I wanted to steal Mary but two girls beat me to it.

Well, that’s not exactly true. I hadn’t thought about stealing Mary until she was stolen.

These two girls carried Mary, a statue of her, that is, from a church garden. One held the feet and the other held her shoulders like the statue was a body.

The girls probably even stole the pickup truck where they lowered Mary down onto a picnic blanket for the ride to, well, where? We still don’t know. I would’ve brought her home.

Why did they steal Mary? I know why I wanted to, but why did those girls want to?

Mary showed up a month later at the wrong church. Did the girls forget where they watched their older relatives stand, mouths open, ready for communion after Sunday mass?

I have a lot of questions for the girls. No one has any questions for me because I didn’t get to steal Mary.

There was a news report from a minister at another church. She arrived first at her church and saw Mary standing at the entrance. This minister lifted up Mary and carried her to an office.

I imagine this minister looked at Mary for a while, considering. Mary’s a statue, so she couldn’t lower her eyes or ask for a coffee.

I wanted to bring Mary home. I wanted to let her sit for a while, even though I know she can’t bend at the imagined joints under her white-but-supposed-to-be-blue cloak.

Mary probably needs a rest. All these years of people doubting her and then her having to stand guard in some garden.

My aunt had neighbors with a Mary in their garden. Every morning, my aunt would pull aside her pink curtains and gaze at Mary’s back. My aunt would move her lips in prayer and then cross herself. If I was there, my aunt would stare at me until I crossed myself, too.

Mary never answered my aunt. She never sat down. She never left her post, either. Well, the one church Mary did when she was stolen by two girls who weren’t me.

I wanted to give Mary a rest. The kind of rest that doesn’t include rosary beads or communion bread. The kind of rest that lets her do whatever it is people do when they are finally alone. A rest that doesn’t include a child or dirty laundry. The kind of rest that doesn’t require anything, even resting.

Mary is back at her church now, un-stolen.

My phone dings with another email to me, Mom. (Moms don’t have their own first names.) Mary’s name might be Maria or Marie, but she is always a Mary with Mary-duties.

It is time to pick up my kid and make dinner. I can’t steal Mary today since now she’s watched. Those girls stopped her from her duties and now she’s watched.

Maybe not stealing her would have been kinder. She could have rested in that garden without anyone noticing.