The Possibilities of Sainthood
Page 16
Without going into detail, I’ll just say it’s an urgent matter of teenage-girl purity.
Thanks so much for your help, and again, my condolences and congratulations.
Blessings,
Antonia Lucia Labella
Labella’s Market of Federal Hill
33 Atwells Avenue
Providence, RI USA
saint2b@live.com
P.S. You can just respond with a quick e-mail to my inquiry. Really. No fancy letters with the Vatican seal or anything necessary. Just confirmation that the letter is in someone’s holy hands!
• • •
To: askthevatican@vatican.va
From: Antonia Lucia Labella [STMP: saint2b@live.com]
Subject: URGENT: Patron Saint of the First Kiss and
Kissing
Sent: December 17, 3 p.m.
Attachment: kissingletter.doc
To Whom It May Concern (ideally the newly elected Pope if he’s available):
Now that you’ve had some time to digest the wonderful news about our new pontiff (and a special hello to you, GPIV, if you are reading this ), I wanted to take this opportunity to introduce myself more formally. My name is Antonia Lucia Labella, I am fifteen years old (almost sixteen!), I live in Federal Hill, the proud Italian community of Providence, RI, and I am a big fan of the Vatican! I’d like to direct your attention, if you have not already done so—I don’t know if you all switch jobs immediately with the new Pope and all, you know, like here in the U.S., when there’s a new president, I mean, they just totally clear out the old administration to make room for the new—to my file kept in the Office of the Vatican Committee on Sainthood. If someone could just please take a second and make note of it, I’d really appreciate it.
And speaking of my file, if when you pull it out you happen to notice at the very top there is a letter proposing a Patron Saint of the First Kiss and Kissing, could you (a) read the proposal in its entirety and consider it carefully and (b) shoot me a quick e-mail letting me know it arrived? I’d really appreciate it.
Thanks again for your time.
Blessings,
Antonia Lucia Labella
Labella’s Market of Federal Hill
33 Atwells Avenue
Providence, RI USA
saint2b@live.com
• • •
To: askthevatican@vatican.va
From: Antonia Lucia Labella [STMP: saint2b@live.com]
Subject: URGENT: Patron Saint of the First Kiss and
Kissing
Sent: December 19, 9:35 p.m.
Attachment: antoniatoastingnewpope.jpg
To Whom It May Concern (ideally the newly elected Pope if he’s available):
It’s me again. You know, Antonia Lucia Labella from Providence—the girl with the big file of letters proposing a wide variety of strangely overlooked saintly specializations that goes back almost nine years. If it hasn’t caught your eye already, let me draw your attention to my latest campaign, that of the DESPERATE need for a Patron Saint for the First Kiss and Kissing, which, I assure you, is not only ideal for replacing the now fallen from grace St. Valentine (I mean, no one can fault you for defrocking him and everything, since who needs a saint who never even existed, and speaking of which, let me take this moment to assure you that I, on the other hand, am very, very existent), but a Patron Saint of the First Kiss and Kissing would appeal to young people everywhere and celebrate the innocent side of love! And you guys love innocence over there, so I urge you to PLEASE READ MY LETTER if you have not already, and then send me a brief, even one-word (just a YES would do) confirmation that you received it.
Thanks!
Blessings,
Antonia Lucia Labella
Labella’s Market of Federal Hill
33 Atwells Avenue
Providence, RI USA
saint2b@live.com
P.S. I attached a new photo for my file! It’s a picture of me toasting our new Holy Father as my family celebrates his wonderful first words to the world as Pope. And don’t worry, that is red wine in my glass, but I’m only allowed to drink it at Sunday meals and on special occasions, like the election of a new pontiff. Though, not that it really matters, since you don’t even have a drinking age in Italy, do you?
• • •
To: askthevatican@vatican.va
From: Antonia Lucia Labella [STMP: saint2b@live.com]
Subject: URGENT: Testing
Sent: December 20, 2:06 p.m.
Hello?
This is a TEST e-mail. Is anybody there? Are you receiving my e-mails? If so, can you respond with a quick YES? It will only take a second, and let me tell you, that second would add YEARS to my future right now if you know what I mean.
Thanks!
Antonia Lucia Labella
Labella’s Market of Federal Hill
33 Atwells Avenue
Providence, RI USA
saint2b@live.com
23
MARIA AND I MAKE OURSELVES LOOK IRRESISTIBLE, AND SHE TRIES TO CONVINCE ME OF WHAT MY HEART SHOULD ALREADY KNOW
I thought this day would never come.
It was Tuesday evening, the night of the Winter Formal and the beginning of holiday break. Maria and I stood next to each other, putting on makeup in her parents’ bathroom, sharing the mirror.
The television blared in the background. “People are camped throughout St. Peter’s Square, awaiting yet another audience with the new pontiff. He has already shocked Catholics all over the world with his progressive vision. There’s been talk of women priests, gay marriage, and lifting the ban on birth control. Pope Gregory Paul IV has indicated that these issues and others are up for discussion. This has caused many Catholics to rejoice, but others are furious . . .”
My heart was racing. I was excited. I was anxious. Despite the urgent e-mails I’d sent to the Vatican, I’d heard nothing in response to my latest proposal. But then, I figured I should give the Holy Father a few days to adjust and I had other things on my mind, too. I was headed to my first dance. I had to thank St. Emiliana, the Patron Saint of Single Laywomen, and St. Theobald, the Patron Saint of Single Men, that, unless you had a boyfriend or a girlfriend, most people went stag.
“You girls have a nice rest tonight,” my mother said as we were walking out the door earlier. Maria had come to pick me up. I was borrowing one of her dresses so my overnight bag wouldn’t look suspicious. “And give your mother my thanks for hosting Antonia and making dinner. I need a break this evening after all this hoopla at the Vatican, Madonna.”
“Of course,” Maria answered, smiling. “I’ll tell her as soon as we walk in the door.”
“And here,” my mother added, handing Maria a stack of tabloid newspapers in Italian. “Give these to your mother.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Labella. She’ll be thrilled,” Maria said, taking them.
“Bye, Ma,” I said, giving her a peck on the cheek, dying to be off to Maria’s. “Have a nice night with Gram. We’d better go. We don’t want to be late for dinner.” I grabbed Maria’s arm and we headed toward the door.
“Antonia! Maria!”
I rolled my eyes at my friend and nodded to the holy water next to the door. Dipping our fingers, we crossed ourselves and ran down the stairs, yelling “Bye!” as we went.
“Jesus thanks you,” my mother called. Her voice echoed down the stairwell as we reached the bottom, jumped in Maria’s car, and sped off to her house.
“What do you think of all this upheaval, Bill?” The discussion from the television talking heads returned me to the task at hand: making myself look fantastic for the dance. “Well, there’s been speculation that Gregory Paul IV might even consider letting the clergy marry,” said the man named Bill.
“Here, try this lipstick,” Maria said, handing me a black tube with a thick band of gold around the middle. “It’s your favorite shade of red.”
“Pope Gregory Paul IV is wasting no time making a splash in his new reign, that’s certain,”
another voice continued. “But letting the clergy marry? I don’t know that the Catholic hierarchy is ready to make that drastic a move.”
I took the cap off the lipstick, and inspected the deep color.
“Ooooh,” I exclaimed. “It’s the same one Gram gave me. I love it. It’s perfect!”
“Perfect for kissing, don’t you think? Hmmm?” Maria proposed.
“I’m through worrying about that ambition. No more petitioning the saints about kissing, since they either ignore you or mess things up,” I said, staring at the lipstick in my hand, thinking how ironic it was to make such a proclamation while at the same time pestering the Vatican about a Patron Saint of the First Kiss and Kissing. “Case in point: The Andy Attack.”
“Antonia.” Maria opened her mouth wide as she applied mascara to her already long eyelashes. “The thing with Andy, I admit, was unexpected. I thought he liked you.”
“But he didn’t,” I said, sighing. “Which is why I’m washing away all thoughts of boys and kissing from my mind. It gets too complicated.”
“You can’t go around proposing that kind of a saint and then be antikissing! It just doesn’t add up,” Maria said, her voice reproachful. She put down the mascara to give me her full attention. “And second . . . you’re ridding yourself of all thoughts of boys?” Maria was skeptical.
“Every last one.”
“Even thoughts about Michael?” Maria let his name hang in the air. I looked in the mirror. Maria was right. This lipstick was the perfect color.
“Yes, even thoughts of Michael,” I said, heading into Maria’s bedroom, where dresses, stockings, and other related formal wear were strewn everywhere. She followed me and sat down on the bed. “Especially after overhearing that conversation between Michael and Veronica.”
“So you do care,” Maria said, nodding her head like she’d known all along. “Antonia, did it occur to you that he just said those things to get Veronica off his back? Or even as a favor to you? After all, he knows that she treats you like dirt.”
“I heard what he said, Maria, and it was not favorable and I am just going to forget about it.” Talk of Michael was making my stomach churn. “I don’t want any more run-ins with Veronica. And anyway, they were all over each other at the St. Lucia party. You saw, too.”
“Yeah. She was all over him and not vice versa. I noticed that part.”
“Same difference.”
“Regardless of what you think, I am confident that his eyes are only for you. Are you blind or what?”
“He has eyes for everybody.”
“Well, whatever. He has special eyes for you, then. And you have to admit, they are very nice eyes. Not as nice as John’s, but still.”
At the mention of John, I leaped at the opportunity to change the subject.
“Speaking of John—”
“Nope. Last time I checked, we were talking about Michael. Don’t even try to get out of this conversation. Come on. Let’s be honest. I’m your best friend. And you like him, right?” She pulled me up off the bed so we were face-to-face. “I know you, Antonia. I’ve known you for ten whole years and there is something between you guys that I haven’t seen between you and anybody else. Isn’t that enough?”
Instead of answering, I walked over to the closet where my dress was hanging, the dress that I was going to wear to my first formal dance. It was beautiful, I thought, running my hand across the crimson taffeta—beautiful and old-fashioned. Strapless. Practically an antique and more of a ball gown than a semiformal, but I didn’t care. Maria had pulled it from storage in their attic. Her grandmother had worn it years ago.
“It’s perfect for you, isn’t it,” Maria said, stopping to admire the dress with me. “The way the skirt gathers in those little tufts, and the row of buttons in the back. And the color. I knew you’d love it.”
“I do,” I said, putting my arm around her. “Thank you for finding it.”
“Just part of the best-friend job duties,” she said.
“To be totally honest, Maria, there may be some kind of interesting vibe going on between Michael and me,” I rambled before I lost the courage. “I might like him a teeny bit. But it’s so weird, the whole Veronica-Michael thing, and I’ve spent two years convincing myself that I was in love with Andy Rotellini.”
Maria had a satisfied smirk on her face. We continued to stare at each other in the mirror. “I knew you had a thing for him. Maybe you really were supposed to end up with Michael two summers ago and Andy was, I don’t know, this unfortunate detour or distraction. And all this time you’ve been petitioning the saints for help with Andy when really they knew what was best for you, but you were so persistent about him that they finally realized you needed a major wake-up call—shock to the system or something. And now that this has all been made clear, you can finally end up with the guy who really knows you and respects you. And maybe even is in love with you: Michael.”
“Maria,” I said, getting goose bumps, “I think you might be going a bit overboard . . .”
“Antonia,” she said, still serious, “you know how there are these guys who can’t settle on one girl. But it’s not so much that they want to be with a bunch of different girls and more that they can’t find the right girl. And once they do find the right one they’re done with all other members of the female species.” She turned to look me in the eye. “You are that girl for Michael. You are the girl who converts his wild ways. All other girls pale in comparison to you. And I think it’s romantic,” she added, sighing. “You should start praying to one of those saints you love so much for, I don’t know, some grace for the evening ahead of us. Isn’t Teresa the Patron Saint of Grace?”
“Yes,” I said, impressed by Maria’s memory. Maybe my saint knowledge was rubbing off on her. “But no way,” I continued, “am I going to ask another saint for help with a boy after what I’ve been through.”
“Well, there must be somebody you’d trust to help,” she said, thinking, tapping her index finger against her chin. “Actually . . . you know what? I can think of one! St. Anthony of Padua, your favorite. St. Anthony, if you are listening, please help Antonia find her senses about how Michael really feels about her and how she feels about him. There.”
“Maria, I think you’re getting ahead of yourself. Though that’s really sweet of you to pray to St. Anthony on my behalf, especially since you’re not the praying type and all,” I said, touched by the gesture. “But just because I admitted a little like for Michael doesn’t mean I’m going to run out and kiss him or something.”
“Why not, Antonia?” Maria interrupted, passionate. “Michael is not Andy. And, I mean, are you never going to let anybody touch you? It’s going to happen sometime. Why not kiss him tonight? Why not Michael?”
“It’s just—”
“Antonia, come on.”
“You really think Michael’s the perfect boy for me?”
“Not as perfect as that dress you’re about to put on,” she said, cracking a grin. “I don’t know about you, but I’m definitely not going to this dance in just stockings and a bra.”
“Bet that would make John happy,” I said, laughing.
When we were finally dressed and zipped and buttoned and ready to go, Maria and I stood in front of the long mirror in her room, admiring the results of our hard work. Me in my old-fashioned red gown and Maria in her sophisticated black cocktail dress.
“I’m glad I convinced you to wear your hair down,” Maria said.
“You don’t look so bad yourself.”
“Relax, Antonia. Tonight is going to be all about fun . . . and speaking of tonight, it’s time to be off for our magical winter evening.”
“A magical evening in the HA gym?”
“Use your imagination,” she said, pushing her head against mine. We smiled together in the mirror, as if someone was about to take our picture or we were posing in a photo booth. “Besides, you are the one who sees miracles everywhere, aren’t you? Just close your eyes when we get
there and imagine it really is a glamorous ball, celebrating your beautification!”
“Beatification,” I said, correcting her, even though silently I agreed with her slight change. “And you think I get carried away.”
“How about letting Michael carry you away.”
“Quit it!” I said, but I was laughing.
A car honked outside.
“That’s John,” Maria said, excitement in her voice.
“Maria? Antonia?” Mrs. Romano was yelling, having no idea she was playing into a major deception being perpetrated on my mother. “Your ride is here.”
“Coming!” Maria called out.
We took one last look at ourselves and then we were darting down the stairs, yelling goodbye to Maria’s mother, and out the door. Butterflies were flitting this way and that, making my entire body feel tingly.
And for the first time in as long as I could remember, I asked nothing from any saint about the evening ahead.
24
MY HEART GOES PITTER-PATTER AND I FINALLY UNDERSTAND WHAT IT MEANS TO GET WEAK IN THE KNEES
“Do you want to dance?” an unidentified boy asked, nervous. He looked young, maybe a freshman. His jacket and pants were baggy, as if his mother bought them several sizes too big because he’d grow into them eventually. He pushed his thick, black-rimmed glasses up with his index finger, waiting for my response. We were the same height.
Why wasn’t Maria glued to my side instead of John’s? Then she could rescue me from this uncomfortable situation. Why hadn’t Maria prepared me for how to handle random boys asking me to dance?
“Maybe later,” I said finally, feeling bad about rejecting him. But my greater fear of three minutes of awkward slow dancing trumped the guilt.