Wednesday, December 5, 2007

Elementary School

I remember the smell of a freshly mimeographed quiz, slightly damp with pale purple text.
We had air raid drills. The siren was connected to the firehouse right next to school. It was loud and seemed to go on forever. We hid under our desks.
Our bus driver told us, “Keep your feets off them seats.”
Once we had to draw a map of the eastern part of the United States, using a different color crayon for each state. I didn’t like doing it.
Paul T. wore a suit to school one day. He wet his pants.
I remember Mrs. Pearce and Miss Scholl and Mrs. Bjornberg and Mr. Murphy.
Mr. Murphy and his wife got a divorce and she married my uncle.
Miss K. taught Kindergarten. She lived with her sister Miss Alice. They moved to the island from the city. I wonder if they were really sisters. Once the doctor came to see Miss K. in school and they went into the bathroom together for privacy.
The year before I entered Kindergarten I went to the nursery school that Miss Alice had in their home. She made me string my beads in a predictable pattern rather than in the random array that I preferred. I cried until my mother came to get me. I refused to ever go back.

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