Jane Hertenstein

I Wish the Virgin Mary Was My Girlfriend

I wish the Virgin Mary was my girlfriend. We’d go out for coffee and gossip and share a dessert, and then, because it’s too small and too good, order another to split. Afterwards we might shop, and I’d ask her if a certain dress makes my hips look big, and she’d say, “Girl, big in all the right ways.” Hail Mary, full of grace.

And, I think, as we walk along, she makes me feel sexy and unbelievably lucky, and I lean into her sapphire-blue robes and inhale the sweet scent of candle wax and incense and big-ass flower arrangements, and I might start to say all the stuff I’m thinking, until she says, “Hush, my child. I already know.” Hail Mary, full of grace.

My online therapist says I’ve got all the tools in my toolbox. And, I think, What does that mean? I’m scared and unsure, but when Mary is around, I just got to bust out: I love you! And she smiles that peace-be-with-you smile of hers and declares “I love you more.” I so believe it. Hail Mary, full of grace.

I need to lose weight and my skin is bad and I have the “wrong” hair and some days my stutter is a city bus, stopping and starting. And I’m sorely tempted to eat a bag of cookies, or stay in bed, or start cutting again, but Mary comes and wraps me in her arms. We don’t talk about the scars. Hail Mary, full of grace.

I ask her if she’s ever had a bad day, and she laughs and says, “Shit, yeah,” and I think duh, of course. We hold hands and I look into her eyes. I love it when she shows up after my last class and hangs with me until the bus comes. Or whispers into my ear, “Never forget, you’re special,” before I enter a room full of strangers. I hold my head up. Hail Mary, full of grace.

The Virgin Mary was there when Daddy left me and my Mama, and when that nasty uncle tried to kiss me, and when my boss at work put his hand down my shirt in the supply closet and I wanted to freeze and go inside my head, but Mary wouldn’t let me, so I punched him in the face. Hail Mary, full of grace.

Tonight, on the bus, there was a freakout and everyone had to get off and people were all texting and I didn’t have anyone to call, I called on you. You whispered, “Peace my child,” and soon another bus came and I rejoiced. Hail Mary, full of grace

I walked home in the dark from the bus stop, past the McDonald’s where the neighborhood guys hang out. Yea, you’re with me through the intersections and broken sidewalks. Hail Mary, full of grace.

We stop and buy a poem from the halfway house guy, and thank the girl behind the register at the Stop N Save, and hold the door for the kid with the skateboard. You nudge me to smile, because it makes me look so pretty. Hail Mary, full of grace.

The wet leaves fall around us and the traffic lights reflect red, green, yellow in the puddles. When suddenly you reach out and grab me. Watch out! Dog poop! And I laugh, You saved me! In more ways than one, I secretly mean. Hail Mary, full of grace.

In my small studio I light the stove under the kettle and set down two cups.

Holy Mary, pray
For us your children always,
The Lord is with thee.

Jane Hertenstein is a Pushcart nominee and the author of a middle-grade novel Cloud of Witnesses and the YA novel Beyond Paradise. Her non-fiction Orphan Girl was widely reviewed and featured in the Chicago Tribune Sunday Book Section. Her work has been recognized by the New York Times. She has in her portfolio over 100 published stories both macro and micro: fiction, creative non-fiction, and blurred genre. She’s an alum of Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference waitstaff, Sewanee Writers’ Conference, and the Amanda Davis Award, Wesleyan Writers’ Conference. Jane is the recipient of multiple grants from the Illinois Arts Council and City of Chicago. Every year she rides her bike hundreds of miles and currently resides in the piney woods of Michigan. She teaches a workshop on flash memoir and can be found blogging at memoirouswrite.blogspot.com.