Dear Frankie...
Letter 4
Dear Frankie,
I’m not sure if you believe in god or don’t, but I sure hope your parents never forced to go to all girls catholic school. Getting pregnant and going to such a school will only make you want to commit suicide in the girls bathroom in the most gruesome way possible just to scare the living shit out of the nuns and other girls.
If you think I’m exaggerating let me tell you a little about my school and the all boys catholic school next to it.
During breaks you can meet up with the boys and talk thought a wire fence, like in the ghettos back in World War Two. Notes that are passed through are confiscated and read in class, gifts are taken away and never returned. Every morning the nuns will make sure your skirt is the right length, your shoes are polished and your nails are bare. Dying your hair is forbidden, blasphemy is punished severely and don’t even think about wearing colored socks instead of the usual whites unless you want to help the lunch ladies who also happen to be nuns. Only very annoyed nuns.
Strangely enough the worse part of going to Camden Catholic High School is not the nuns but other girls. I guess being locked up like this really gets their knickers in a twist and makes all of them act like complete bitches and when they’re aren't’t making up shit about you, they telling Sister Mary Anne that you haven’t been to mass in a month and that instead of going to mass you’ve been having breakfast with an older boy in that little dinner in front of the church. “Oh, how shameless that girls is! Can’t she even bother to go someplace else?” And then when that finally blows up because a girl named Kathy lifted her skirt in front of the boy’s fence, someone writes in big, red capital letters “AVA ROSELLA RYAN IS A BULIMIC” in the bathrooms.
Denying it won’t help because it is a fact I have spent quite a lot of morning lessons locked in one of the first floor stalls puking my breakfast, completely unaware that the whole school was listening to me. Truthfully I’d rather be a bulimic than have morning sickness. And now I just have to sit and behave as Sister Mary Anne gives me the talk and threatens to call my parents.
I try to imagine how your tour is going while I pretend to show keen interest to her preaching. I bet you can do whatever you want and don’t give a shit if people are puking, or fucking, or getting high in the freaking bathrooms.
The worse past is, I know the real punishment will come when Sister Mary Anne is done and I get to leave the office. Because I know she won’t really call my parents and she might even believe that I have chronic gastritis and been very nervous because of the exams, but the other girls will make sure I know they aren’t buying that shit, that they know something’s up. And I might be able to take the evil stares, the constant whispering and the coward bathroom graffiti but when I go and pick up my sisters in kindergarten and the forth grade so we can walk home they’ll feel the stares and the mean looks and feel embarrassed because they’re still kids and don’t know any better.
Specially Viola because she’s older than Hannah and notices that kind of crap more.
And maybe they’ll think it’s their old socks, or the fact neither of them got new lunchboxes this year or their freakishly freckly faces. And this, this will be awful.
And I’ll have to do it all alone because Finn isn't’t here to make fun of the other girls and tell my sisters that they’re perfect and “bellisimas” and act all saving knight like he usually does. Even worse Alice won’t talk to me and any other person I had that was close to a friend deserted me the moment they read that red, angular writing.
Maybe if you were here you’d act all gentleman and pick me up whilst managing to shock the nuns and other girls with your crazy knuckles and beat up car. Viola would be slightly embarrassed by your hair but secretly proud we would get such a cool ride and Hannah would just ask you a lot of questions until Viola told her to shut up.
Then again you aren’t coming, EVER ,and you don’t even know about me so what’s the point of imagining that kind of teen movie crap?
I hope on your next life you get to be a girl,
Ava.
I’m not sure if you believe in god or don’t, but I sure hope your parents never forced to go to all girls catholic school. Getting pregnant and going to such a school will only make you want to commit suicide in the girls bathroom in the most gruesome way possible just to scare the living shit out of the nuns and other girls.
If you think I’m exaggerating let me tell you a little about my school and the all boys catholic school next to it.
During breaks you can meet up with the boys and talk thought a wire fence, like in the ghettos back in World War Two. Notes that are passed through are confiscated and read in class, gifts are taken away and never returned. Every morning the nuns will make sure your skirt is the right length, your shoes are polished and your nails are bare. Dying your hair is forbidden, blasphemy is punished severely and don’t even think about wearing colored socks instead of the usual whites unless you want to help the lunch ladies who also happen to be nuns. Only very annoyed nuns.
Strangely enough the worse part of going to Camden Catholic High School is not the nuns but other girls. I guess being locked up like this really gets their knickers in a twist and makes all of them act like complete bitches and when they’re aren't’t making up shit about you, they telling Sister Mary Anne that you haven’t been to mass in a month and that instead of going to mass you’ve been having breakfast with an older boy in that little dinner in front of the church. “Oh, how shameless that girls is! Can’t she even bother to go someplace else?” And then when that finally blows up because a girl named Kathy lifted her skirt in front of the boy’s fence, someone writes in big, red capital letters “AVA ROSELLA RYAN IS A BULIMIC” in the bathrooms.
Denying it won’t help because it is a fact I have spent quite a lot of morning lessons locked in one of the first floor stalls puking my breakfast, completely unaware that the whole school was listening to me. Truthfully I’d rather be a bulimic than have morning sickness. And now I just have to sit and behave as Sister Mary Anne gives me the talk and threatens to call my parents.
I try to imagine how your tour is going while I pretend to show keen interest to her preaching. I bet you can do whatever you want and don’t give a shit if people are puking, or fucking, or getting high in the freaking bathrooms.
The worse past is, I know the real punishment will come when Sister Mary Anne is done and I get to leave the office. Because I know she won’t really call my parents and she might even believe that I have chronic gastritis and been very nervous because of the exams, but the other girls will make sure I know they aren’t buying that shit, that they know something’s up. And I might be able to take the evil stares, the constant whispering and the coward bathroom graffiti but when I go and pick up my sisters in kindergarten and the forth grade so we can walk home they’ll feel the stares and the mean looks and feel embarrassed because they’re still kids and don’t know any better.
Specially Viola because she’s older than Hannah and notices that kind of crap more.
And maybe they’ll think it’s their old socks, or the fact neither of them got new lunchboxes this year or their freakishly freckly faces. And this, this will be awful.
And I’ll have to do it all alone because Finn isn't’t here to make fun of the other girls and tell my sisters that they’re perfect and “bellisimas” and act all saving knight like he usually does. Even worse Alice won’t talk to me and any other person I had that was close to a friend deserted me the moment they read that red, angular writing.
Maybe if you were here you’d act all gentleman and pick me up whilst managing to shock the nuns and other girls with your crazy knuckles and beat up car. Viola would be slightly embarrassed by your hair but secretly proud we would get such a cool ride and Hannah would just ask you a lot of questions until Viola told her to shut up.
Then again you aren’t coming, EVER ,and you don’t even know about me so what’s the point of imagining that kind of teen movie crap?
I hope on your next life you get to be a girl,
Ava.