Nun on the Run

She had that look. You know, that look that you see in cartoons quite frequently, when one cartoon is trying to kill off another cartoon with the kinds of weapons you see in Arnold Schwarzenegger movies, all in order to entertain the young impressionable kiddies. The look of just recently being electrocuted. That's what she looked like. Frazzled frizz sticking out in all kinds of directions, to the point where it's almost an afro, except for the fact that it's fried like a couple of green tomatoes. A fried-out fro, that's what she had. Not only did she have that look, she had that story. The kind of story you know MUST be just a rumor, then you hear it again, and again, and again, each time told in the exact same way (rumors tend to become fabricated over time. First, it's Susie and Billy kissed when Billy was supposed to be picking up his grandma. Next, it's Susie and Billy made out in front of Billy's grandma. Then, it's Susie and Billy did it in Billy's grandma's bed. And finally you hear, Susie and Billy did it in Billy's grandma's bed with his grandma still in it. IN ON THE ACTION, THAT IS. That's how you know something is a rumor.), so it must be true. How do I know it was true? Because I asked her.

"Mrs. Quack, is it true that you used to be a nun?"

"Why yes, I was a nun for several years."

"And now you're an art teacher?"

"Yes."

"So you're not a nun anymore."

"No."

"Because you teach art."

"Yes."

"And nuns don't do that."

"Not in public schools, no."

"So you don't wear that thing on your head anymore that covers your hair and stuff?"
She should.

"No. I still have mine, of course, but I don't wear it anymore."
Why the hell not.

"So you lived in a covenant?"
Shit that's what it's called right?

"Yes."

"Was it nice there?"

"Yes."

"Good food?"

"Yes."

"So...you quit being a nun, though."

"Yes."

Look. I think it's pretty obvious that I didn't give a shit whether or not she had spaghetti and meatballs (because that's some good food right there) at her covenant or not. I just had one burning question that was stuck in my throat. Not that it would ever escape. I now knew half of the rumor was true, but I needed to know the other half.

"So why did you quit?"

"Well...you know...it was just time and after some time you just need to find other things and I love God."
Giving someone an answer to a question that was obviously pulled right out of your ass is a good sign that the other half WAS true. I didn't even need to ask. I just knew it must be the truth.

MRS. QUACK DID THE HANKY PANKY WITH THE PRIEST.

Mrs. Quack wasn't only a nun on the run, she was also my art teacher. It is because of my one year of art class that I have a biased opinion towards all nuns of the world. What is this biased opinion, you ask? All nuns are evil.

"YOU ALL BELONG ON THE STREETS, THAT'S WHERE YOU BELONG YOU GOOD-FOR-NOTHING HOOLIGANS! YOU...YOU...WEIRDOS WITH YOUR WEIRDO ART!"

This was only one of many of her ridiculous tyrants that sporadically occurred throughout the entire year. This would be a typical Tuesday in the art room of my high school. A typical Wednesday went like this:

"I love you all like you are my own children. You are all beautiful souls that God cherishes and it is obvious that you all have the inner beam of light inside your souls that will take you to Heaven and remind you to rinse the brushes when you're done painting."

And then the cycle would start all over again. And oh! WHATEVER YOU DO, DON'T EVER LAUGH.

"Natasha, step outside with me right now."

"What did I do?"

"RIGHT NOW, YOUNG LADY."

Door slams. I had just thoroughly enjoyed a good laugh with a few of my fellow classmates when this quacker asks me to step outside. She looks at me. I look back at her. She squints her eyes at me. I hold my breath. She ever-so-slightly turns her head to the left, maintaining the squint of hatred. I let out a soft giggle and immediately shut my mouth. She continues to look at me. It's starting to get very awkward. Should I say something? What should I say? Anything, anything!"

"Mrs. Qua---"

"SHHH!"

She removes her index finger from the tip of her lips and opens her eyes very wide, only to squint them back down again. Wide...squint...wide...squint...oh...shit...

"Ms. Ferrier."

"Yes..."

"You are HIGH as a KITE."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"Are you serious?"

"AS A KITE."

"You're serious as a kite?"

"YOU ARE HIGH AS A KITE."

"You mean...I'm high? Like. On drugs?"

"Don't you toy with ME, Ms. Ferrier. I don't want any of your mind games."

"I'm not high."

"Oh PLEASE."

"I'm not high!"

"You cut that little innocent act right out or I'll have you sent straight to the office."

"How about I go to the office and say you're accusing me of being on drugs FOR LAUGHING."

"That wasn't a normal laugh and we both know it."

"Well I'm SORRY my laugh isn't up to par."

"It was an abnormal laugh."

"Well I'm SORRY I have an abnormal laugh. I didn't realize we all laughed the SAME way."

"It was the laugh of someone ON DRUGS, Ms. Ferrier."

"Lots of people have laughs that sound like they're on drugs. Some people even spit chunks of food on people's faces when they laugh. Or flatulate. I can't help how I LAUGH, for God's sake."

Did that on person to offend her. Man, I'm good.

"Get out of here."

"Excuse me?"

"Get your stuff, and GET OUT."

"Oh MY GOD, this is ridiculous."

Had to get one more offensive 'God' phrase in there while I still could.

I wanted to say it right then and there. I now wish I would have. If there would ever be a perfect time to say it, it would have been then. If only I can one day be the rebellious bad-ass motha fucka I so greatly aspire to be. If only I could have given that woman a taste of her own medicine. I'm high, am I?

WELL AT LEAST I DIDN'T DO SOME HANKY PANKY WITH MY PRIEST, BITCH.