It took just one look into each other’s eyes, a quick blink, a toothy grin and we were off on our adventure.

Goosebumps were flourishing on my arms as my best friend Terry and I bounded up the last flight of stairs up to the roof of the school and church, arms full of chalky erasers ready to be clapped clean.

Clapping erasers at the end of the school day was a coveted chore by my classmates. It always meant the last twenty minutes of a school day would free any of us from having to clean the classroom or set up paper, pens and pencils for the next day in utter silence under the watchful, unblinking eye of our teacher nun, Sister Mary Unhappy.

Bursting onto the flat roof of the school into the crisp, chilly mid-February air, we ran the length of the building to the opposite end, giggling and bumping at each other all the way.

I was in eighth grade, feeling superior to all those in lower grades, knowing I would be leaving the stifling walls of rules, religion and nuns in penguin-like habits in five months. I would soon be unfettered by stuffy, plaid uniforms with no shape to them at all, clunky saddle shoes and mandatory attendance at Friday morning masses just so my classmates could fill up the almost empty church. This to pump up the feeling of importance of our parish priests who rarely raised their eyes to look out over the penitents who came daily. Those were the usual suspects of older women, who astonishingly wore a variation of the same dress: black dress, black stockings, black veil, black purse and yes, black shoes that as I look back now, were probably the precursors of Doc Martens. Ugly.

So, freedom, as limited as those twenty minutes, was precious to us. Up on the roof, we could sing out loud, blasting out the pop songs of the late sixties, forbidden to be sung inside those hallowed halls of somber novenas and hymns. We gyrated and danced, imitating what we saw on Soul Train and American Bandstand letting our hormones and youth define our moves and volume.

The public school, just on the next street, which we could see from our taller school buildng had a boring flat roof unlike our peaked roof with the large cross pointing to heavenward. It was still late winter, and the roof had a coating on it – a mixture of snow and ice and shone brilliantly in the mid-afternoon sun.  

Walking back across the school roof after finishing our hedonistic eraser clapping Terry and I were still feeling restless and itchy to do something before entering our bastion of education and doldrum. I don’t remember who suggested it first, but the roof beckoned and dared us and the thought of climbing and sliding down that roof just once entered our souls like a demon on a mission of possession.

“You go first,” Terry said.

“I think you should go first,” I countered.

After a few seconds of back and forth and knowing our minutes of freedom were in danger of petering out, we decided that we would both go at the same time. This would allow us to support each other as we clambered up, not too far, and as we slid down and back onto the flat part of the roof.

“No one’s ever done this before!” I exclaimed.

“Everyone will be soooo jealous!” Terry added.

The mid-afternoon sun warmed our backs as we clambered up the icy forbidden slope, grabbing at each other when our sensible saddle shoes provided no grip. Laughing and joking our way to almost the top, we turned around and sat down surveying the landscape below and beyond us. The feeling of accomplishment ran through our senses, and our emotions rivaled any of those who had scaled Mt. Everest.

Seconds were left before we were missed. We turned to each other and with a whoop we pushed off. Wind tore at our hair and the sun no longer kept the chilly air from our bodies. We paid no heed as we rushed to the end of our run and tumbled onto the flat roof.

Brushing off our snow and ice speckled uniforms and ignoring the large cold, wet spot on the back of our skirts, we picked up our erasers and ran for the roof door, hoping no one noticed we were ten minutes overdue.

Scrambling down the stairs we revisited our adventure . quick phrases and laughter, trying to catch our breaths as we made our way down three floors to the all-purpose room where the entire school had assembled for the weekly Friday movie. This week it was a coin toss between Mary Poppins or The Sound of Music.

We found our class and edged our way around the back to where our classmates sat and watched The Sound of Music for the tenth time.

Stealthily, we attempted to rejoin our classmates, suddenly realizing that the only two empty seats were next to our teachers, Sister Mary Cantalice and Sister Mary Agnes.  We silently prayed they were too engrossed in the movie to notice our delayed return. Slipping into our seats, we held our breaths for a few moments,  then releasing them when neither nun acknowledged our presence. Furtively, we nudged each other in congratulatory camaraderie knowing we had gotten away with it. 

We were still basking in our forbidden adventure; we funneled back into our classroom and began to pack up our school bags. Anticipation for the ending bell was high as we couldn’t wait to burst out of the school, round up our classmates and tell them about our daring escapade.

“Irene and Terry. Please remain in the class after the bell.” Sister Mary Cantalice announced.

Terry and I stared at each other. Busted! Now what?  Did she know or can we hope against hope that she only wanted to personally tell us to have a good weekend. Deflated we knew she knew.

After the last classmate left the room, Sister Agnes entered the room. We stared as the two nuns looked at each other, nodded their heads in unison and turned to us.

“Girls, we know you took a little side trip when you went to clap our erasers.” Before we could answer, Sister Agnes brought up her hand to stop us from talking.

How was that possible?  No one was on the roof while we glided down the roof slope. We made sure before we even took a step. Was it God that ratted us out to them? Did He have nothing else to do but spy on two 13-year-old Catholic school girls? 

“Sister, how..”

“How do we know, Terry it was the both of you?” Sister Cantalice interjected. “Well it wasn’t divine intervention, just some simple deductions and” she paused, “a very observant elementary school principal from Lincoln Public School the next street over.”

Our jaws dropped, we hung our heads. I think I heard Terry start to sniffle a bit, so I poked her to make her stop.

“This is beyond us. The principal would like to see you in her office now.”

With that said, Sister Agnes opened the door and proceeded to show us out.

“Don’t dawdle, girls. She’s waiting for you. She would also like to finish her week and enjoy her weekend

Scrambling to gather our bags and jackets, we scurried to the door with heads hung, trying to make ourselves as small as possible. The door shut with a hard close and we began our descent into an unknown hell that was assuredly waiting for us.

The principal’s office was on the ground floor and the inner sanctum of our principal, Sister Mary Scholasica. She bore her name and position as a medieval Crusader would flourish a banner as he marched into the supposed infidel’s country. She was a hard task master and she doled out punishment frequently if anyone broke her rules.

“Well girls, come in. I’ve been waiting for you, so don’t waste my time.”

We shuffled into her office as if we had shackles on our feet, not daring to look at each other or Sister Scholastica.

Silence ensued as she looked up at us and slowly removed her glasses and proceeded to clean them, squinting at us as if she could see into our souls and what had possessed us to behave in such a reckless manner.

Seconds ticked on loudly from the large wall clock.  Terry and I stood waiting for the wrath that would soon befall us. Oh, when will she speak! This was torture and I envisioned all the harsh punishments the saints had endured, wondering what St. Irene suffered before she was put to death. No, I pondered my fate was going to be worse than St. Irene’s. My mother will find out and that would be the end of any future freedom or privileges till I was an old lady. Please God, I’ll be good.  I promise I’ll go to mass every single day. I won’t light the votives without putting any money for them. I’ll go to confession even if I don’t have any sins to report—OK, I’ll confess those petty sins and double my prayer penance.

Sister Scholastic cleared her throat loudly.

“Girls, look at me,” she commanded.

Terry and I briefly exchanged a  glance and slowly raised our heads, ready for the worst.

“You were seen sliding down the roof side by the principal of Lincoln school. He called me very upset by what he saw and continued to let me know that you were unsupervised and how it would never happen under his guidance.”

“Well, Lincoln has a flat roof, so there’s no way anyone can slide d…” Terry spoke up.

“Silence!” Sister Scholastica commanded. “I know their roof is flat. That’s not the point. What you two did was reckless and you put yourselves in danger and gave this school a black mark against safety for its children.”

By now, I was hoping against hope we would not be expelled, and I became aware that my bladder had decided to choose this moment to impress upon me it needed to be voided.

Sister Scholastica continued to peer at us, her gaze insinuating itself through our eyes into our souls. The clock ticked on. I suddenly realized what eternity felt like.

“You will be punished severely, but…” She held onto the word, switching her eyes between Terry and I.  Then she sat back and sighed, a smile spreading on her face.

“But, and I shouldn’t admit this, but…I wish I could have been so adventurous as the two of you. I don’t condone your behavior but I applaud your youth. It reminds me of a few escapades in my youth before I relinquished it all to become a responsible adult.”

Terry and I stared at each other, jaws dropped, relief spreading through us like a warm blanket on a winter’s night.  

“Sister, oh Sister, we’re so sorry. We’ll never do anything like that again,” our words spewed out over each other as we verbally prostrated ourselves with further, ‘cross our hearts’ and ‘it didn’t mean any harm we were just wanted to have fun”.

Sister Scholastica held up her hands for us to stop and her demeanor returned to a stern visage.

“Girls, I will not notify your parents. This is between you, me and God. You will have punishment, but I haven’t decided what. It’s Friday and I want to enjoy my weekend. Now go home and don’t mention your misdeed to anyone. I don’t need more calls from that principal that there are more students sliding down the roof. Understand?”

“Yes, Sister Scholastica,” we stated contritely in unison.

“Fine, now leave.”

We turned and ran through the office door and out of the school, incredulous at what just happened. We were free! We weren’t going to be expelled, our parents wouldn’t know. A ‘get out of jail card’ of the largest proportions!

As we walked home, Terry and I realized that we had dodged a bullet that might have had a major impact on our lives. Thanks to Sister Scholastica who really did understand that youth is fleeting and is to be enjoyed.

Her act of kindness remained with me, and I have often reflected on it when the yoke of parenting sometimes weighed heavily on me. Remembering how gracious she was to Terry and myself, it helped me to remind myself of my youth, as my children pushed that envelope of youthful rebellion.