Posted: Jun 21, 08 3:15pm
A seductive pitch for donations drifted like a fog from a radio down the hall into the heavy air of the darkened infirmary. The words floated above me, their meaning clouded, out of reach.
Despite the prescribed fatigue, I lay awake looking towards the nearby exit, my dull eyes stuck on one blurry image: The doors. I tried again without success to pull the neat sheets off of me and at least sit up.
I finally closed my eyes. I was soon sitting in class listening to my first grade teacher, repeating her words:
"One, two, buckle my shoe; three, four, shut the door..."
The play period bell rang. We giddily made our way outside to the warm afternoon. The bars on the double doors leading to the playground clacked loudly each time one of us pushed them open, hundreds leaving at the same time.
The September sky was deep blue big and inviting. At the playground, we started running together, weaving in and out, back and forth, to and fro, across a blacktop, into an adjacent ball field, around the bases and back again, endlessly. Shouts of joy and laughter echoed with infectious clarity around the grounds.
My cheeks ached. I looked around and saw we were all smiles. My black pleated skirt rippled as I ran. It looked like I was moving faster than I really was.
I never heard the last period bell; neither did the others. We just kept running and laughing.
