No Strings

CHAPTER 2--MOTHER MAY I...

My mother bent down to me and straightened my jacket for me. "Always so dirty and wrinkled. What will people think of me if you go in like this?"

I looked elsewhere than her fretting face. I could see her lips pressed and so tight they were white.

"There, now don't get it wrinkled again." She snatched my hand and dragged me towards the entrance of the elementary school.

"Betsy, remember what I told you to do," she said.

I never liked that name, but when I was young she always insisted. A few kids stared at me as I passed them. I tried to wrench my hand free, but my mother clenched it tighter until my fingers turned white. I tried to pull back from her hand because it hurt. She glared at me. I bit my lip.

She brought me to the classroom and fixed her eyes on the teacher who smiled at her. My mother forced a smile back.

"I hope she behaves for you," my mother said to the teacher, letting go of my hand.

I flexed my hand as blood rushed back into the fingertips.

"I'm sure she will be fine," my teacher said.

"I know she's always a big bother for you," my mother said.

"Don't worry about it Mrs Johnson, she will be fine."

My mother glared at me was if it were a warning to behave so she wouldn't look bad.

The kids usually were loud and spread out, but today they were authored around one desk in the classroom. I looked over at the crowd and walked over.

The kids were gathered around a boy drawing with purple, pink and orange crayons, concentrating so hard that his brow furrowed in the middle.

Two kids whom I no longer remember their names of said, "Orange, pink and purple are for girls. Are you a girl?"

The kid ignored them, continuing with precision with his own ruler, until the shape of a house formed. Then there was a large porch with a large bay window, a turret, a garden in front with orange flowers, and a roof with rounded shingles.

"He's a girl!" the two kids jeered, but the other kids ignored him. The house was beautiful in a way. The green bushes in the front, the detail on the siding of the house. And he was so precise. At least for a kid of that age. When he was done it was a Victorian House with large windows and stained glass.

The other children watched. When he stretched and looked up, he jumped in his seat, tilting his head to one side. His eyes locked with mine for a second and then the teacher came.

"Take your seats."

I couldn't take my eyes off of the drawing and I only found the name of the kid later.

***

During art class, the art teacher was being uncreative again and gave us popsicle sticks and Elmer's glue. She demonstrated what were were supposed to do and then went into the corner to grade papers.

One of the boys made a gun. When it dried, he went around the room pretending to shoot people, making the teacher run after him. He was dragged to the principle's office. A few of the other boys made swords, but the new boy carefully constructed a house. A few girls who had been diligently building their own lopsided houses stopped to admire his. He controlled his glue so well and placed each stick with precision, that the girls started to comment as he placed each stick.

I paused, too, curious at why a boy was building a house and not some sort of weapon. When the teacher returned, she had to gather the class away from his project. I snuck a seat next to him to see if I could learn from him.