School Days

"School" is a little red brick, one-room building, hard wooden benches, chalk, and the sound of chalk squeaking against a blackboard. Clapping out erasers is a coveted job – why was that so? I think we were all Tom-Sawyered.

Bells sound, telling you when to start and when to end your day, a long day of being told what to do. I could listen, I could obey, although sometimes the things I was told to do, like "eat your green peas," and (on Halloween) "take off your angel wings" made me want to cry. Who made up these rules, and why?

The best consolation for the years of tedium were friends—especially the chosen few, the Awesome Foursome, as we called ourselves, or "AF" in the language of passed-during-class notes. Dana, of the red hair, expressively – flare of the nostril, sneer of the lip, tilt of the eyebrow – able to express her otherwise ineffable disdain (not that she didn't try to put it into words). Michelle, dark-haired, loud, always quick with the comeback, especially for those smart-alecky, "aren't-we-so-great" boys. And Emily, poofy blond hair, vampire-pale skin, and wit so sharp you cut your knees on it, going down. We were filled with scorn, but also curiosity, fun, laughter, something burning bright, where you could warm your hands on a cool night, eating brownies up on the roof, under the stars, bitching about school.