SuzyQZ Writer

Maribeth Murphy was worried her whole family was going to hell. She knew this was likely because she hung on every word Sister Pat said in her third-grade religion class and could recite all the sins and their classifications by heart — the seven deadly sins, venial sins and even mortal sins. She also memorized dozens of saints and how they died. Many evenings, Maribeth would lay awake in her room in their suburban ranch house, reading The Lives of The Saints by flashlight under her Hollie Hobbie blanket while  listening to cackles and squeals of laughter from one of her parents’infamous cocktail parties. Every time she’d hear a swear word burst out like a skeet shot in the sky, Maribeth would make the sign of the cross.

Last night, she got up to go to the bathroom and saw her dad kissing Billy’s mom in the hallway. Since it was Halloween, her dad was dressed like Fred Flintstone and Billy’s mom a naughty nun. That just made it all a little more distressing. She heard her dad say “Yabba dabba doo,” in a low growly voice. They didn’t notice Maribeth drift silently around the corner in her nightie like a spirit. For that, Maribeth said a whole rosary. Maribeth’s older sister Dee Dee was in high school and she’d laugh at Maribeth’s holy ways and call her Sister Mary Elephant. Dee Dee wore her uniform skirt really short and had lots of boys come over. Despite their transgressions, Maribeth adored her family and didn’t want to see them roasting in the netherworld. Luckily, Maribeth had a plan.

“St. Cecelia was the patron saint of music and she kept singing even after her head was chopped off,” Maribeth announced at the breakfast table. Her mother Barb and dad Wally exchanged a withered look. Their eyes had little red squiggles in them from staying up way past the trick-or-treaters. The kitchen still smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and the table was sticky. “No saints at the breakfast table, honey” Barb chided weakly, “Finish your Pop Tart, you have school mass this morning.” Maribeth felt a rush blossom in her chest. She loved school mass, especially today on All Saint’s Day, the day after Halloween when all the kids could dress up like their favorite saints. “Did you pack my costume, mom?” Barb gestured toward a brown paper grocery bag by the door.

Maribeth constantly daydreamed about the saints and all their gruesome and fantastical stories. Her favorites were St. Joan of Arc leading the French Army disguised like a boy and St. Bernadette who endured so much suffering when her town didn’t believe she saw the Virgin Mary. The magistrate even threatened to boil her in oil! She’d chosen St. Bernadette for today.
More importantly, the saints were part of her plan for her family’s salvation. Maribeth discovered a loophole in the Catholic sinner-punishment paradigm. Once a person was deemed a saint, her entire family had a free pass to heaven. All Maribeth had to do was figure out a way to become a saint and they were in.

The third graders of Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow School filed into the church narthex like wind-up toys on a conveyor belt. Girls in plaid jumpers giggled and boys with clip-on ties askew squirmed and made fart noises. The teacher’s laser beam glares were meant to shrink the offenders into submission. The children were divided by gender to change from their uniforms into their saint costumes. Boys in the cloak closet and girls in the crying room where moms with noisy babies went. Maribeth tore into the grocery bag for her Bernadette costume. To her horror, her monkey costume from Halloween was inside, complete with tail and banana necklace. Maribeth froze while all the other kids donned bathrobes and sandals and head scarves like proper saints. “Maribeth Murphy, get your head out of the clouds and get a move on,” her teacher insisted. Maribeth hated being singled out for not following directions. She got tunnel-vision and the room around her felt wavy. She slipped on the brown furry jacket, monkey ears, tail and banana necklace.

Maribeth sat in the pew with her classmates staring intently at the faces of the statues of Jesus, Mary and Joseph. She pleaded with them in silent prayer to save her from this humiliation. She inhaled the smell of candles and the Murphy’s Oil soap the nuns used to clean the pews, smells that usually brought her great comfort. She thought of her prayer table at home with its little statues and trinkets and wished she had brought a few of her talismans. Her stomach did flip flops when it was time for the parade of saints. Each student was to approach the lectern and share a description of their chosen saint. Maribeth hated speaking in front of people more than anything. The sound of her own voice in a room full of people induced a panic that made her heart pulse in her ears. As Maribeth marched to the front of the church, she heard a few of the moms in the congregation snickering. She begged all of the saints together to make her disappear. But they didn’t.

Her turn came and in no more than a whisper she squeaked into the microphone. ”St. Bernadette saw Mary and a monkey in a cave.” Soft laughter bubbled through the church. The children caught on and the laughter grew. Even Father Barret tried to muffle a grin at this little girl dressed like a monkey. Maribeth turned inward and the room was a blur of stained glass fragments. The floor felt like Jell-O and Maribeth fainted in a little heap of brown fur, squashing her plastic banana necklace. Father Barrett and her teacher Sr. Pat flew to her aid. She was already coming to when they helped her to her feet and walked her back to her seat.
It was at that moment that the carpet where Maribeth lay a moment ago took on a greenish glow. Out of the alter carpeting, a shrub of wild roses grew instantaneously like a time lapse photo. The congregation watched stunned into silence. The wild roses grew into an astoundingly beautiful bush, each bud glowing ethereally. Once the wild rose bush was formed, gasps and fervent prayers murmured across the church and exclamations of “It’s a miracle.” “Miracle.” “Blessed event.” “Miracle.” One of the moms started crying. Maribeth smiled, knowing the wild rose was what Bernadette used to prove she saw the Lady in the grotto.