Get Thee to a Nunnery!

A painted statue of the Virgin Mary smiles down at me in benevolent welcome.

"Prayer for Vocations: Bless the Young Persons that does not have it."

I'm standing in the front lounge of the CM Residence, reading the signs on the wall as I wait to be taken to my room. About half the flyers are in Spanish. The English ones say:

"$7 Performance at Avery Fischer Hall."

"God, send us good girls who will serve You."

"Happy Memorial Day! Breakfast is at 8:30."

I'm going to love this place. I've already got a personalized name card hanging at the top of the check in/check out board alongside two other Erica's. The building is nicer than I'd thought it might be; everything is in good repair, and the lobby is well-lit and comfortably furnished. The outer facade looks just like an old church (in fact, that's exactly what it used to be): Stained glass windows, red brick, heavy wooden doors with iron hinges. Inside, I can see a door that leads to a functioning chapel, and I suddenly remember the scene in The Sound of Music where Maria walks into the ballroom only to be caught by Captain Von Trapp. I glance up at the wooden Mary standing watch above me.

"Hello, Erica! I'm Sister Mary! Welcome."

A little startled, I turn to see that, like her sentences, Sister Mary is short and sweet. She certainly looks the part of a nun: Gray dress, gray habit, smile as benevolent as the one painted on the wooden Mary above her. This nun is scrappy, though. "Come on! I help you," she announces, hoisting my 80-pound suitcase by herself and taking off down the long hall. I grab my backpack and hurry after. She opens a wooden door, slides back a metal grate, and beckons me inside. I step in and am surprised to find myself inside a tiny elevator. "You'll be on the 3rd floor," she says. She pushes the button, the grate slams shut, and up we go! A sign hangs on my door. It reads: "Enter with a happy heart!" (Picture these words surrounded by lots of smiley-faced flowers.) My room is more functional than fancy--it reminds me of the Wighram House where I stayed during my London adventures--but it has a large desk, two closets, two dressers, two chairs, and a well-lit sink and mirror. And the bedcover is pink! I'm sold. (We also have free wifi which is good news for my blog!)

Sister Mary gives me a quick tour of the residence: Four flights of bedrooms (three for the eighty girls that live here; one for the eight nuns), communal bathrooms (clean, pink), vending machines, two or three lobbies ("For your boyfriend," she explains), the chapel, the cleaning closet, the cafeteria. Apparently, the nuns cook two meals a day for the residents, and if girls plan to be absent during mealtimes, they can purchase a container, and the nuns will save their meal. How sweet!

Sister Mary and I continue past the cafeteria and into the adjacent room. As strings swell in my imagination, my eyes come to rest on. . .a beautiful Steinway grand! "You can the play piano whenever you like," Sister Mary tells me. The room also features a wall of bookshelves filled with old classics and a little stage, complete with curtains and a backdrop. (I would love to see these nuns perform a la Nunsense!) I wander towards the piano, open the lid, and run my fingers over the keys. It's a little out of tune, but all in all, it isn't too bad. "Play for us Chopin!" someone calls. I turn to see three women sitting at a nearby table. One, I discover, is from Uruguay; the other two are visitors from Argentina, and all three are very friendly. In accordance with their request, I play for them Chopin. (I play terribly, of course, but they are so appreciative that they almost make me forget it.) When the woman from Uruguay finds out that my brother is living in her country, she is thrilled and asks if she can send him a letter. I tell her I'll figure out which city he's in and get back with her.

Later, I take the elevator to the basement and run into Sister Antonia for the first time. I continue on to the first floor to pay my first month's rent and start chatting with the girl in line ahead of me. It turns out that she's a dancer from Canada, here for a three-month dance camp, and she stays in the room next to mine. I ask how long it takes her to walk to Times Square from the CM Residence, and she says, "Oh, fifteen minutes max."

Soon it's my turn to pay, and I enter a little room where a nun sits with a handwritten ledger and calculator. When she looks up, I realize that this nun is none other than Sister Antonia! I feel like we are already good friends and, apparently, so does she. As she explains how the initial deposit works, she leans across the table confidentially and says, "Some girls, they no want to clean their rooms. No problem. You no have to clean your room; we just charge you forty dollar! Or maybe you want to put holes in wall to hang big picture of singer like Michael Jackson? Yes? No problem. We just charge you fifty dollar! But room clean, no holes whole time? You get money back!" Somehow I don't anticipate problems.

And now here I am in my own, cozy little room, itemizing today's battle scars. I count ten mosquito bites on one leg and five on the other. Oh, and I'm also missing a toenail. Because I left straight from church in Boston to catch the bus to New York, I ended up traipsing around both cities in high heels and a dress. I never imagined it could be so difficult getting one piece of luggage up and down the stairs in the Metro stations! Luckily, some kind people offered assistance, and I made it onto the platform just as my train was pulling in. Not wanting to waste any more time, I hurried aboard and jerked my 80-pound suitcase over the gap between the platform and train. It landed squarely on my big toe and took with it more than half my toenail. (I stood there helplessly on the subway, watching blood slowly cover my toe and hoping, more than anything, that it wouldn't drip onto my favorite shoes!) Of course, my little sob stories seem pretty insignificant whenever I remind myself that I'm actually here. I'm living New York!

Good night, my dear city. Tomorrow is Memorial Day, and it's time that the two of us were better-acquainted.