First Grade

First Grade
A short story by Diana Weeks

First grade, it was all my neighbor and best friend, Ruth Junior, talked about the summer of 1941. Her mother, Ruth Senior, was telling my mother “Betty, I can barely wait for school to start…Joseph is on my last nerve.” Ruthy’s brother Joe is ten. We’re six, me barely.

My mom …never shy…spoke up. “Joan” that’s me…”says he’s been killing the girls’ horned toads”. .

We were collecting horned toads because they were mascots for Texas Christian University, our cow town’s higher education school…It was my Uncle Pinky’s idea…to collect horned toads.
He wanted them to dissect for a science project…they ran out of frogs.

My red haired Uncle “Pinky” lived with us…Pink marches with the TCU band. …Grandpa pays his room rent. His clarinet playing… got him a college scholarship.

Ruth sighs. “Joseph denies being a horn toad murderer…he claims it was an accident.”

Mom coughed. “The stolen red brick from the pile at the new house down the street…accidentally… fell squarely on the frog in the center of the girls back yard path… to your house…where our innocent girls… would… for sure find it”

Ruth sobered. “Well, I’ll have to tell his father…but the toads life was going to be taken by science….the toads weren’t going to escape and join the circus.” Mom gave a thumbs down sign…that means she doesn’t except the excuse. Both women laugh…Ruth Sr. adds “I don’t think Joseph was mad at the frog…he was mad at Ruthy for eating the last cookie yesterday.

Ruthy stood just behind me… huddled against the yellow flower covered paper on the hall wall… where we hold our breath and listened to grown ups talk. No crime is discussed in our presence.

Their next topic concerned where to have the doctor vaccinate us, a necessity to start school. Ruth Sr. did not want a big round scar on her daughter’s upper arm…where people can see it…like Joseph’s small pox scar had turned out.

We have appointments with the same doctor this afternoon. School starts next Monday, but we had to wait for payday to get the three dollar shot. I don’t care where I’m vaccinated just so the needle doesn’t hurt. They say it won’t… but it always does.

When our mom’s started talking about recipes…we quietly back away to cut out paper dolls in Ruth’s room.

Ruth has her own room. I’m back in my parent’s room since Uncle Pink arrived. Ha, he says I’m disrespectful for calling him “Pink” instead of Pinky.

Joe comes to the door of Ruthy’s room with his hand behind his back. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” Then he hands her a candy box and runs outside. Ruthy opens the box and screams…and drops the box and a green snake peeks out.

I picked it up. “Shhhh, it’s just a grass snake.” I dropped it out a window.

Ruthy made a fist. “We’ve got to get Joe back….We’ll tell him the snake escaped to Mom and Dads’ room… we’re for- bidden to enter!

Good idea I agree. “That will make him sweat. And that’s always fun.”

THE END
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED