Mrs Grimmer
My mind is wandering and wondering about what I will do after school on this hot, summer day, but my beautiful reverie is broken by Mrs. Grimmer’s shout: “SEBASTIAN!” My seat in the last row of the classroom doesn’t protect me as well as I had hoped. “Yes, Mrs. Grimmer?” “Are you paying attention, Sebastian?” Icy chills shoot down my spine as I say, “Yes, Mrs. Grimmer.” “What is the answer to number 4?” I squirm and look down at my notebook. “Er … number 4?” “Well, class, Sebastian is clearly not interested in what we’re doing here, so let’s move on …” My eyes drift toward the window, and I picture myself swimming in a cool, clear lake—splashing and hollering and laughing and feeling free. Someone coughs, and my reverie is broken again. I look at the blackboard, and nothing makes sense. The numbers and letters are jumbled together, and I can’t focus. They make my brain hurt. Number 4? What is she talking about? I don’t dare ask her. I hope she doesn’t call on me again today. Class dismissed … whew! |
After the walk home, I find Mom in the kitchen, and she asks me about my school day. “Okay, I guess.” “What do you mean, son?” “Mrs. Grimmer called on me, but I couldn’t answer the question.” “Why not?” “I just couldn’t.” “Well,” she says as she heads out the door, “you’ll just have to try harder tomorrow.” When Dad comes home from work, he gives me a wink, says hello, and sits down to read the newspaper. What is wrong with me? I read slower than everyone else in my class. I can’t concentrate. Clouds are always in my head. I will try to explain it to Mom and Dad again, but I don’t expect anything different to happen. They just think I’m not trying hard enough and it’s up to me to fix it. I sit in my bedroom, staring at my homework, and my reverie returns. I am swimming in that lake. It is the only place where I don’t feel stupid and pointless. Swimming makes me feel happy and calm. My thoughts drift to Mrs. Grimmer. She has never smiled or said a kind word in our classroom. Her mouth is always in a tight ball, and her steely gaze feels like a knife piercing my heart. The homework assignment is to write a poem about my hero. Who is my hero? I guess it’s Grandma. She is patient and kind, and I feel special and smart when I am with her. My mind relaxes when she’s around, and I can just be myself. My hero is definitely not Mrs. Grimmer. From Carpet Creatures: Tales from the Deep Pile To join the Carpet Creatures project, please visit our TAE Gallery website. |
