“That’s enough.” Sister Ignatia gestured, finger to her lips. A day earlier, cardboard eggs, chicks, and pure white bunnies had appeared on the bulletin boards. The effect was magical. We longed for spring.

“After lunch, we’ll draw Easter bunnies,” Sister promised. True to her word, after recess, she passed out sheets of oaktag paper. We snatched up pencils and crayons, hardly waiting for directions.

“Watch me.” Sister Ignatia stood at the front of the room. I watched Sister’s slim arm in motion, chalk moving across the board in confident sweeps, wrist flexing like a falling leaf, the long black sleeve of her habit pushed back on her shoulder to allow greater freedom of movement.

“Two circles, one on top of each other. Then, two more small circles at the bottom for feet. Ears, two upside-down V’s.” When she finished drawing, the rabbit on the blackboard sat up straight, waiting for a face.  Then Sister explained.

“When you’re done, bring your drawing up to my desk.  If you do a good job, we’ll put a bow around your bunny’s neck.” We set to work, pencils moving across paper. But I had a question.

“Can I draw my bunny sideways like the one up there?” I pointed toward the decorations over the blackboard.

“No,” Sister Ignatia said. “This is the way to do it.” She pointed to the blackboard.

I bit my lip and drew circles and “V’s.” After a few minutes, my impatient, crooked bunny looked nothing like what she’d drawn. Wrong, I thought. I began again.

Soon, other children went up to Sister Ignatia’s desk. One by one she accepted their drawings, stapled pink bows onto them and taped each drawing to the wall beneath the lip of the chalkboard.  A parade of bunnies, all the same, marched across the room.

I took mine up.

     “This one isn’t ready,” Sister said.  “Can you try again?”

     “Yes.” I wanted to say more, but Sister frowned.

     “Do it over. You want a ribbon, don’t you?”

     “Yes.”

I drew, each bunny more lopsided than the other, none worthy of a ribbon.  At the end of the day, I packed my schoolbag, crushing down the papers, grinding them to the bottom.  I tossed my crayons on top, not bothering to put them in the box as we’d been taught.

That night, Mom cleaned out my school bag.

“What’s this?” she said, holding the ragged sheets of oaktag in both hands. I cried. Then Mom told me to draw some bunnies before bedtime while she did the dishes.

Surrounded by sheets of white typing paper and Number 2 pencils, I drew bunnies, one after the other: large ones so extravagant they reached the edges of the page; and small, fluffy ones with powder puff tails and ears bumpy as cauliflowers, waving like flags in a storm.  Mom took my drawings and fixed them to the wall with adhesive tape from the medicine closet. All the bunnies in the world looked back at us.

“Good job,” Mom said.  “I like them all.” But the next day back in school, I didn’t see my drawing on the wall.

Time passed. I entered the order associated with my school, took vows, kept the rules. Each year teaching brought me closer and closer to my students, but farther and farther away from views I’d once accepted. One night I awakened in tears. I’d been chasing rabbits, wild brown things. They twisted underneath bushes, raced over logs. I followed them into the woods, a crayon in my hand like a wand. By that time, I’d begun to ask more of tradition. I began to believe in a larger vision. It occurred to me that I didn’t need a pink ribbon anymore.  

Unswerving

A novel by Barbara Ridley

When Tave wakes up alone in the hospital, she barely remembers the car wreck. Far from home, dazed, and despondent, she struggles to face the challenges of her new paralysis—all while worrying about her partner, Les, also severely injured in the accident, now cared for by her homophobic parents who refuse to allow contact. In rehab, Tave relearns life skills and comes to recognize that her future will be completely different from what she’d imagined. Where will she live? How will she find the help she needs? Can her friends rise to the occasion? Or will she be forced to move back in with her mother, putting up with endless talk of faith healers? Her one beacon of hope is Beth, her physical therapist. But Beth’s relationship problems with her own girlfriend push her toward overinvolvement—and risk damaging both her career and Tave’s recovery. A story of a spirited young woman gradually discovering her inner strength, and finding a new community, this novel challenges readers' preconceived notions of disability. For more about the author: www.barbararidley.com. Available from Bookshop, Amazon, and your local independent bookstore.

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