The lazy neighbors didn’t bother mowing the next week, but that was the last time Frank mowed their lawns.

“Too much gas wasted,” Auntie Minerva declared. Now she has to nag Frank to start the engine.

List of Confessions

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.

1. Forgive me for sneaking the wet towels behind Auntie Minerva’s back.

2. Forgive me for yelling at Olivia when she didn’t dust the coffee table.

3. Forgive me for being jealous of Delia’s haircut.

4. Forgive me for not doing my homework last Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday.

5. Forgive me for lying to my friends about having my period.

6. Forgive me for getting impatient with Tata.

7. Forgive me for once wishing that my mother was dead.

Making Time

It might be easier to notice the passing of time if I lived in Maine. When winter came, there would be snow. When spring arrived, I’d fly a kite. In the summer, birds would sing for their breakfast, and in the autumn, leaves would turn crimson and fall.

But I live on an island where every day is almost the same as the day before and the day after. The temperature stays hot. The trees are always green. The birds don’t visit us here, unless you count the chickens. Even the dry season isn’t so different from the rainy season. And each day that passes doesn’t seem to get me any closer to home.

Things to Do That Might Help Us Return to Malesso

1. Make my father proud of me.

a. Don’t argue with Auntie Minerva (even if she snaps at Olivia).

b. Go to Mass with Auntie Minerva.

c. Keep Auntie Minerva’s house clean.

d. Take Olivia to the bathroom in the middle of the night so she won’t wet the bed.

e. Try, try, try to make Bs in every class (except maybe science; a C in science would be okay).

2. Pray that my mother’s ghost will leave our house.

Teacher for the Day

A sociology class at the university wants to interview Auntie Bernadette about her life as a suruhana.

“Come with me,” she says. “It will get you away from Minerva for the afternoon.”

Auntie loves being in front of the classroom. She likes all eyes on her. She likes answering the students’ questions.

“How do you explain your power to heal?” they want to know.

“My heavenly Father gave the gift to me,” she says. “I was born feet first. Babies born feet first have the healing touch.”

Some nod like they believe that’s true, too. Others say “Oh.” Now they understand.

“Why do you use spoons to massage?”

“My mother used the spoons.” She says this as if that alone is enough.

A girl raises her hand and Auntie points her way. “Yes?”

“Is it difficult to work with your handicap?” the girl asks, and sinks lower into her seat.

Auntie smiles. “I don’t know any other way. God took one thing but gave me another.”