Returning to Purdon that hot August, I could tell some things had changed. Elton was in love, and he was only 17. Neila had made up her mind to go to college. She had always planned to, but there would be no stopping her now. There was nothing for her in Purdon, and she had tasted independence that summer. Stephen had spent so much time at Nettie's in Corsicana that he started making noise about moving in with her and going to school in Corsicana.
Mother seemed to take most of it in stride. She had to do what she had to do. That was always the way she looked at things. Not a lot of foreplanning, just reaction. But she was always the same: calm, level-headed, and basically kind, if outspoken.
Her friends picked up with her where they had left off, and if they were critical, it wasn't evident. They seemed to be in awe of her at times: raising six children, having such a bright outlook, and keeping so many balls in the air.
She had learned to juggle a bit when she was a young girl. She liked to take three balls and keep them in the air, laughing all the while, entertaining her children and their friends. It was all part of the way she really was though, not an act.
David's death forced a lot of people to consider their own mortality. A few people came to church for a while to try to get answers to their questions about death and the hereafter. Some of them stayed, which must have pleased Brother Reames, while others drifted off after a short time, getting their questions answered to their own satisfaction, I guessed.
As soon as we got settled back home, I went over and played with Boy like nothing had happened. That's the way he wanted it, I could tell. The dirt formed the bond between us, and I didn't know anything about dying anyway, so I'd be no help to him. Evelyn, for her part, looked real bad, and she spent even more time watching television than she ever had. I hadn't thought that was possible.
School was starting in a few days, and Boy would be in the same grade with Susan this year. I knew she'd help him, so maybe he wouldn't miss David so much, at least in regard to homework.
I'd be in first grade, my first year in school, and I looked forward to having Mrs. Hagle for my teacher. She had taught all of my siblings in first and second grade, and all of them loved her.
She taught two grades in one room, so if you were a fast learner as a first grader, you could go over and do the second grade work if you finished with the first grade work. She was good that way, to let kids move on ahead.
Then she'd spend more time with the kids who were having a hard time learning to read. I don't think any kid ever left her room without being able to read. Not even Fred Matthews, who could barely spell his name after six weeks in her class. She patiently worked with hhim every day, and eventually he could read, if it was in a halting cadence.
At recess, Marie and I liked to play. There were a few other girls our age, but we probably didn't include them as much as we should have. Mother would be ashamed of me about that if she ever found out.
Lots of us would play chase in the large field beside the school. The entire elementary school, grades 1-6 would be out there at one time. That was less than 50 kids, but it was enough to be fun.
Susan always came out with her class, and she would run a little, precious little, then find a shady place to sit down and talk with her friends or read a book.
I loved the tall metal swingset. They looked like skyscrapers to me, though I had only seen skyscrapers in books. The thick wooden swings hung from heavy rusted metal chains that looked to be as tall as the roof of a house. If one of the big boys pushed, we could go really high.
A few times kids fell out, and once a third grader named Billie broke her arm.
We knew not to run behind the swings, or we learned it pretty fast when the big kids screamed at us.
"Moron, get out of the way! You'll get your stupid head knocked off!"
That was pretty direct. A swing seat hit one kid in the head on the backward swing and knocked him unconscious. He was in the hospital and couldn't come back to school for several days. He evidently didn't know that his new name, at least for the first few days of school, was Moron.
The thing I hated about recess was that Mrs. Hagle insisted that we go to the outhouse. That was the bathroom all the girls and women used. It was a tin-sided building with an entrances on the left, a little tin foyer, formed by folding the tin around tall round creosote posts. Two worn wooden steps led up into the main room, which was less than eight feet by four feet. A bench platform built of plywood stood approximately three feet tall, and cut into the top of the bench were four 12 inch holes spaced approximately 18 inches apart. A refuse pit dug into the dirt simmered in the September heat about seven feet below the holes. Fifty yards away, stood an identical building used by the boys, except the entrance was on the right.
We had an indoor bathroom at home, but a lot of the kids didn't. Especially the kids who lived out in the country, or the ones who lived with their grandparents. They had one or two-seater toilets, not as big or as substantial as the ones at school, and they often blew over during windstorms. They were usually of weathered wood, but the thing they had in common with the school's outhouse was the spiders and wasps.
I didn't want to act like I thought I was better than anybody else because we had an indoor bathroom, so even though the outhouse stunk like the worst odor I had ever breathed into my nose, I usually just held my nose, talked like the nasalest of the nasal, and endured the smell.
Marie and I would often go there together, tightly pinching our noses, and singing at the top of our lungs, laughing at the nasal sound we produced. It took our mind off the dreadful smell.
It wasn't easy being seated on the little cutouts because our legs were still very short. We climbed or jumped up onto the solid part of the bench, scooted over, carefully avoiding the plentiful splinters, and situated ourselves atop the cutout, where it felt like we might fall through to the pit, a terrifying thought for first graders.
And we didn't dare to let our eyes contemplate the area below. That could precipitate a gagging spell that could send a person home from school for the day. Someone (a saint in my estimation), put lime down the holes several times a day, which certainly helped with the smell, but my main problem was fear of spiders and other things that might attach themselves to the underside of the hole and try to reattach themselves to little girls when they had the opportunity.
There were little tops made of wood that could be placed over the holes, and that helped with the smell, but a lot of the kids just wouldn't bother to replace them. They'd throw them on the floor. If they got caught, there were penalties, including sweeping out the outhouse. But I guess some of them thought the risk was worth it, just so they could get out of there fast.
The possibility of being made to spend more time in the outhouse was enough incentive for me to place the lids carefully over the holes each time. I didn't want to spend any more time there than was absolutely necessary. Sometimes Marie and I would carefully place all four tops on the holes, while holding our noses, then jump out bypassing the two wooden steps, yelling "last one to school is a rotten egg".
We ran as fast as we could the 40 yards to the school, trying to outrun the putrid smell, hoping the wind would brush it off our shoulders and hair.
To commemorate my entrance into first grade, Mother had gone to The Children's Shop, across the street from the courthouse in Corsicana and bought me six lovely dresses. We usually did most of our shopping at Penneys and Sears, but starting school was a big deal in our family, and I needed the appropriate attire, even if my tomboyish ways would ruin most of them within a short time.
I could hardly believe my good fortune. Mother spread the dresses out on her bed a few nights before school started. There was a lilac one with delicate white flowers on the bodice, a brown and green plaid with a gathered waist, a yellow one with daisies embroidered around the neck, a navy blue with a sailor collar trimmed in white with a red tie, a brown corduroy jumper, and my favorite, a delicate green one overlaid with organza with a sheer area around the neck, a lace collar, and tiny pearl buttons down the front.
Mother tried to talk me out of it, but I insisted that I wear the green one to school the first day. She had hoped to reserve it for church. That day, once fully dressed, I felt very grownup and beautiful. The only flaw to my perfect presentation were the lopsided bangs Mother had managed to frame my face with as she tried to "even them up".
I played with the buttons, felt the slick organza, and looked at the lacy collar in the mirror.
At school, I was careful not to spill glue on it, or drop pieces of crayon or lead from my pencil. By lunch, it was still as pristine as it was when I came to school, and I managed to eat without dropping any food or spilling any milk on it.
Marie and I tore out of the lunchroom, its wonderful smells spilling out into the hall as we jerked the heavy screen door open as soon as Mrs. Hagle gave the signal, and headed for the schoolyard. A group of older kids were already involved in a game of tag, so we didn't try to join. We didn't want to risk the rejection, but more than that, to our surprise, two of the six swings sat vacant.
We sat down next to each other on the swings and began pushing with our feet, slamming hard at the dirt each time we swung downward. Higher and higher we went, but not high enough for us two thrillseekers. Randy, Marie's brother, came by and after securing a concession from us that we'd share our afternoon snacks with him, pushed us higher, until it took our breath away.
Randy ran off to play with some friends, and we spotted Mrs. Hagle, standing on the concrete porch nearest our room, motioning for all the first and second graders to come in.
"We've got to go in," Marie said, bringing her speed down suddenly, jumping nimbly out of the swing and landing on all fours.
I was still swinging a little high and started feeling a little panic. What if they went in without me and I got in trouble? I didn't want to disappoint Mother or Mrs. Hagle. Especially on the first day of school.
The next time forward, I jumped. Even I knew better than to get slammed in the head with a five pound wooden swing. But the organza in my beautiful dress was pinched between the rusted metal chain loop and the tip of the triangular brace of the swing. When I jumped, my dress stayed behind for a few seconds, before the swing released it, causing a foot long tear in the waist.
I limped up to the porch, holding my formerly beautiful dress, fighting back tears. Mrs. Hagle, who had seen what had happened, was already moving toward me in the schoolyard, her stilletto heels making little holes in the dirt, words of consolation flowing from that angelic face.
"I can fix it," she assured me. "Are you hurt?"
"I don't think so," I whimpered. "But my dress," I wailed. "It was my favorite."
For some reason, I looked at that moment at the other girls in first grade. They were lined up. Marie had on a nice dress with a gathered skirt with tiny ruffles above the hemline and additional ruffles on the puffed sleeves.
Besides her, there was Ruby, who had at least five brothers and sisters in various grades. She had on a plain yellow cotton shift, devoid of any decoration whatsoever. Suelyn, who was a little overweight, had on a blue plaid dress with four small white buttons and a belt made of the same plaid material. Very plain. I had seen dresses like that at Sears on the sale rack.
The other two girls in the class had homemade dresses made of a thin gingham. They were cousins, so I assumed their mothers shared the material and perhaps the pattern.
I had nothing against homemade dresses because Mother made a lot of our clothes, but the material was so thin on Ruby's dress that you could see her legs. And the gingham girls' seams had loose threads all the way down the side. Half the hem of Suelyn's dress was hanging down, and I figured since it was the first day of school, it was probably the first time she'd worn it.
All of a sudden, I wished I were wearing the dress Mother made me last year, the gingham one, blue and white, with tiny buttons at the neck and no other decoration. The other kids were staring at me impassively, just waiting to go into the classroom.
"Can I call my Mother and ask her to bring me something else to wear?"
"If that's what you want to do. Go to the office and they'll help you."
I walked slowly toward the principal's office, looking at the torn organza and the pretty green material beneath it. I still liked the dress, but I felt an odd longing--for my old dresses, the ones that looked more like Ruby's and Suelyn's.Installed
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