difficult to know exactly what I was supposed to do to make her happy.
Many of my memories of Rosary are hazy with its Gothic-like settings of dark hallways, classrooms, dormitory bedrooms, and bathrooms. Other memories are crystal clear like it’s happening to me right now in such bright light that I can see details without my bifocals.
The Rosary boarders slept in one large dormitory room. The beds were arranged by age with the youngest girl’s (mine) closest to the bathroom and the oldest girl’s on the other side of the room. The room’s windows were close to the ceiling. No one could see in or out.
That first night, I lay awake, unable to sleep. I clutched Ruthie tight against my chest and curled myself into a ball while the hated new doll sat on the cabinet by my bed. I wore my favorite pajamas, pink with little dark pink roses on the yoke’s ruffle. My head lay on my bunny pillow toy, the one with the big floppy ears and a pink pocket in the back. Margie had shown me how to put my pajamas into the pocket in the morning so they’d stay neat during the day. Although my sleeping things were with me, I didn’t have Margie and I didn’t have my own bed. I wanted to be at home so Margie could read me a Peter Rabbit story, rub my back, tuck me in, and give me a Kleenex to put under my pillow.
As I lay in bed, listening to the sounds of the other girls sleeping, I couldn’t understand why my mother and aunt didn’t want me to stay at home with them. I decided that I needed to try harder to be a good girl so that my mother would love me, then all three of us could live together.
At some point during the night, I fell asleep because I woke to the sound of ringing. Through a brain fog, I saw Sister Mary Joseph, moving a small bell up and down as she walked between the rows of beds.
“Time to get up, Anne Marie,” she said over my head.
I sat up, confused. Girls were going in and out of the bathroom, toothbrushes in hand. Others were slowly dressing by their beds, their backs to the room. All wore identical cotton undershirts, underpants, and full slips; those further dressed had donned blue uniforms.
“You’ll want to visit the bathroom first,” Sister Mary Joseph explained.
I inched out of bed and stood up. Sister Mary Joseph took my hand and walked me over to the bathroom. The other girls giggled but stood aside as she led me into the long room with its row of six sinks opposite a row of toilet stalls. She told me to go into a stall and shut the door behind me. I could see her feet under the door, waiting. When I emerged, she led me to a sink and showed me how to mix hot and cold water in the sink so I wouldn’t burn myself. There were no bathtubs here; the bathing room was down the hall. Back at my bed, she told me to find some clothes in my cabinet, get changed, and fold and store my pajamas. While I was doing this, she told one of the older girls to make my bed. Sulking, the girl did as told. I noticed she didn’t make it smooth and neat the way Margie always did, but I didn’t complain.
“Hurry, Anne Marie,” Sister Mary Joseph said. “You have to get to the cafeteria in five minutes.”
I couldn’t imagine eating anything now. My stomach felt like a big fist was squeezing it shut—no food could get through that stricture. But I sped up my actions because I wanted the sister to like me. The buttons on the back of my dress gaped open—my arms were too short to reach them. I didn’t yet know how to tie my shoes, so I left the shoelaces loose. My hair remained tangled on one side of my head.
“Jane, take Anne Marie down to the cafeteria,” Sister Mary Joseph said. Another older girl walked over to my bed. She said nothing as she escorted me down the long, dark staircase. As we descended to the bottom floor, sounds of girls’ chatter swelled and acrid smells of overcooked oatmeal and powdered eggs grew stronger. I stopped.
“Please,” I whispered, “don’t make me go down there.”
“Come on,” urged the girl. “Sister told me I have to bring you downstairs. I’ll get in trouble if I don’t do it.”
“I feel sick,” I moaned.
She dragged me down the stairs even as I begged her to let me go back up. Once at my assigned seat at the little girls’ table, I couldn’t eat. I could barely look at the neon yellow scrambled eggs or the congealed brown oatmeal the girl put on a tray for me.
“You’d better eat or Sister will paddle you,” she said.
With this threat, I lost what control I had over my stomach and spit up bile onto my lap. An old nun appeared quickly, gave me wet dishrags to clean myself, then told me to go back upstairs. Feeling very ashamed, I climbed the stairs. Sister Mary Joseph took one look at me, told me to get changed, and then brought me down to my new classroom. She barely spoke to me. I thought she must be mad at me and hoped she wouldn’t hit me.
This reaction to food at Rosary repeated itself daily, and I threw up most mornings, sometimes before breakfast, sometimes afterward. I would proudly inform Sister Mary Joseph on the rare mornings that I didn’t get sick.
I recognized the kindergarten room where my mother and Margie had left me the day before and I looked around, hoping to see them. Before I could register my disappointment, a lady in a blue dress walked over to me.
“You must be Anne Marie,” she said. “I’m Mrs. O’Doyle. I’ll be your teacher.” She smiled as she looked at me. With her brown hair pulled up into a bun on top of her head, she looked like the picture of Cinderella from the book Margie read to me, all dressed up for the ball.
“Come meet the other children,” she said.
She took me by the hand and led me over to a table where three other girls sat. Each chair had a piece of paper with letters written on it.
“That’s your name, Anne Marie,” she said. “This will be your seat. And these girls are Nancy, Diane, and Maria.”
The morning went quickly. We colored, listened to the teacher’s songs, colored again, played at recess on the concrete playground, and heard a story. At 11:30 A.M., the teacher told us to clean our places and get our lunchboxes. Then she gave everyone a little carton of milk with a straw. I still didn’t feel hungry, but I wished I had a lunch and lunchbox like the other girls at my table. Seeing that I had no food, the teacher told me I’d eat in the cafeteria. I wanted to heave the milk I’d just drunk.
Soon, several ladies arrived. As each walked in the door, a child would get up and run over to her. Usually the lady would bend down and either give the child a hug or pick her up. A couple of ladies had big bellies, so they just reached down to rub their child’s hair. I watched as each mother-child pair walked out the door. I stayed, wondering when my mother or Margie would arrive—but they never came.
“Oh, Anne Marie,” said the teacher. “One of the older boarder girls will come by soon to get you for lunch.”
“But I want my mommy or Margie to come get me.”
The teacher squatted down until her face was in front of mine. “I know, dear. But you’ll soon have lots of friends among the boarders. And today you’ll have a nice lunch waiting for you in the cafeteria.”
Finally an older girl arrived at the door.
“I’m supposed to bring her to the cafeteria,” she said, pointing
