

  Sister Peaches giggled. “I can’t. I’m supposed to exude beneficence.”

  “Oh, come on. You just have to think of something that makes you really angry. There must be something. Think.”

  “Well, I don’t like it when people are cruel to animals,” Peaches said.

  “Good!” Willy exclaimed. “So just picture this… you’re walking into a grocery store and in the parking lot you see a dog inside a car. The windows are rolled up and it’s one hundred degrees outside.”

  “Oh! That makes me so mad!” Sister Peaches said. She contorted her face and fisted her hands. “I hate it when people do that!”

  “Tell me how you feel,” Willy prompted. “Use your cuss words.”

  “I think that dog’s owner is a big butt face,” Sister Peaches said.

  “Good. Tell me more. Let the anger out in words,” Willy urged.

  “They’re a doo-doo brain!”

  “Okay, good energy, but maybe think of a better word.”

  “They’re a poop-head!”

  “Better, better. Now picture the cute little doggie fainting in the car,” Willy said.

  “They’re a crappy dog owner!”

  “The doggie keels over backwards, lets out a yip and dies. Right in front of your eyes,” Willy said.

  “I’m going to call the police on them. I leave a note under their windshield that says, ‘I can’t believe you did this. I am reporting you to the police and the animal abuse hotline. I have your license plate number!’”

  “Excellent emotion,” Willy said. “Except you forgot the cussing.”

  “Oh,” Sister Peaches said. “Crapola!” she said in an effort to cuss. “Crap crap crapola!”

  “This is going to take some work,” Willy said. “But hey, the good news is that you didn’t sneeze once.”

  “I didn’t, did I?”

  “I think maybe your sneezes are actually spurts of repressed anger finding their way out. Like a pressure release valve,” Willy said. “Are you’re ready for your next cussing lesson?”

  “Yes!” Sister Peaches said, jumping up and down like an excited toddler. “What’s next?”

  “Putting gestures behind the words. It can be simple like a foot stamp or more complicated like giving somebody the finger while doing a neck-swervy thing followed by an aggressive two steps forward.”

  “Whooooaaaa,” Sister Peaches said. “I didn’t realize how complicated it was.”

  “Oh, yes, it’s quite an art,” Willy said. “Now let’s do some role playing where you can work in a few gestures.”

  “Okay.”

  “Pretend you’re driving a car. Put your hands up like they’re on the steering wheel. Hit your blinker so you can go around a slow moving vehicle. The guy behind you sees what you’re doing but doesn’t wait his turn. You start to move into the next lane and he cuts you off almost causing a three-car pile-up because he’s an impatient, selfish, stupid fuckwad. What do you do?”

  Peaches seemed stumped. “I hit the brakes and swerve quickly?”

  “Well, yeah you do that to prevent the accident so the dickhead doesn’t kill you but what then?”

  Sister Peaches shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “You make the lane change, get right on his ass so he can see you in his rearview mirror, and then you honk your horn and flip him off while screaming ‘fuck you!’”

  “Isn’t that classified as road rage?”

  “Not at all. It’s defensive driving. You’ve got to let these people know that driving like a shit-for-brains is bad driving and needs to be addressed.”

  “Oh,” Peaches said.

  “Now you do it,” Willy said.

  “Can we sit down and do this? I’d feel more realistic that way.”

  “Sure,” Willy said. They sat on the rock side by side. “Ernest, you can sit behind us and pretend you’re a back seat driver.”

  “I hate riding in a car,” Ernest said. “I always get motion sickness.”

  “You know what’s good for nausea?” Willy asked. “Getting stoned.” She lit up the half-smoked joint and took a deep drag, blowing the smoke into Ernest’s face.

  Sister Peaches turned the key in the ignition and made vroom vroom noises. She put her hands on an imaginary steering wheel, looked in a make-believe rearview mirror, and pressed on an imaginary gas pedal.

  Willy held the joint out to Sister Peaches.

  “Hold on, I’m merging into traffic.” Sister Peaches said. She swerved the wheel and made tire screeching noises. “Okay, I’m in. Hand it over.” Peaches took a hit and passed it back. She powered down the car window and blew the smoke out.

  Ernest said from the back seat, “Blow me one back here.”

  Willy blew a long stream of smoke right in his face. “Hey, wait a minute. Should I be getting you high? How old are you? You’re not a minor are you?”

  “I’m forty-five in human years,” Ernest said, huffily.

  “You look great for your age.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Aha! There you two are!”

  Willy and Sister Peaches jumped to their feet. Mother Superior stalked toward them. Her face was scrunched-up as tight as a fist. “What is the meaning of this?” she shouted.

  “Chillax, Mother,” Willy said. “We were just communing with nature.”

  “And with God,” Sister Peaches added lamely.

  “You’ve been smoking the product!” Mother Superior accused, waving her hand in front of her nose.

  “Yeah, so?” Sister Peaches said. She thrust out one hip defiantly and raised her chin in the air.

  “So?” Mother Superior spat. “I can look the other way with Sister Wanda. After all, she’s a layperson. But you! I expected better from you!”

  “All I did was take a few puffs off the marijuana cigarette,” Sister Peaches said. “No need to have a coronary.”

  “I’ll show you a coronary!” Mother Superior screamed. She advanced on them and leaned in until her nose was only an inch from Sister Peaches’ nose. “You are through here.”

  “Through?” Sister Peaches said in a tiny voice.

  “Yes, through,” Mother Superior said. “I want you out of this convent at first light.”

  “You’re kicking me out?” Sister Peaches said.

  “You are lucky I don’t kick you out of the Catholic religion all together. And as for you,” Mother Superior said, pointing at Willy, “I will place some calls and have you transferred within the week.”

  “Fine with me,” Willy shrugged.

  Sister Peaches made a funny sound. It came from deep down in her throat. For a moment, Willy wondered if she were choking. Then as the sound gathered force, Willy thought maybe she was growling. It wasn’t until Sister Peaches opened her mouth, threw back her head, and howled that Willy understood what was happening. Sister Peaches had tapped into her inner core and found the little peach pit inside. Her anger had been untouched for so many years that it had snowballed and was now was the size of a boulder.

  What erupted out of Sister Peaches’ mouth was some of the best, finest, and most amazing cussing Willy had ever heard. Sister Peaches ripped off her wimple, threw it at Mother Superior’s feet and let loose with a string of obscenities. She masterfully used the word fuck as an adjective, a verb, a noun, and even an adverb. The adverb thing didn’t work that well, but Willy had to give her pr
ops for trying.

  The cursing went on for several minutes and ended with Sister Peaches saying, “So, Motherfucking Superior, I don’t give a fucking rat’s ass, but I’ll be happy as shit to call the dick-faced Pope up personally and fuckly tell him all about your little fucking trysts in the woods with the shit-head Monsignor. The fuckity Pope might be real ass-wipe interested to know what the hell you were doing with the Monsignor’s putrid ass dick in your shitty mouth the other night. What the fuckity fuck fuck do you have to say about that, Fucky face?”

  Mother Superior stumbled backwards. She sputtered, “How dare you… how dare you accuse me…” Then she clamped her mouth shut. Her eyes rolled around in her head like hard-boiled eggs in a pickle jar. Finally, she whispered, “Are you blackmailing me, Sister?”

  Sister Peaches crossed her arms. “In-fucking-deedy I am.”

  Mother Superior obviously knew when she was beaten. She swallowed hard and said, “I did not see you here. This never happened. Agreed?”

  “Just watch your mother fucking step, Mother Superior. I got my damn eyes on you,” Sister Peaches said in a deep voice that sounded like Linda Blair from The Exorcist.

  Mother Superior turned, lifted her skirt, and scurried away. Willy laughed and held her palm up. Sister Peaches high-fived her.

  “Excellent cussing, my friend! You have graduated at the top of the class!” Willy said.

  “I learned from the best,” Sister Peaches said humbly.

  Nun Fun

  Willy had never been to a Jethro Tull concert but she had watched some of their videos on YouTube late one night while battling insomnia. And that’s what she found when she walked into the dining hall with Sister Peaches—one big nun-filled Jethro Tull concert.

  A nun was standing on a dining table playing a Scottish tune on a wooden flute. She was doing the flamingo stance just like Jethro Tull.

  Three nuns were standing behind the flute player doing a sloppy version of a doo-wop routine a la Diana Ross’s back-up singers.

  Half-a-dozen or so nuns were engaged in what looked like a game of Twister. On closer inspection Willy thought maybe they were wrestling.

  Speaking of wrestling, two nuns were seated at a table, arm-wrestling with a group of nuns surrounding them, yelling and placing bets.