Becoming Birgit

By Ashleigh Stevens

When I went to bed, I dreamt that a girl slightly younger than I was sitting at my desk in my room, writing in her reflections journal. Her unkempt hair reached halfway down her back and her head was bowed low to the desk as she wrote feverishly. After a moment, the girl looked up and her soft brown eyes caught sight of me. She put down her pen, closed her journal, and stood, turning to face me. As she handed me her journal, she spoke in a quiet, pleading voice.

"I know you don't think much of me now," she began. "But, my writing is immature. Give me a chance to grow before you make your decision."

She was gone in the blink of an eye and I was left standing in the middle of my room with the journal in my hand.

When Birgit discovers an old diary, she assumes reading it will help her identify the author. As she delves deeper into the journal, however, she receives the guidance to learn more about herself and her Catholic identity than she ever anticipated.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ashleigh Stevens
• Release date: Aug 14, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393169697

Ashleigh Stevens

Once upon a time, there was a girl who loved reading and learning so much that she wanted to share her writing with others. She wrote her first novella at twelve-years-old, although it has never been published. She continued writing for the next twenty years, developing a writing style and finding a comfortable genre. In 2010, just before the birth of her first child, Ashleigh decided to publish her first novel. Not long after, Ashleigh decided to become a stay-at-home mother in order to spend time with her daughter and continue her writing. Currently, Ashleigh lives in Southern Connecticut with her husband and her four beautiful children, whom she homeschools. In her spare time, Ashleigh continues working on her novels, hoping to publish more soon.

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While every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher assumes no responsibility for errors or omissions, or for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.

BECOMING BIRGIT

First edition. August 14, 2019.

Copyright © 2019 Ashleigh Stevens.

ISBN: 978-1393169697

Written by Ashleigh Stevens.

Becoming

Birgit

By Ashleigh Stevens

For my children

May this book inspire you

Tuesday, September 4

I’m not sure, but I think I just set a record at the Saint Benedict Academy for Young Men and Women. I didn’t even realize it was possible to get a detention before classes even started, but according to Sister Bernadette, it is.

Today was the first day back to school and of course, I’m writing this during evening Reflections. Well, I’m trying to type this all out, but it’s actually incredibly difficult with my stomach groaning about the fact that I spent most of dinner in Sister Bernadette’s office instead of enjoying our annual back to school supper.

The worst part of this entire situation is that Grace Anderson is sitting in front of me, still muttering insults under her breath and occasionally turning around to smirk at me when no one is looking.

Smirking, most likely, because she knows she should have received punishment for her involvement in my disobedience. (Ooh. That’s a good word. I need to start using some more vocabulary words in my writing. I think that’s what Sister Antoinette is looking for on my college applications. Ugh. I don’t even want to think about those. Where was I?)

Oh yeah. Grace. Detention. It’s not as if I meant to create a disturbance during dinner, but Grace had been…what’s the word I’m looking for? Goading. Grace had been goading me all day and I finally snapped at dinner. Maybe I should start at the beginning.

Last spring, I had the bright idea to volunteer to help out with the new student orientation at the beginning of school this year. So, I returned to school last night, even though most students returned today. Although I’m not sure whether Grace got in last night or early this morning, I know she arrived early enough to join me at breakfast this morning.

When she sat down beside me, I had a weird moment where it felt like the first day of eighth grade and we were still best friends. Her auburn hair still fell in soft waves to her shoulders, highlighting her pale skin with a smattering of freckles along the bridge of her nose. In comparison, my frizzy brown shoulder-length hair had been disagreeable this morning, so I punished it by tying it into a rough ponytail. Although my blue-and-grey plaid skirt and white blouse matched Grace’s, hers seemed to accentuate the curves in her body in a way that no one else in our school has ever been able to master.

I was a little surprised that Grace sat beside me without being forced, but as soon as she opened her mouth, I remembered we were now in the twelfth grade, not eighth, and that she had been spending the last three years ridiculing me.

So, Grace began in that saccharine voice she reserves for trying to make my life miserable. How was your summer? Did you get to spend a lot of time with Trevor?

I took another bite of my toast to delay my response. I knew Grace was looking for an opportunity to taunt me, but since I was uncertain of her angle, I was able to neither prevent the insult nor provide a witty retort.

Trevor and I worked at the same camp this summer, I said, providing Grace with the ammunition she was seeking.

Ooh. That is so sweet. Did you sneak off into the woods together at night?

It was a day camp at the rec center, I replied knowingly. The closest thing we had to the woods were the three trees planted in the island of the turnaround driveway in front of the building. I let sarcasm drip into my voice in an unfruitful attempt to steer the conversation away from where Grace was heading.

Well, did you at least have a chance to sneak off to make out in one of the classrooms or whatever they have at the rec center?

While Trevor and I did manage to sneak a kiss here and there at camp, Grace was not deserving of such information.

No, Grace, I responded. We did not sneak off. Since Trevor and I are both mature and responsible, we spent our time ensuring the safety and well-being of our charges.

Well, that’s a shame. Andrew and I saw a lot of each other this summer, Grace announced haughtily, lowering her voice slightly to avoid any eavesdropping friars or sisters before continuing.

We were the only seniors among the twenty or so students sitting scattered across the dining room. Most of the faculty were sitting in their reserved section to our right. Approximately one third wore the white habit and black cape and hood of the Dominican friars although three of the men donned the white cape and hood identifying them as novices. Similarly, another third wore the white habit and black capes and veils of the Dominican sisters, with two novices dressed in all white. Five female postulants wore black skirts and vests over their white shirts, while two male postulants wore black pants and white shirts. The remainder of the staff wore regular clothes, since lay teachers did not follow any specific dress code.

Grace looked around to ensure she was not being overheard before continuing. Both our parents worked long hours, so we were able to spend a lot of time alone together, if you know what I mean.

Of course, I knew what she meant, since it was the root cause of the demise of our friendship. At the start of our eighth grade year, Grace clarified the birds and the bees better than any lecture Sister Phoebe had provided us, making her the most popular girl in the school, never mind our grade. This status inflated her head and she became callous to many of her former friends, although she was the vilest with me. It took me nearly six months before I realized that Grace had been able to provide such a detailed explanation based on personal experience.

Grace had been my best friend and my roommate from our first day in the first grade. On the first day of eighth grade, exactly four years ago today, I guess, Grace decided she no longer wanted to room with me, as we had planned, but that she was going to room with Callie Harkins instead. I was stuck rooming with Tara White, Callie’s intended roommate, who was not a bad roommate, except for the whole snoring thing. That evening, after Reflections, Grace shared her information with all the girls on our floor.

Grace and I tried to remain friends that year, but I could feel her keeping her distance and increasing her hostility. No, she wasn’t hostile at first. She simply acted annoyed by my presence, as if my innocence was ruining the reputation she was trying to build for herself.

One Friday afternoon, I walked in on her and some older boy, I forget who it was, making out behind the field house before dinner. Their uniforms were disheveled and I knew I had interrupted an intimate engagement. As I pondered what I had witnessed, I realized the true reason Grace had changed that summer.

That evening, after dinner, I confronted her and asked why she had not told me she had lost her virginity. She claimed that I was so innocent that she did not want to…what was the word she used? Tarnish? She did not want to tarnish my reputation through my association with her. Or something like that.

That day marked the end of our friendship and the beginning of our animosity. She didn’t begin calling me names immediately, but waited until the beginning of the following year. Apparently, virgin is a bad word, even in a Catholic school, and Grace has a way of muttering Birgit and virgin in such a way that it almost rhymes.

When Grace first started taunting me, it was no big deal, but she has been doing it constantly for the past three years and today it felt as if she was tormenting me more than usual. At the beginning of the orientation, she sat beside me, whispering Birgit the Virgin and giggling about twenty times before the first grade girls’ dean, Sister Mary David, realized Grace was not part of the orientation committee and dismissed her. While I was leading a group of new upper-school students on a tour of the school, Grace trailed me, whispering just loudly enough for me to hear her.

Somehow, I managed to survive the day and even spend time catching up with Sharon as I helped her unpack in our room before dinner. Then, at dinner, Grace somehow managed to plop herself near me again. I was sitting between Chrissy and Trevor, with Sharon, Elizabeth, and Christopher sitting across from us. However, Grace managed to find a seat next to Elizabeth and her lackeys joined her.

As Mother Mary Leonard stood to lead us in evening prayer, I glanced around the room. The lower school students were sitting at their assigned tables, while the upper school students were free to select their own seats. Grace was silent during prayers, probably as an attempt to avoid trouble than from actual reverence, but as soon as Mother Mary Leonard said Amen, Grace began whispering with her friends. Apparently, in the world of Grace, talking during announcements is a minor offense compared to talking during prayers.

Grace and her friends were whispering to each other and every so often I would hear her say Birgit the Virgin in a slightly louder whisper with a miniscule glance in my direction. Her friends would all snicker with her, which is completely hypocritical because I know a majority of them have never even kissed a boy, never mind slept with one.

Grace and her friends usually don’t get to me, since I have my circle of friends, and my adorable boyfriend, and we are God-fearing. We are among the minority in this school who worship God because we want to, not because our teachers tell us we should. We are probably the only six people in our grade, possibly the entire upper school, who actually want to be here and haven’t simply been sent to a Catholic boarding school as a punishment for misbehavior at home. I was never sure where Grace fit in; she is among the few of us who have been here since the first grade, but she is also one of the students who appear to be here as a punishment. I have a hard time envisioning her as that wild of a six-year-old, but perhaps my friendship with her disguised her true personality, even back then.

Anyway, I was doing a good job ignoring Grace and her taunting as Mother Mary Leonard sat down and Sister Bernadette and the other deans began wandering the dining room informing individual tables they were allowed to get food from the kitchen.

We were one of the last tables sent to get dinner, probably because we were mostly seniors, and therefore we had just sat down when Brother Martin stood to remind everyone of the schedule for the rest of the evening. Grace had resumed her whispering right as Brother Martin was discussing what time we needed to report to the chapel for evening Rosary and Reflections, so I asked Grace to be quiet.

Except, I did not exactly ask her and I did not use that phrase. Frustrated and annoyed, I said in a rather loud whisper, Could you please SHUT UP? Unfortunately for me, Brother Martin paused at that precise moment and Grace was not the only one who heard me. It turns out that in Sister Bernadette’s world, unlike Grace’s world, speaking during announcements is a severe enough offense to be sent to the office.

Sister Bernadette understood that I had not been yelling at Brother Martin and asked me to explain the situation. I hesitated because, while Grace may annoy me to pieces, part of me is still loyal to our extinct friendship and telling Sister Bernadette would have felt like tattling.

I took a deep breath and explained that someone at my table had been whispering during all the announcements and that I had truly wanted to know what Brother Martin was saying, so I asked that person to be quiet. I apologized for causing a disruption.

Sister Bernadette took a moment to reflect before responding. I think she has known me long enough to understand the tension between Grace and I. I have no doubt she knew I had been yelling at Grace.

However, she said nothing and simply looked around her office until her eyes landed on something behind me. She smiled before turning back to me and telling me to report to her office after classes tomorrow for detention. We prayed together, meaning Sister Bernadette prayed and I attempted to listen and not be upset by the detention. By the time she dismissed me, I had just enough time to retrieve my tablet from my room and come back to the chapel for evening Rosary and Reflections.

Now, it has been almost an hour and I managed to record my entire story before the end of Reflections.

Wednesday, September 5

I suppose detention could have been much worse, although I wouldn’t know because I have never actually served a detention before. Since today was an A day, I began my day with Literature, where we learned we would be starting this semester reading Robinson Crusoe, which actually looks like a fun read. After morning break, during which Trevor and I sat outside and began reading Robinson Crusoe, I went to calculus, where nothing has changed since last year.

During lunch, I was able to avoid Grace completely, which was not too hard since she and Jake snuck out after afternoon prayer. I don’t think she’s broken up with Andrew yet, but I am pretty sure something happened with Jake since she was tucking in her shirt and smirking as she sat down in Spanish class after lunch.

After afternoon break, I had Geography, where I completely zoned out a long discussion about human migration. I am going to have to ask Elizabeth to explain it to me during study hours tonight.

After geography, I went straight to the administration offices, not even bothering trying to find my friends to discuss their afternoon plans. I knew Trevor would be at football practice until close to dinnertime, and my girlfriends would be at gym class, and then be sitting out on the lawn until dinner.

When I arrived in Sister Bernadette’s office, she told me to shut the door and sit in her visitor’s chair. As I sat, she stood and I braced myself for a lecture about not talking during announcements. Instead, she wordlessly strode to a shelf behind me, removed a banker’s box labeled Journals 1994/2019, and returned to her seat, placing the box on her desk.

After a few moments of silence, Sister Bernadette suddenly asked, Birgit, where will you be in twenty-five years?

I think Sister Bernadette realized the question caught me off guard, possibly from the blank expression on my face, because she continued without giving me much time to formulate an answer.

"Once upon a time, we had a teacher here whose final assignment of the year was to write a reflection describing what the girl thought she would be doing in twenty-five years. She would then collect that year’s reflection journals in addition to the assignment. When I took over her religion class ten years ago, she explained that each year, she returned the journals to the girls just before their twenty-fifth reunion.

"Over the past ten years, I have received numerous letters from alumnae thanking me for sending me their journals and some of them have even mentioned how that assignment really made an impression on them.

"As part of your detention, I am giving you that assignment. You are to work on it during Reflections tonight and tomorrow, and submit a two-page, double-spaced essay to me tomorrow evening.

While you ponder it, you can prepare these journals for the mail. For each journal, find the corresponding label on this alumna list. She placed two sheets of labels on top of the box. Then place the label on an envelope, she pointed to a stack of padded manila envelopes beside the box, and place the journal in the envelope.

Sister Bernadette pointed to a stack of typed letters that bore her signature. Add one of these to the top of the package before sealing it. Add a return address label and make a stack for me. Any questions?

I shook my head and Sister Bernadette left me alone, saying I could leave when my task was complete. As I opened the box, I contemplated my assignment, deciding I would start small, thinking about where I will be in a small amount of time and gradually expand my thinking, trying to create an essay. I started dictating some ideas while I worked, and I have enough that I should be able to finish my essay during Reflections tomorrow.

However, I had to share about all this today, and about what I found in that box. The box contained thirty-three of those black marble notebooks whose pages are sewn together making it impossible to tear out a page. I remember using them as my Reflections journal until last year when it became mandatory that we use our tablets.

I carefully removed the first journal and read that it belonged to Amy Hunter. I searched the labels until I found an Amy (Hunter) Baker living in Westchester, NY. Assuming that I had correctly matched the name to the label, I placed the journal in the envelope and placed the sticker on the envelope. I added a cover letter and removed the paper strip at the top of the envelope, sealing it.

About halfway through the box, I found three journals for Kristina Summers, which surprised me, since no one else had more than one journal. I could not manage to get all three journals into a single envelope, which was not a big deal, since I could not find a label for any Kristina. I placed the journals to the side and resumed working, receiving another shock at the bottom of the box.

There were two journals at the bottom of the box that were not written in English. The first was labeled

commentarius reflexionium

ianuarius usque aprilis

MCMXCIV

and the second was labeled

commentarius reflexionium

aprilis ad finem scholae

MCMXCIV

Being fluent in French and Spanish, I was able to reason that these books were reflection journals, although I could not figure out the author’s name. Aprilis appeared in both titles, so perhaps the author was named Aprilis.

Sister Bernadette returned while I was contemplating these journals and inquired about my progress. I told her I had found some journals that did not seem like they belonged in the pile, since I had not found a label for them.

Sister Bernadette tried to hide a knowing smile before replying. Please return all the packages to the box, and then you may keep the extra journals. I give you permission to read the journals; perhaps you will find something in them to discern the identity of their owner.

She again exited the room, leaving me baffled, but I did as she asked, returning the stack of mail to the box. I found the pile of three journals belonging to Kristina Summers, and placed them on top of the box. I found a piece of blank paper and scribbled a note to Sister Bernadette that I could not find a label for Ms. Kristina Summers and it was not possible to stuff all three journals into a single envelope. I then covered the box and placed the two mystery journals in my backpack.

There is something so enticing about these journals that I cannot wait to read them, but I really need to finish this essay first.

I have about ten minutes left of Reflections. I had better start that essay.

Thursday, September 6

I finished my essay a few minutes ago, and I think it’s appropriate for me to attach it to this journal, since I mostly worked on it during Reflections. It ended up being over three pages long, but I’m not quite sure it’s exactly what Sister Bernadette wanted me to write. It’s basically a different type of reflection, where I ramble about how I want my life to turn out.

An Exploration of My Future

By Birgit Adams

When tasked with predicting my life twenty-five years from now, I found the task overwhelming; how could I speculate on such distant prospects, when my immediate outlook is still so uncertain? I therefore decided to examine my immediate future in order to determine my more distant outcome.

Where will I be twenty-five seconds from now? I will most likely be continuing to write this essay, since, although I am able to write relatively quickly, I cannot write a two-page essay in under twenty-five seconds.

Where will I be in twenty-five minutes? Since Evening Reflection is about an hour long, I will still be in the church, reflecting on my day, as I have been doing every school night since the first grade. While there is a chance I will have completed this assignment before the conclusion of Evening Reflection, I believe in twenty-five minutes I will be in the final editing phases of this document.

Where will I be in twenty-five hours? Tomorrow evening is our first football game of the year, so I will be sitting in the bleachers cheering for my boyfriend, a wide receiver named Trevor, and his roommate, a tight-end named Christopher. I will also be cheering for my roommate, Sharon, a fantastic cheerleader, who is nervous about something called a basket throw.

Where will I be in twenty-five days? At this time on Monday, October First, I will again be in Evening Reflections, but we will have completed nearly a month of school. I will have completed all of my college essays and applications, so I must also have narrowed down my list of schools to which I plan to apply. The process has been difficult, since I am not certain what I wish to do with my life.

My aunt Lucille writes a travel blog, posting articles about various bed and breakfasts throughout the United States, and that seemed like an appealing career aspiration. I intended to apply to schools for journalism, but over the summer, I took an introduction to journalism writing course at the community college and I was bored out of my mind. I had no trouble passing the course, but I did not find it very enticing.

I asked my grandparents for suggestions, but they were little help. My grandfathers both worked at the same manufacturing company, doing some sort monotonous product testing that they did not encourage. My grandmothers were both homemakers, and while they did admit it was fulfilling, they both insisted I should receive a college education before deciding to stay at home and raise children for the rest of my life.

My aunt Kaitlyn teaches third grade at an elementary school here in Connecticut. Last May, I sat in on one of her classes and I tried to observe from a teacher’s point of view, instead of a student. It was a very enlightening experience and I discovered that I had absolutely no interest teaching elementary school.

I am not exactly certain what my own parents do for a living. I know they are writers, but, since I have never read any of their work, I am uncertain what they write. They like to eat out a lot, so I suppose they might write restaurant reviews or something, but I really am clueless. All I know is that they are writers, so their career advice would be journalism and writing courses, which is what I am already planning.

Therefore, in summary, in twenty-five days, I will be preparing to apply to journalism schools.

Where will I be in twenty-five months? Well, that’s a little harder, since I have to assume I will be in college. I will have spent the summer between high school and college traveling with my aunt, practicing writing for a travel blog. After my first year of college, I plan to get some type of journalism internship, exposing me to other aspects of the field. Twenty-five months from now, I will be in my second year, taking more classes and possibly having begun my own blog.

Where will I be in twenty-five years? After completing this exercise, I still have yet to answer this question. Trevor and I have been together since the ninth grade, just as my parents. I hope we will be engaged before we get to college and we will get married after we graduate. Twenty-five years from now, Trevor will have graduated medical school and be a doctor at an established practice. We will probably have two children, who will be the third generation to attend Saint Benedict’s School for Young Men and Women. Although I stay home to care for my children, I will probably be writing part-time, freelance or blogging or something.

Twenty-five years is a long time; I have not even been alive that long, so it’s difficult for me to even comprehend such a period of time. A quarter century. It sounds like a long time, but I know it will go by quickly. I can only hope that I will figure out what I want to do with my life by then.

Now that my essay is completed, I can read that journal Sister Bernadette gave me. I used an online translator and apparently, the title is in Latin. I am going to scan the diary into my journal, and then I can translate each page and mark it as I reflect on it.

Reflections Journal

January through April

1994

There is no name on this journal, but I have been thinking of it as Aprilis’ journal, so I am going to refer to the author as April until I can learn her true identity.

I think I have just enough time to read the first entry before Reflections is over.

Monday, January 17, 1994

Well, I guess it’s back to the same old routine. Winter break is over and I am back at this wonderful school for the second half of ninth grade. It’s too bad I don’t know how to convey sarcasm into my journal. I am not looking forward to the new term. I don’t even want to be here, but Evil StepMonster thinks it’s good for me. Keep me close to home while they’re living in California. Stupid job transfer. You would think that me complaining about it all these years would have some influence, but no. He wants me to stay here in stupid Culver, Connecticut at stupid Saint Benedict Academy for Young Women. That’s what he calls it every time. Saint Benedict Academy for Young Women. Not Saint Benedict’s or Saint B’s or the Academy. Saint Benedict Academy for Young Women.

I just remembered my parents telling me Saint Benedict’s used to be an all-girls school before it merged with Saint Thomas’ and became coeducational. I forgot how long ago that happened, but it must have been less than twenty-five years ago, since it was an all-girls’ school when this journal was written.

Even though there were no classes today, we still have Reflections. I guess I’ll reflect about this afternoon. I got back to school in the middle of the afternoon, and I know a lot of the girls were visiting with each other or hanging out in the common rooms, but I just wanted to be alone, so I went straight to my room, relieved to find it empty. I was unpacking my suitcase slowly because I was trying to work out a kink in one of my stories. There’s something wrong with the way Midnight Raiders (that Halloween story I’m working on) is flowing, but I’m not quite sure where it’s getting hung up. I suppose it would help if I ever actually went out on Mischief Night, but I have to use my imagination.

I remember my mother reading me a bedtime story called Midnight Raiders about some kids who egg houses the night before Halloween, then go trick or treating in a haunted house the next night and travel to the future. My first Halloween here at school, she sent me a care package with some Halloween candy and a copy of that book. When I brought it to class, my teacher mentioned it was one of her favorite stories and showed me the copy from the school library, which had been signed by the author, who apparently is an alumna. I wonder if April wrote the story my mother read me, or if she just wrote something else with the same name.

Tangent. Sister Kathryn has warned me about going off on tangents in my creative writing. I know it’s okay in my journal, but not my writing. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with MR.

Sunday, September 9

I sent my essay to Sister Bernadette, and since she hasn’t commented on it, there’s a chance it was what she was looking for after all.

Friday evening was Trevor’s football game and he did a fantastic job and even scored two touchdowns. The team won 47 to 9, and we celebrated by watching a football movie in the common room with