I was at school when Aunt Lydia phoned the Office of Student Affairs. We were having an in-depth analysis on Slyvia Plath's poem Lady Lazarus. Sister Elizabeth snatched me up inside the classroom while we were indulged in the ever-relenting prospect of understanding the mind of a suicidal poet.

"Florante?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Come with me."

Sister Elizabeth was too pretty to be a nun. I wanted to ask her did she hate guys that much. She walked me to the office where the mystery caller was waiting on the phone. Her all-white nun robe hang precariously close to the ground was giving me an anxiety attack. I was worried she'd tip over and hurt herself. A long intimidating rosary adorned her neck, I wondered if the beads were also made from Buli palms like the ones Nana owned. We sure grabbed everybody's attention as we stride along the hallways. In the Lamb Of Christ Prep, walking with nuns meant trouble.

The phone call. It must be one of my aunts and the news could either be good or bad. It was a good five-minute walk that felt like forever. My anxiety was off the scale when she handed me the telephone without much of an introduction about who the caller was and why was I being called. My heart was drumming so loud it would make hard core rock songs of Guns N' Roses sound like a lullaby. Please let it be good news. Please let it be good news. I prayed silently.

"It's gonna be alright." Sister Elizabeth pinched my cheeks and smiled at me. Her warm smile pacified the riot I was feeling inside. She took off and went back to her desk after handing the telephone.

It was mom.