Wednesday, June 17, 2009

prodigy

Internet, did I ever tell you about the very first time I skipped school? It was in kindergarten.

Yes. That's right, kindergarten. The very first time I skipped school I was six-years-old.

It shouldn't surprise you, really. I mean, you don't get to the level of school-skipping proficiency I achieved by starting late. Literally years of dedicated practice went into making my high school career non-existent.

But I digress.

The very first time I skipped school was in kindergarten. I was standing on the playground during recess watching an older class rehearse a dance during P.E. Their teacher was wearing white and energetically demonstrating the Grapevine, her knees reaching surprising heights, her leg crosses dipping low to the ground. I was mesmerized.

I don't know what it was that made me finally turn around, but when I did my classmates had vanished. The playground was deserted, desolate, a veritable wasteland. Everyone was gone. Nobody on that huge stretch of asphalt but me, a gym class and their crazy, grapevining instructor.

I panicked.

Our house was only about three blocks away from school, and I decided to make a break for it. I had walked back and forth many times, but never alone, and never without a crossing guard. I felt very small and very unsure as I carefully navigated towards my house.

When I finally reached it, I ran to the door, planning to burst in and cry all over my mom. "Mom! MOM! EVERYONE WAS GONE AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO!"

But the door was locked. So much for that plan.

I circled the house--the back door was locked, too. I banged with my tiny six-year-old fists, but no one was home to answer. I was ready to sit down in the driveway and have hysterics when I saw the small basement window. I think I'd seen my brother crawl through it, once. I tentatively pushed it open, and wriggled my way inside the house.

It's a scary thing to be all alone when you're six-years-old. Our home seemed huge and ominously silent. I was scared to be downstairs in my room. I was scared to be in the kitchen. I was scared to hide. I walked into the front living room and sat down on the couch. I crossed my ankles. I folded my arms. I don't think I moved for five minutes.

The phone rang, and I jumped, then ran to answer it.

"Hello?" I said quietly.

"Hello, may I speak with your mother?" a voice replied urgently.

"She's not here," I quavered.

"Is this Elizabeth?" the voice demanded.

"...yes," I began.

"This is Mrs. Lyons, you had better HUSTLE YOUR HEINIE BACK TO SCHOOL RIGHT..."

I hung up the phone.

Let me repeat that: I HUNG UP THE PHONE ON MY KINDERGARTEN TEACHER. WHO WAS YELLING AT ME.

If I'd been scared before, now I was in a state of complete terror. I glanced out the kitchen windows, afraid I'd see the police coming to get me. I wasn't exactly sure what punishment was used on little girls who hung up on their teachers, but I was pretty sure it involved jail time.

I got down on my hands and knees and crawled back to the couch, where I sat, statue-like, until my mom came home.

She was not happy to see me.

And that's really all I remember of the story.

Although I'm happy to report I did not end up imprisoned.

Just emotionally scarred.

and that's probably why I never was very good at attending school, AREN'T YOU SORRY YOU YELLED AT ME NOW, MRS. LYONS.

the end.

6 comments:

Ann-Marie said...

great story! did your mom take you back to school?

Anonymous said...

A six-year-old delinquent?!?! Who knew? No wonder you were so good at slacking off all through high school

Ashley said...

You need to write a book-- child psychology maybe? You do realize that is like another yearish away for your eldest! Ahhhh!

Megan Ford said...

no wonder you hate school, wow...so sad.

Trudy said...

You do need to write a book. Your blog always makes me laugh and smile!I wish we lived closer. Especially since I live by a JCrew now for the first time in my life and I think you would be a partner in crime with me...:)

Trudy said...

Sorry, this is Jen Russell- I am at my in-laws and so it's logged in under my MIL's name