June 3, 2011
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Day 3: Apple pie and the first day of school
Apple pie on my shoulder. Why was there apple pie on my shoulder? Confused, I looked at my sister sitting next to me. There was apple pie on her window. The plate and fork were still in her hands, but there was apple pie was all over her. She gasped for air, the seat belt still burning into her skin.
Panic. But not yet. Maybe no one will notice if I just drive off. If the car would start.
Resigned, I went to check the damage. Distractedly jumping out of the car, I slammed my ring finger in the door. Visions of the police showing up to arrest me with my finger stuck haunted me enough to yank it out.
No, the car wasn’t going anywhere. Neither was the little blue Geo Metro, fatally parked in the spot my car now possessed.
Luck was not on my side, even if apple pie was. Lights went on in houses. People came running. My forehead was bleeding, they said, sit down on the curb. Word was sent two blocks down, where our little white church sat full of people still eating their apple pie.
Still breathing hard, my sister sat next to me. “No,” she said indignantly, “I did not throw up apple pie.”
Emergency room or jail, I wasn’t sure where they would take me. I was stupid enough to look down, turning the steering wheel in the process. Do they take you to jail for that? Maybe they would feel sorry for me—I did have a big knot on my forehead.
Bright lights and an ambulance. No, I wasn’t going in there—I was going home. But Sister Parran had her way, as she drove me to the hospital. Sister Parran always got her way—that was how the world worked, I thought sullenly. But she did make good apple pie.
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My first day of school. First day of get out of bed, go to school, be on your own all day long. Then home to tell stories. I thought I was so big. I laid out my clothes the night before. Did all my “Back to school” shopping and filled my pencil case. My binder had horses on it.
The ride to school took FOREVER. Long enough to sit and worry. Worry about the teacher, my classmates, school work…I’d been warned about horrible homework. I got lost trying to find the classroom. I tried very hard to not look lost.
With four chairs per table, and I sat in the first one, closest to the teacher. I was ready to be teacher’s pet. Mr. Bowke. Sideways, he reminded me of a triangle, with his tall, straight back and then middle that came out to a point. Mr. Bowke was big. From where I sat, he was even bigger.
One student had a piece of candy. I listened to every crinkle as they unwrapped it and slowly swirled it around their mouth. I couldn’t wait for lunchtime. Reaching for my pencil, I knocked the pencil box up and over. My face flashed red as it was raining pencils. All was quiet: even the candy stopped clicking against the boy’s teeth. Mr. Bowke stopped the class. He walked over to me, picking up the pencils. He put his hand on my shoulder and told me it would be all right. I believed him.
Maybe your first day of school was similar. Perhaps mine was different. I bought my own clothes for the first day of school. I drove my own car to my first class. Being homeschooled from kindergarten through high school, my first day of school was in college.
