my secret

I was in the sixth grade, for the second time around. Just a strange turn of events, which I blame on the shallowness of the teacher. My teacher used to sit at her desk, with a hand mirror. We were supposed to think she was occupied with herself -- her eye makeup, her lipstick, even her brilliant fingernails scraping her beautifully white teeth, and even her slender white fingers manipulating a strap and rearranging the fit of her magnificent breasts in her blouse. --and our eyes were supposedly downward on our assignment and not on her.

Anyway, she was the grownup in that classroom, so we weren't, yet. Although in the sixth grade, this year I felt grownup. I thought some of my classmates acted a bit childish, and I did want to fit in, so I started acting like them in some ways, like defying the teacher, not closing the book when told, dropping a pencil, just to disturb an awfully quiet moment. In my own little way, I was going to be ungrownup, just like the others.

Alas, one day, this beautiful woman, our teacher, had half the class march right into the small "book and supply room, where she quizzed us, name by name: Did you use chalk on the road out there? Do you know who did? What does it say? You do know what it says -- nowwe were quizzed, one by one.

You do know what it says-- now, did you write it? Who did? Of course she got no answer from me. It was the end of the school year, what did I care? We were soon to be students at the High School (Junior High was now housed in the High School building.) We were excited about joining the big kids in high school. Really a big excitement for us. But no, it was not going to happen. When we received our report cards for the year, About twenty students learned they would be repeating the sixth grade another year. I was one of these students.

I left for the long walk home, disappointed, but feeling a little bit guilty too. Why did I feel guilty? And I was angry about feeling guilty -- I didn't do anything. Yes, I was angry at the teacher, just as my friends walking with me were angry. By the time I arrived home, there was no anger, no disappointment,. I was grown up enough then. wasn't I, to accept whatever and go on from there?

I arrived home. The feeling of guilt was there. How was I going to tell them I didn't pass, was not going into the seventh grade? I thought perhaps I would just walk in, nonchalantly, and noone would ask. It didn't really matter, did it? Summertime was here. I was certainly ready to forget my problems. and did.

It was August -- Have I grown up during these summer months? No, Richard died. Who am I now? Without Richard?

And everyone came. Charlie was there, Tommy and Lily came home, The dining room table was cleared of lunch and everyone was everywhere. I don't know where I was -- probably sitting on the steps of Eddie's house next door. What was I thinking?

[I'm not done yet -- stay tuned]