Page 77 of This I Know
“In the playground you’ll see instructions at each of the different modules,” my teacher continues. She’s barely to get her words in edgewise before everyone starts walking the path toward the gate of the playground.
She sees me standing alone.
She walks over to me, then checks a piece of paper. “Ethan, is your father here?” She looks around, then back to me, suddenly aware that she’s hit a sensitive subject.
“No.”
She touches my shoulder. “Oh. Well, that’s alright. Why don’t you go see Ms. Ashe, right over there. She’ll help you.”
I travel from station to station with Ms. Ashe. I don’t think it’s going unnoticed by my classmates, either. They notice. I avoid their sidling glances as I play the games of each station.
Finally, I turn around and face her. “Can I do this by myself?” I ask plainly.
Ms. Ashe doesn’t seem surprised, or offended, by my question. “I’m sorry, dear. Every student must be accompanied by a chaperone. It’s in the rules.” She scratches her arm. “Where is your father, anyway?”
The next morning, I brave school with my head held high, as if I have much of a choice at seven years old. At that age, you take what you’re dealt with no questions asked – at least, I do – and what’s dealt to me today is to face my peers.
It’s time for gym class, and we’re sitting together on the gymnasium floor. I pick at the linoleum tile of the gym floor. Kids around me are bundled into groups, talking among themselves.
“Mydad was there,” suddenly says the boldest boy of the class. “It’s Ethan who’s got no daddy.”
Our gym teacher has slipped away to get more balls for our dodge ball game, but plenty of other students are watching, and this boy’s not ashamed to bully in their presence. I think it fuels him, actually.
I look up. “I do too have a daddy.”
The bold boy bends forward and slaps his knee in laughter. A few other kids laugh along with him. A group of three girls sitting nearby stop their talking to look at what’s going on.
And a fire slowly builds inside me; not a rage, but a fire, a fueled embarrassment that’s impossible to ignore.
Under the watchful eyes of my humiliator and those whose attention he’s now gained, I uncross my legs and stand. I walk over to the wall, where a row of red, inflated dodge balls is being kept; I calmly reach down, pick one up and carry it back to where I was. Then I walk over to the boy, and with all the might within me I hoist the ball above me.
The ball comes down on his head with a resounding THUD. It bounces off of him and rolls away, toward where it came.
Everyone goes silent. A girl gasps. The bold boy doesn’t move. And I sit back smugly, resting my elbows on my knees, not caring what happens next.
The teacher walks back into the gym. He’s carrying a mesh bag bursting full of dodge balls, and I can’t wait to get my hands on them.
“Mr. James,” cries the girl who gasped. “Ethan hit Jonathan with a ball.”
Mr. James is dumping out the balls. They spread over the floor like a red and blue liquid. “Ethan, is that true?”
“Yes,” I say. I’m not going to rat the kid out, though. I’m not going to give Mr. James an explanation of why I hit Jonathan with the ball.
“Then you’ll have to sit out for five minutes. Ok, guys. Have at it.”
He doesn’t care. Good.
As I sit with by back against the cold gym wall, I feel better. Doing what I did made me laugh internally. It worked to push the sadness away, if only for a moment, and brought humor to the fact that I knew I wouldn’t hurt the boy with a dodge ball – I was merely advancing the start of the game, and giving him what he deserved.
But later, at home, I sling my backpack on the couch and sat down next to it. I place my head on my hands and sulk as a fat tear flutters between my lashes. I never let that tear fall. I shove the feelings down. I wipe it away, lift my head, and go on living.
Avery
“Well. Here we are.” He pulls the keys out of the ignition and then grips the top of the steering wheel.
He’s brought me home like a gentleman. The whole time he’s been a gentleman – the whole time, that is, except for our sudden escape from the Kramer house, which was pretty unexpected. And I still haven’t quite pinpointed what that was about. Our night was so perfect afterward that I didn’t want to ruin it with talk of something negative.
He walks me to the house, stopping at my front door. The moon is full. I consider going inside right away, but even after he hands my keys over, I don’t. I let down my hair while we were in the car, and now I twist a strand hanging near my chest. He rocks back on his heels.
