This story was first published last year in Northword for their issue on the topic of "sin."
If I Had a Hammer
On the sidewalk, my sister and I leaned against the church hall, listening, waiting for the precise moment. The Sunday school kids inside were singing Praise God from whom all blessings flow, the hymn that accompanies the collection plate. At the final notes, we rushed in. Perfect timing. As usual, hardly anyone paid attention. Just the Marston girls, late again. So once more, we could keep the nickels our mother had given us for the offering and spend it on candy on the way home.
“Lent is sacrifice,” intoned the Superintendent. “Give up your sweets, your comic books.” I tuned out to ponder a more pressing question: Jersey Milk or Jersey Nut?
We argued as far as the corner store but decided on Caramilk, carefully dividing the bar in half. The first luscious square melted between my teeth, slipping me into chocolate heaven.
But what was this? My sister was carefully wrapping her portion. “I’m giving chocolate up for Lent,” she said.
“Good,” I said. “I’ll eat it.”
“No, I’m saving it for Easter.” In our bedroom, I watched her place the Caramilk inside her small dresser drawer, lock it and put the key in her pocket.