THIS morning I got a parcel from home. I was so happy when Sister Theo came into the recreation room and called my name. My white name, that is. Not Seepeetza anymore, or Tootie, or McSpoot which only my dad calls me.
“Martha Stone, you have a parcel,” she said. Sister handed the brown package to me and said I could take only one thing from my parcel every day at recess. The rest she would keep in the closet with the other parcels.
“Yes, Sister,” I said. That’s all we’re allowed to say to the Sisters, yes Sister or no Sister.
I took my parcel over to a bench to open it. A bunch of girls followed me to see what I got.
“Who’s it from? Who’s it from?” they asked.
I looked at the name in the corner. J. Stone. My brother Jimmy. I smiled. Jimmy must have wrapped the parcel in the kitchen with my mum helping. Imagine. Just a few days ago this parcel was at home. My mum must have touched it! Maybe she put something in it and said, “Seepeetza will need this.”
I pulled off the brown paper. Opened the little skinny box. The intermediate girls crowded in closer.
“Oh,” we all said together.
There was a bag of marshmallows, a package of cookies with coconut over marshmallow, fancy ones. My mum and dad never buy these kind. They cost too much. There was a bag of toffees in shiny wrap and colourful wax paper, some peanuts and peppermints. A treasure.
“Take one thing and bring the rest back, miss,” yelled Sister. Her face was red.
I tore open the marshmallow bag. I took two. I sneaked one to the biggest of the girls around me.
“Share,” I whispered. I put the other marshmallow in my pocket. Every once in a while I take a tiny bite and keep it in my mouth for a long time. That way I’ll still have a piece in my hand when I go to sleep tonight. I’ll fall asleep thinking of home.