1.
I want it all back, my playground where I was catapulted
through the air, six feet off the ground, landing on my left arm,
exposing gray bone, nerve & artery paralleling my fifth-grade
universe. Mrs. Harrison calls my dad who’s walking out the door
to go fishing on his only day off. Instead of the river we go to the
hospital
where I get a shot with the world’s longest needle. The nurse with
her crisp
clean uniform tells me that it won’t hurt. They always lie. My sister
says
I told you so. I shoot her the middle finger & mean it. I hope you die
she says.
2.
I outspell everyone in my classroom, except Mimi Sullivan whose
father
took her to Tokyo for a radiology convention. We have a spell-off & I
beat her
by one word. I buy ice cream from Brookshire’s Dairy with my
winnings
& a big chocolate sheet cake as big as Texas. I’m the hero for one day.
I misspell
circular at the county bee & lose to Connie Dick who was a dick, but a nice one.
3.
Miss Evangeline Tubbs, our music teacher, was a staunch advocate of
German lyrics,
the fat on the underside of her upper arms, swinging like hammocks
as she directed choir.
She forced me to sing a solo in the Christmas musical & I told her
that I was gonna mess
it up, & I did mess it up, & I felt vindicated & powerful at least as
much as a kid can feel
vindicated & powerful.
4.
I popped the sleeve of a nylon parka in Rebecca Bowden’s left eye, &
she yelled that her mama was
gonna pay us a visit & I lived on pins & needles all night but they
never came. Rebecca was a sort of hero
with her pirate patch & she never spoke another word to me & that
was okay because I knew that what she
had said to me was malicious & uncalled for. Fairview School made
me happy & I wish that I still fit into
the mold. Sadly, my body has outgrown its youth, but my brain
retains memories. At least for now.
