When Fiorella attended church for the imposition of ashes, she was feeling all properly contemplative and subdued until the pastor instructed everyone to leave the church without talking. Like Good Friday, he said, Ash Wednesday is a day of silence.
Immediately Fiorella felt the urge to babble in tongues. The truth is, she can't stand to be hushed. In fact, she had to stop attending Good Friday services when she finally realized that nobody else was impelled to sneeze loudly as soon as the injunction of silence was delivered.
Fio was born with rebellion in her blood, of course, but why against silence? Maybe it has to do with needing a constant outlet for all her weird thoughts--now provided by this blog, thank you. And she does like attention.
Or maybe it has to do with her thinking she had killed her great-grandmother--by talking--when she was four, a secret she harbored for thirty-five years until one day she realized how ridiculous it was and began talking about it.
Or maybe it's because silent people are dead people, and Fiorella is very, very alive.
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