A running Nun

By Kristin Wemmer’03

I heard my mom’s voice wafting from the kitchen, telling me breakfast was ready as I nervously put on my high school uniform for the first time. Well, at least my mom thought it was the first time. She didn’t know I’d spent at least an hour the night before trying it on and adjusting it so I’d look exactly like everybody else on my first day of high school. But of course I couldn’t act like I was nervous; that was against the rules of being a teenager. I strutted into the kitchen with my pressed white shirt still un-tucked, because I heard that’s what the cool people did. I felt extra special because for the first time in my life I was wearing make-up to school. Back in grade school we weren’t allowed to wear anything on our faces, and the administration strictly enforced the rule. Not that I knew how to put it on anyway, but my guess was as good as any other freshman girl.
With my blue book bag, which I was positive would not stand out in a crowd, slung over my shoulder I loaded myself into the car at least a half an hour early. There was no way in the world I was going to be late for my first day. I had a lot to do before that first bell rang. I had to scout out each of my classes and make sure I knew where they were, as well as socialize with every single person I knew from St. Francis. I also had to organize my locker and memorize the combination. I knew I would probably meet some new people, too, so I had to make sure to check my hair before class began.
As luck would have it, my younger sisters had to be dropped off first, so I arrived with no spare time for exploring and settling. I frantically kissed my mom goodbye and made a mad dash for the front door. I luckily found my first class with ease, but I hadn’t dropped off my other books at my locker. So there I was: your typical freshman walking with a forward tilt. Speed walking, actually.
I breathed a sigh of relief when I found my seat in first hour, and finally took a look around to see who I knew. There were a few familiar faces, and I was grateful. I was even more grateful when I saw the name of the class written on the board, confirming that I was indeed in the right room. My schedule was folded neatly in my shirt pocket, readily available in case I had any doubts, or needed to look 18 times to see which hall I was headed to.
I vigorously took notes throughout class because that’s what people in high school did. My Trapper Keeper held all my supplies in order, including pens and pencils, highlighters and magic markers. If I remember correctly, that first notebook contains writing in four different colors! I didn’t know what items I’d need for the first couple weeks, so I brought it all the first day. Better safe than sorry, I thought.
The bell rang and the race began once again. There were almost 300 freshmen scrambling through the halls vying for locker space, book bag space, and personal sanity. We all knew one thing: five minutes between classes was absolutely not sufficient for all we had to accomplish. How in the world were we supposed to stop at our locker, chat with 15 of our closest friends, say hi to that cute someone, make a mental note to find out who they are later, and find a room in a building bigger than we’d ever been in before? It was complete mayhem. I, of course, got stuck with a bottom locker and had to wait until the person above me was finished.
I impatiently tapped my foot, ignoring my best friend who chattered nervously beside me. I wedged my way in as my neighbor upstairs leisurely arranged his books on his locker shelf. I had not yet learned how to jam my locker, but on the third try the combination decided to work and I and hurled my books inside. Organizing would have to wait until later. I noticed from the corner of my eye that the hallway was beginning to thin out, and I panicked because I knew that meant the bell was going to ring- soon. My best friend had picked up on the fact I was not tuned in to her dramatic rendition of the “encounter with the cute kind” she had Saturday at the pool and had wandered off to inform someone else.
I get nervous all over again thinking about the next sequence of events. I had a brain freeze, and couldn’t remember where my next class was. I was painfully aware that the number of people in the halls had dwindled to a single digit. I’d never wished for anything as hard as I did at that moment: I wished for time to stop. But when it didn’t I skillfully balanced my book bag on my knee, held my locker open, managed to avoid falling backward into the guy still hovering above me, and reached into my shirt pocket to check my schedule. The “band room”? Where in the world was the band room? How had I missed this detail when reviewing my schedule? I wasn’t even in band!
I looked around for someone to ask, but by this time I was the lone freshmen. I saw my future flash before my eyes: I would walk into class late; everyone would look at me funny because I obviously got lost- I would be the laughingstock of the school and my freshman year would be ruined. Not to mention I knew the boy I liked was in this class, and what would he think of me if I walked in late? I might as well just have walked out the front doors of the school right then and saved myself the embarrassment of life!
I couldn’t believe I was standing in a hall that, just a moment ago, was packed with people and now there was no one to ask for directions.
Then there she was.
A nun. In all her robed glory, rosary in hand.
She had just turned the corner into the 100 hall and was headed right for me. I must have looked in dire need of some sort of help because when she saw me, a very worried expression came over her face. She slowed when she reached me, and I opened my mouth to ask where to go, but nothing came out. She asked if I was lost (I guess I was an open book) and I nodded as I held out my schedule to point at the seemingly jumbled letters. She took one look at the schedule, another look at her watch, and demanded I follow her. I was just positive she was going to lead me straight to the office where I would receive a lifetime of detention, but instead she took off running! She hollered at me to hurry up or I would be late, and so hurry up I did. She led me through the commons, past the gym and down a very small staircase- wardrobe cascading behind her. She stopped a few feet before the door and pointed. She whispered that this is where I was supposed to be, and to have a good day. I whispered thank you, and she smiled. It didn’t occur to me until later that this nun had literally saved what was my idea of my high school reputation. All I’d wanted at the beginning of this day was be unnoticed and just like everyone else. Attracting extra attention was certainly not on my schedule.
I took a deep breath and strolled into the room, relieved to find that everyone else was still up and milling around. As it turns out, the band room had temporarily been turned into a class room for that semester until the real room was ready. How did everyone else know where to go? I never figured it out, and I didn’t dare ask anyone for fear of enlightening my peers of my lack of direction or knowledge of the school. I sauntered up to a group of friends and joined in on their conversation as if nothing had happened. As if I hadn’t just almost quit high school on my very first day. As if I hadn’t required the help of a nun to find the band room, and as if my hands weren’t shaking uncontrollably at the thought of getting in trouble for being late.
I learned from that experience, though, and made arrangements to meet friends in the hallway by our lockers before each of our next classes, and we would figure out where to go together. I had at least three of my closest friends in each of my remaining classes, thank goodness. My day actually got better: I managed to remain unnoticed- except by the boy I liked, who slipped me a note in squeeze hall!
Looking back, I wish I would have done things differently that day. I laugh to myself when I think about how serious I was and how silly a thing it was to get flustered about. I wish I would have gone into the band room and made a big joke out of my mishap. I wish I would have told them about the running nun. Most of all, I wish I would have made a point to find her and thank her personally for essentially saving my life! I never had her for a teacher, nor did I see her again. But I will always be grateful to her for helping me fly under the radar of tardiness. If it wasn’t for her, all my worst fears of high school would have come true. Instead, I feel as if I was handed a “get out of jail FREE” card and nobody ever knew.
Isn’t it funny how we perceive things differently in hindsight? I’ve grown up considerably since my freshman year, but am continually reminded of those early days and learning how the world works. I would later apply this lesson to real life and associate it with success. On this particular day I reached my goal of not being noticed by remaining cool and calm on the outside when my insides were flipping and flopping. I have since learned to keep my external composure when I’m a ball of jitters internally. Although I do wish for another “get out of jail FREE” card every now and then… don’t we all?