Douglas G.

Douglas died in 1995.  Twenty-six years later, a former elementary school classmate tried searching his name again on the internet.  If you had told Douglas at any point while he was alive that someone in the future would be using a computer to search worldwide records for his name and picture, he may not have believed you.  He would have been fairly certain, however, that his obituary would be written by then.  By then, he was dead for three years longer than he had been alive.

Jessica thought it likely that he wouldn't have even remembered her.  After all, the last time they had seen each other was 5th grade.

Weird Kid

When I was a kid, I wanted to have some sort of debilitating disease, like polio, so I could wear leg braces and have those arm-cuff crutches.  I drew pictures of myself in a little memo book, the kind small enough for a pocket and with a plastic spiral on top.  I drew myself wearing a numbered jersey, a thing I never owned, legs strapped into braces, arms locked into crutches, and smiling hugely.  What did my therapist think of that when I confessed to it?  She thought it was because I wanted to be pitied and coddled.  I stopped seeing that therapist because that analysis was so very wrong.  I didn't have any psychological training, I was the one who cracked up at work, I was the one who drew myself as a cripple when in reality I was physically normal, and even I could psychoanalyze my childhood daydreams.  I wanted to have a debilitating disease not so I could be pitied, but so I could overcome that disease.  I wanted to be heroic.

What would you rather be, liked or respected?

Ms. Peterson was one of the youngest teachers at Leete Road Elementary School and she was the newest.  Her hair was shiny and blonde, flat-cut in a bowl around her pale face.  She always wore a dress.  Ms. Peterson expected disciplined third graders.

"Neat desk, neat handwriting, and neat appearance equals a neat mind," she intoned every morning as her heels clicked on the floor between the desks.  Most of the children sat up straight, but some were what she would call "underdeveloped".

Kelly sniffed and rubbed her sore nose with the back of her sleeve.  The clicking paused beside Kelly's desk.  In an instant, Ms. Peterson had a tissue wrapped around Kelly's nose and mouth.  "Blow," she commanded.  Kelly started to cry.  "Blow!"  Ms. Peterson shook Kelly's face and waited.  The dirty little girl with the chronic sinus infection blew as she sobbed.  Ms. Peterson pushed Kelly's face away.  "You will be staying after for detention."

How would your best friend describe you?

In Kindergarten, they took the same bus to school, though they didn't know each other very well because they lived too far away to walk to each others' houses.  Louise knew Renee lived in one of her two favorite houses that she saw every ride home.  It sat by a creek and seemed mysterious.  Louise also knew Renee as one of the only kids she knew who wore glasses.  Renee remembered Louise as the girl with an earache.  One ride home from school, Renee saw Louise crying into her school bag and asked what was wrong.  Louise suffered earaches and bronchitis fairly often as both her parents smoked.

Later in elementary school, Louise would remember Renee as The Girl Who Came a Day Late.  It was the day after Louise's birthday on a bright late October day and she saw Renee, now moved to a less mysterious house, but within walking distance, coming down the sidewalk, the largest present she ever saw in hand.  Decades later, Louise would suspect that Renee came a day late on purpose, to avoid the other kids and the party atmosphere.  She would not remember the party, but she remembered Renee, sharing leftover chocolate cupcakes, and coloring together in the Giant Size Wonder Woman coloring book that was Renee's present.  Renee would remember that Louise was careful to make sure she didn't feel bad about being a day late, and she enjoyed the birthday party of two.

Pageant Question 15: If I were to visit your hometown for one day, what would we do?

The kids in the neighborhood called them "The Fields", but it wasn't just fields; there were trees and creeks and even small hills.  It was Joelle's favorite place to play, with or without anyone else.  Although it was against her parents' wishes, she would often go out to The Fields to play alone, exploring, spying, listening, imagining, building.  While there were many improvised "forts" in the woods, they were group activities.  Joelle was proud to be building one of her own, and she called it her home base.  It was from this base that she intended to do further exploring.

To a nine year old, The Fields were huge, quite possibly never-ending.  Joelle wouldn't connect the fact that they lived on an island with the idea that the woods could not possibly go on forever when there was a river surrounding their town until she was ten, and by then, she had discovered a secret about The Fields no one else knew.

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Angel Harrison was my best friend and she was the toughest, most independent girl I knew.  We were four.  During naptime, we'd edge our nap rugs closer and closer to the toys on the floor until we were playing, heads close together, whispering behind the wooden dollhouse.  The nursery school teachers would shush us, and I'd pretend to sleep, but Angel would keep playing.

The next year, in kindergarten, we were in the big school--the elementary school--down in the round rooms at the far end of the building.  Three rooms opened off of a round, central play area that held the big toys: climbing bars and mats and slides and balls.  It was in there that Angel announced to me that she was leaving.  "I'm leaving," she said.  I protested because that was how I was.  "You can't!  It's school."  As if that were explanation enough.  Angel's fat, black braids swung and clicked their beads together as she shook her head.  "Nope.  I'm going, and I'm going right now."  True to her word, she headed for the door and was down the hallway before Mrs. Panagopoulos raced to drag the five year old back.  What I will never forget is Angel's small figure, standing tall in her floral, little girl dress and Mary Jane shoes, walking confidently out that door.  "Wow," I thought.  "I could never do that."

I found out later I could, but it wasn't for another three years, and by then, Angel was long gone.

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Marjorie did weird things when she thought no one was looking. Kaylee caught her sniffing her shoe. James saw her eating bits of eraser. Georgio wondered why she talked to her hand. When her teacher noticed her licking and replacing the class' boxed crayons, Marjorie was sent to the school counselor.