Eighth Grade -- Final page 4

A new Chinese store had opened on [location withheld]. I loved everything about that store, the decorations, clothing, and especially the jewelry. I thought the bright colors of the clothing were exotic; however, I still yearned to stay in my slightly oversized blue jeans and tee-shirts. So that year for Christmas I asked my parents for a ring from the new shop.

I was really excited on Christmas when I opened the small box and discovered the beautiful ring. It was sterling silver and looked like two Koi fishes swimming in a circle, each head facing an opposite direction. The front was painted sky blue in enamel paint with small Chinese markings. I adored it and wore it constantly. Although I had other rings, this one was unique, and it was a gift from my mother. Yet the preeminent part was, no one else in school had a ring like this; it made me feel special.

Christmas was over and everyone headed back to school. I settled back in with the usual routine, and Bob seemed content to leave me alone, at least in the hallway. There were still the occasional remarks in class, but I just ignored him. I thought everything was over and he realized that I was just going to continue ignoring him. Until one day in the early spring.

I was standing at my locker getting my necessary books for the end of the day. I was standing on my tip-toes reaching towards the top shelf of my locker when I heard Bob’s voice, “Want some help with that?”

“No, I’ve got it.” I replied sheepishly.

“Oh come on, let me help. I’m really not a bad guy. Besides if that book falls on your head I may have to carry you somewhere. I would like that.”

I remembered the conversation earlier in the year with Jennifer in her bedroom, and I knew I didn’t want him carrying me anywhere. Although he could easily, I wasn’t even 90 lbs. “Okay, sure. I need that top book.”

Without hesitation he pulled it down. Smiling he held it close to his chest. “Okay, you want it, you have to take it from me.”

“What?”

“Oh come on blue eyes. I won’t struggle too much.” And he puts his best bad-boy smile on and snickers.

“Bob, please give me my book. I need to get to class.” My voice is soft, and flows with aggravation and whine.

Then it begins to turn ugly, at least for me.

“Wow. Where did you get that ring? Did your boyfriend give it to you? I like it.”

“It was a Christmas gift from my Mom. Now give me my book please.” This time there was desperation in my voice.

“I tell you what, I’ll give you your book if you give me your ring.”

“No Bob. Now give me my book. Now.” I wanted to sound tough, I wanted to sound like I was going to rip his heart out of his chest while I took my book. But I hadn’t quite made it there yet – I was close though.

Then he started taunting me. He held the book to his chest and started moving it side-to-side. “You want the book? Come and get it. Here it is. Just grab it.” He’s laughing, I hear the bell, I look at him, and now I’m mad.

I reach out and grab the book, pulling it towards me with my left hand. He lets the book go, I begin to fall backwards. He catches my right hand, and in the blink of an eye, removes my ring from my finger and leaves.

I stand there in the hallway with the history book in my hand. I hate [name of state withheld] History and that is all that I’m left with. My hand feels naked.








The End

Eighth Grade -- Continues page 3

“Hey Jennifer, what was Bob doing up here? I’ve never seen him up around your house before.”

“Oh, well he lives up here somewhere,” she said. “Why?”

“Well, he’s in my English class, sits right behind me. He likes to make me feel uncomfortable. I think he gets a rush out of watching my face turn red.” And then I try to laugh, unsuccessfully.

“You know he runs with the same crowd as my sister? He’s been in a lot of trouble. Cutting class and stuff.”

“Well, I know he isn’t always in English class.” Once again laughing unsuccessfully.

“He likes to hang out with the Taylor twins, you know they’re pretty wild – right?”

“Well, I’ve heard stories about their parties. I think one of them was actually smoking pot and drinking at one of their parties while their parents weren’t home, then she and some guy started making-out pretty heavy on the couch in front of everyone. That is until the cops showed up. By the time the cops came, I don’t think she had her bra on.” I paused and took a deep breath sighing, “Well, that’s the rumor I heard anyway.”

“Well according to my sister, that’s not a rumor. It actually happened.”

“Oh.” I turned my head to the side facing the door, as if I’ve just done something wrong. I don’t know why, maybe it was because I felt guilty about being curious. How would it feel to be at one of those parties and to live life on the edge? To get caught living on the edge?

Jennifer continues; I hear the bed moving and pull my upper body and head up to see what she’s doing. She was now lying on her stomach with her feet crossed and in the air. Her chin resting on her arms and her long brown ponytail has fallen to one side.

I instantly realized that some juicy and private news was going to follow. I quickly turned my body around so that I’m sitting up and leaning in. Jennifer has my complete attention.

“Do you know which twin it was and who she was with?” Jennifer is smiling as she whispers the question.

“I heard it was Tina, but I don’t know who she was with.” As I hold my breath during my response, I noticed that my voice was flowing like an ushered in whisper.

Smiling and coaxing me to move in closer, she leaned down and whispered into my ear, “It was Bob!” And began giggling softly.

“Really?!” My face began to turn red. And my thoughts raced, I thought he was interested in me! Why would he stare at me like he does if he wasn’t? Why does he pick on me all the time? I felt humiliated and heart-broken at the same time. My eyes had begun to water.

“Susie, what’s wrong? Did I say something?”

“No, it’s not you. I thought Bob liked me. I mean, he’s always hanging around in the hallway by my locker looking at me. And when he comes to English class he winks at me when he walks by, sometimes he’ll whisper in my ear.”

“What does he say?”

“I don’t know, just silly stuff.”

“What kind of silly stuff?”

“I like the way your jeans fit you today. You look really hot today. You know; silly stuff. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Jennifer looked at me, her brown eyes are no longer laughing. “Susie, I told you he’s bad news. He’s trouble.”

“I know. I knew that the first time he spoke to me as he followed me into English class. Let’s change the subject. There sure are some hot guys in chorus.”

Jennifer resumes her laughter, “Yeah. But there are some really ugly ones too! Can you believe how disgusting Sam looks?”

And with that comment, I had begun laughing too. Sam was pretty ugly. He had not yet had his growing spurt, his face was broken out, and to make matters worse, he had no rhythm and his voice cracked. But he did have something I didn’t have, self-confidence, and despite his awkward appearance, he was truly a nice guy.

We laughed and talked about the normal things girls talk about, boys, and the matter of Bob was forgotten.

I didn’t see much of Bob for a couple of months. I had still not grown into any form of confidence, but at least I didn’t turn into a tomato every time someone talked to me. No, those occasions were saved for being called on in class and the times a boy who I thought was cute took the time to talk to me.

Eighth Grade -- continues page 2

“Okay class, it appears that everyone is here so let’s get started. You will notice that the textbooks are sitting here on my desk in stacks. Please take a textbook and return to your seat. The seat you are sitting in today will be the seat you will keep for the year. Unless of course problems arise and I feel the need to separate people. I’m assuming however, that since you are now in eighth grade, you are becoming responsible for your actions and know how to behave properly in class. Now we’ll begin with the row closest to the window and work our way across the room. When everyone in the row has their book and is seated, the next row can come up. Okay, row one.”

And so the procession had begun. There were murmurs, laughing, but it wasn’t chaos, everyone did exactly what they were told. I was in row three, so when it was my rows turn, everyone stood up, walked to the teachers desk and picked up a textbook.

“Susie, I’m sorry I embarrassed you.” This was a nice gesture on the part of the teacher, however for me, it was reliving the past.

I smiled and looked down, picking up my textbook saying, “That’s okay, I’m use to it.” and then tried to laugh; even though, I could feel my face once more becoming warm. I tried to quickly turn around and find the comfort of my chair, however Bob was directly behind me, and I ran right into his chest. That was the closest I had been to a boy.

Bob of course smirked and I could feel his eyes watching me as I went quickly and quietly back to my desk.

Upon arriving at my desk I began examining the outside of the book. It was old, the corners were slightly turned up and the covering was missing around the corners. There were some kind of dirty splotches splattered on the front, back, and spine of the book. Almost as if it had been kicked around like an unwanted present. I was disgusted. Then I opened the neglected book and this musty, dirty smell climbed its way into the air. The pages were dirty, there were marks, it was just as disgusting as the outside. I had just started reading the Table of Contents when Bob leaned forward once more.

“Some book huh? Mine will probably never leave the locker. You wouldn’t mind if I just looked over your shoulder and used yours would you? You’re probably pretty smart, maybe you could tutor me?”

Before I had a chance to answer a voice had rung out from the front of the room. To me it sounded like an angel rescuing me from the devil himself. “Okay class, you are to put book covers on these books, there is to be no writing in them, and you must always have them with you.” Saved, I thought.

Once again I heard the sound of shifting weight behind me, this time however, it was accompanied with a different sound; the sound of a desk chair moving on the floor. Then Bob’s deep voice whispered in my ear, “I’m still going to share your book with you during class.”

My neck and face went from sun-kissed to sun-burned in the matter of milliseconds.

“Here let me cool you off,” and I felt warm air blowing on the back of my neck. I was petrified. Yet underneath the massive layer of petrified stone I had turned in to, I was also intrigued and struck by feelings I thought were only allotted to the “beautiful” and “popular” kids – not me. Thankfully the bell rang and it first appeared that everyone quickly rose from their desks and herded their way towards the door.

Once the room was three-fourths empty I got up from my desk and followed the stragglers out the door, with Bob very close behind me. Once again he bends down and whispers in my ear, “I’m going to follow you to class. I’m going to be watching you.” I turn around and look at him. He’s smiling, not sweetly, but like a wolf.

“I’m not very smart, and I don’t think I can tutor you. There’s no reason for you to follow me to class.” I was hoping that would be enough to make him go away. But instead he just said, “No. I’m going to follow you.” And he did.

As the school year progressed I would see him leaning against various lockers, with one of his feet propped up on the cold, gray, metal closet. He was just watching me. He did manage to bring his English book to class, that is, when he was there. I also discovered that he lived in the same general area as one of my close friends. Thank goodness he never made the connection between me, Jennifer, and her older sister.

Jennifer was a year younger than I was. We met in chorus and I would sometimes go over to her house over the weekend, and sometimes she came to mine. It wasn’t very often though because our houses were not within walking distance. Jennifer had an older sister who was in ninth grade, and she was a little wilder than we were.

In the 1970’s, at least at [name withheld], there was a definite division between the party crowd and the no-thanks crowd. Of course there were other groups as well, but these were the two main divisions at that time. Jennifer’s sister ran with the party crowd – pot smokers and drinkers.

One evening while I was visiting Jennifer Bob’s name came up. We were sitting in her pink well-decorated bedroom. She was sitting on her twin bed with her back against the wall, and I was lying on her flowered throw rug that was placed over her brown hardwood floors.

The Making of a Memoir--Eighth Grade in the 1970's

I don’t know why fitting in has always been so hard for me. You would think that after moving around from one region to another, consistently being thrust into new areas, forced to find new friends or acquaintances, in unfamiliar surroundings that I could just merge into foreign oncoming traffic without hesitation. I was a seasoned driver in life by the time my family made our last move to [named place withheld]. Junior High school should have been an easy merge; however, it was like every move before – only more painful.

During the summer between seventh and eighth grade I “blossomed.” Not in a beautiful way as described in the tween movies. I did not walk onto the campus of my Junior High school with the wind blowing through my hair, eyes alive and dancing with a sultry come hither look, hips flowing in rhythm from side to side like a supermodel glide; no, I walked onto the campus just like I did every year of my young fourteen years, in shorts of a conservative length, tennis shoes, an oversized tee-shirt and a pony tail. The difference, I had small protruding egg shaped bubbles, on my chest.

On the first day of class I went to my pre-assigned locker and attached my paddle lock onto the metal slider, and proceeded to home room. The busy halls were filled with laughter, voices, friendly pushing, and the occasional girl watchers loitering around the classroom doorways. Some girls entered quietly, while others entered with the accessory of a comment or two, “Hey Julie, you are looking hot this year.”, or “Hey, I’m sitting next to you!” and the voice quickly followed behind the slender, look-at-me outfit as she moved with presence into the room. Then, it was my turn.

I put my head down, as it was my usual custom, and tried to enter the room in silence. I had found this technique to be almost full proof, it had never let me down before and I didn’t see why it should this year. I mean come on; I had egg-shaped bubbles; while the other girls had oranges. But I soon found out that you didn’t need oranges, egg-shaped bubbles were enough.

“Hey, how are you? I’m Bob.”

I stopped and looked up at this strange, deep voice. He stood about 5’9”, brown hair and brown eyes, with a dangerous smile. Dangerous, because I could read his face, this guy was trouble. He was cute. He did have a nice voice. But he was trouble.

As I looked at him I could feel my face becoming very hot. I hated this feeling. I knew what was going to come next, there would be laughter, the point would be well made that I was embarrassed and comments like, “Oh my God! Look at how red her face is!” would be announced to the room. Even those who weren’t paying attention at the time would be now. I haven’t even fully entered the room yet, and it’s already starting.

I didn’t have a panic attack. I felt the heat on my face grow with an intensity even I wasn’t use to. But instead of the words that I normally heard, he just smiled and laughed, then followed me into the room. I still thought he was trouble, yet I let my guard down just a little, maybe he’s not so bad after all, was the thought at the time.

Bob situated himself directly behind me. On the first day of class I always liked the middle of the room, about the third row back. The teachers always reassigned the seats anyway, usually in alphabetic order, and since my last name began with the letter “R,” I was usually pretty close to the middle of the room anyway.

My teacher was already standing there at her desk. She was the typical looking teacher, about forty-five years of age, and wore a simple dress. There was nothing exciting about anything she was saying, “Good morning class, and welcome to eighth-grade English. We will be working on our writing techniques. First though let’s go through attendance.”

There were approximately thirty kids in the class, which usually meant I had to hear about ten to fifteen names before mine. I hated roll call. It meant that I was being singled out, put on the spot, even for a brief second felt like an eternity in hell. Out of my seven years of school, I had yet to encounter a teacher who could successfully pronounce my four letter last name. I didn’t know which was worst, waiting to hear them butcher it, or the actual slaughter itself. With the passing of each letter, my face would become warmer, and then, there it was. “Susie Right? Reet? I’m sorry, how do you say your last name?”

My face is beet red, my voice is soft. Everyone looks at me. Even those in the front turn around to see who the teacher is talking to. Bob leans forward and whispers, “So it’s Susie huh?” and I can hear him smiling. I can still feel his warm breath on the back of my neck, and now I feel my neck changing from a lightly sun-toasted tan, to the matching shade of beet red.

After two tries, and the help of my diaphragm I’m able to reach an audible level, “It’s Susie Rite. Rite, like right or wrong.

“Oh, okay. Sorry.” And she moves on to the next person. I quickly glanced around the room, there is snickering, a few whispers, but at least the eyes of others have positioned themselves someplace else.

“I think it’s Susie Right-On.” teased Bob, once again with a grin I could hear, and hot breath I could feel. I held my breath and prayed my face would resume its natural color, as I heard Bob slide his back into the chair.

I will continously post each section throughout the week. So it's going to move pretty quick. Please provide me with your suggestions on what is working, what isn't -- the flow of the words -- the speed, etc.
In advance... thank you :-)

Untitled V

Placid glass lake
Flying edged stone
Breaking water
Ripples ringing out

Coasting love
Flying jagged words
Breaking point,
Collision love-threatening injuries.

Untitled IV

Misty morning finds
green ivy leaves like leaky faucets
dripping
small clear drops as time
slumbers
and memories become faceless shadows.


Hope, love resurrects, when
green ivy leaves
intertwine
during slumber, memories, and time
green ivy leaves
growth of our lives.

Untitled III

i miss the sounds of ocean waves

memories,

your back leaning against the railing of the boat

blue green waters parting

as the ship moves towards the open arms of the shore

i am mesmorized

your open smile

dark hair blowing back

open body

open seas

moving closer

embracing our life, our love

Untitled II

the ground was wet when you found me
it was the growing season
like a seed you planted me deep inside your earth
you provided me nourishment
for my mind
my heart
kindess to my soul
then you planted yourself next to me
as we intertwined
bore fruit
our roots and trunks parallel
together we provide shade
together we provide shelter
together we are one.

I Untitled

the book has been opened

written, revealing words

read as glistening sunlight carries

syllable by syllable

hidden meanings in invisible ink

etched between lines

truth what is truth

verbal

written

assumed

shadows are approaching

answers still unclear

used parchment page turns

as an invisible scribe writes

i love you

i always have

i always will

untitled

My mind holds drawers of dusty memories, times I
saw
you as no one else did, times I
heard
your voice, wishing velvet tones were
singing
closer to my ear, times I
played
into your eyes hoping I could
draw
your face closer to mine,
rolling
inside your brown eyes, like
silk chocolate sheets.