Time is like a river made up of the events which happen, and its current is strong; no sooner does anything appear than it is swept away, and another comes in its place, and will be swept away too. (Ib. Book IV. Para. 43)

Introduction: Two blocks from where I grew up, was a place known as ‘Slab Town,’ or ‘Hell Hole.’ The homes in Slab Town were built from slabs of rough wood, discarded by the nearby lumber yard. People who lived in these homes had their own wells and outhouses. In other words, they did not have electricity. Children born in the heart of Slab Town were wicked. I knew it, because I could FEEL the darkness inside them.

One of the most devastating times in my life occurred when I was in the third grade. I can remember those events as if they happened yesterday. For some reason, I endured living near that hell hole. Perhaps, it was by divine intervention or some special gift. Maybe, I am a clairvoyant or a witch. I really do not know. All I know is that I survived living two blocks from Slab Town.

Crying is for Losers

Part One

Three students were ahead of me, while I waited in line at the water fountain dying for a cool sip.

‘Sh-h-h, Mrs. Brown will hear you,’ I wanted to say to George, who was making noises, in front of me.

George must have read my mind, because he turned and sneered, “Your shoes are ugly like you!”

“You are going to get it,” I hissed.

WHACK!

“Ouch!” mumbled George facing straight ahead.

“I said ‘no talking’ in line!” growled Mrs. Brown walking away with the wooden paddle in her hand.

‘He thinks so tough! Let him cry like a baby.’ I whispered some words that popped in my head. Words I soon forgot. I heard him cry. He covered his mouth. A feeble attempt to block out the sound he was making, while I smiled to myself. I glanced down at the white, plastic shoes. They were ripped down the sides like an open can of sardines. I wore a pair of socks to provide some cushion against the hard plastic digging into my skin.

Suddenly, I felt someone’s finger on the bare skin of my stomach.

“Your button’s undone,” stated Mrs. Brown.

I nodded without saying a word and buttoned my blouse. She accepted my nonverbal response. I was the quiet kid in class and only spoke when I was forced to.

I hated the blouse I was wearing. I hated coming to school. Mother had purchased my white blouse for twenty-five cents at the Goodwill. It was a lovely blouse for someone to wear ten years ago with its pearl buttons and puffy white sleeves. When everyone had a sip of water, we walked single file back into the stuffy classroom and took our seats.

Mrs. Brown began passing out sheets of writing paper cut in half.

“It’s time to take our weekly quiz on multiplication,” she announced. “Make sure your name is at the top and number your paper from one to twenty.”

‘Oh, no, torture,’ I thought glancing over at Wanda, the smartest student in class. I wish I was sitting next to her, so I could copy the answers off her paper. How can she be so smart?

Wanda was in the back row sitting comfortably in a new desk. A desk I wish I had, since mine was old and squeaked whenever I moved to scratch or pick up something I dropped on the tile floor.

With her angelic face, crisp-looking clothes and neatly brushed hair, it was obvious she had to be the teacher’s pet. After all, she sat near Mrs. Brown’s desk.

Mrs. Brown began the oral drill, while we wrote the answers down. Now, what was that? .Oh, darn, I can not remember. She’s going too fast. Well, that was another ‘x’ on my paper.

“Pass your papers down,” commanded Mrs. Brown collecting them.

Since I sat in the middle, it was easy to witness other papers decorated with ‘x’s’ like mine.

‘Well, at least I am not the only one who is stupid,’ I thought.

Mrs. Brown stood in front of the class glancing over the papers.

“It’s obvious some students are not studying at home. If you do not pass mathematics, you will not get promoted to fourth grade.”

GULP!

I really did try to study at home, but it was hard on an empty stomach. Lately, supper had been grits, gravy and string beans. Mother had tried to lighten the situation by saying, “Pretend you’re eating something you like and then it won’t taste so bad.”

After a math lesson on division, it was time for lunch. I reached for the crumbled paper bag on the side of my seat while expecting the usual giggling coming from Tony, who sat next to me.

Tony, short for Antonio, came from Cuba. He spoke good English, probably better than me, since I rarely opened my mouth. He always laughed at the noise my desk made. Sometimes, his giggling became contagious and I had to laugh, too.

One day we began talking about my desk and how the seat would pull up. When Tony said it reminded him of a toilet, I let loose. Since Mrs. Brown kept a firm rule about students keeping their mouths closed and their ears open during a lesson, I knew we were asking for it.

Mrs. Brown called both of us to the front of the room. She asked if I had to use the restroom and I replied, “Yes, m’am.”

Nervously, I left the classroom about to wet my underwear. After taking care of business, I thought about stuffing my underwear with a thick padding of toilet paper. Then, I realized Mrs. Brown would more than likely administer only one lick with the paddle, since this was my first offense. But, a voice inside my head cried out, ‘NO!’ I felt a wave of doom hit my body. I ignored the voice and the feeling. What a mistake!

When I entered the classroom, Mrs. Brown motioned for me to stand in front of the room. It became very quiet. If someone had dropped a pin on the floor, I would have heard it.

“Touch your knees,” she said.

WHACK, WHACK, WHACK

Tears formed at the corners of my eyes. I would not cry in front of them. Crying was for wimps and losers. I dug my nails deep into the palm of one hand to keep that from happening. A gust of wind came from one of the open windows in the back of the room. It swirled around the room knocking the papers off the teacher’s desk.

“Oh!” she moaned.

‘Good!’ I thought.