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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.”
