“I’m glad you became a teacher,” I said.
At recess Ernie and I found Mickie waiting in line for her chance to kick the ball.
“Did you get in trouble?” I asked.
“My parents grounded me for a month. I can’t watch TV.”
“Sorry about that,” I said.
“I didn’t do it because I like you or anything,” she said.
“I didn’t mean that. I just—”
“Forget it, Hill.” Mickie raced forward and booted the ball high over everyone’s heads, then took off running away from me, something that would become a habit for Mickie Kennedy.
18
Two years later, 1971, my parents dropped me off at school in my graduation cap and gown, which, as luck would have it, were red and only served to further bring out the color of my eyes. The class was buzzing with excitement for our big night. We would graduate in the church, then walk through the playground to the gymnasium for our first dance.
Ernie greeted me when I walked in the door of the classroom. “We made it, Hill. We are escaping this prison. I can’t wait to get out of here.”
I smiled, but I wasn’t sure I shared the same sentiment. My years at OLM had been anything but smooth, though they’d improved after David Bateman was banished, and got better still when, at the end of summer following sixth grade, we came back to school to find an interim principal—Sister Mary Francis. No one said what had happened to Sister Beatrice. Like David Bateman, she’d simply vanished, like a ghost. This meant my seventh-and eighth-grade years were relatively pain-free. While I couldn’t look back on grammar school with fond memories, I was more apprehensive about the thought of starting over again at Saint Joseph’s, the all-boys Catholic high school Ernie and I would attend, and trying to win over a bunch of kids who would once again not know a thing about me except that I had red eyes.
I took my seat at my desk as our first lay teacher, Ms. Trimball, went over the graduation ceremony one final time. Despite my screwup at the all-school Mass, I had been chosen by Ms. Trimball as one of three students to give a “reflection.” The written pages were supposed to be at the lectern, but I’d kept a copy on me, just in case. When I opened my desk to retrieve the pages, I found a gift-wrapped package. I pulled it out thinking a similar package was in each student’s desk, but no one else was holding one. I looked to Valerie Johnson, certain I would open the package and a snake would pop out, or a stink bomb, but Valerie was not paying any attention to me. She and her friends were engrossed in talk about their dresses, makeup, and the dance. I unwrapped the package. Inside I found a Bible. Perplexed, I flipped it open. It had been inscribed in flowing cursive handwriting.
Samuel,
May God bless you and watch over you on your new adventure in high school.
Sister Beatrice
I shut the book as if to trap a rattlesnake. My pulse had quickened, and I was suddenly very hot in my graduation gown. After a moment, I slowly opened the Bible and peeked inside to confirm what I’d read. I quickly shut it.
“Sam,” Ernie said from his seat one row over. “You okay? You look like you saw a ghost.”
I felt like I’d seen a ghost.
“I’m fine,” I said.
I gave the gift to my mother after graduation but didn’t have time to talk to her before the dance. I was apprehensive about that as well, certain I’d be eating cookies and drinking punch alone until it was time to leave, but Mickie Kennedy would have none of that. She grabbed my hand the moment I walked in the door and pulled me out onto the dance floor. As she writhed and bounced and danced I stood flat-footed to the Rolling Stones’ “Brown Sugar.”
“I don’t know what to do!” I shouted over the music.