Inachevé

Nine - When I Was a Tomboy

My foot tapped the hardwood floor and my pencil jabbed at the dimple in my cheek. Twisting my cheek slightly with the tip of the pencil, I imagined the hands on the clock spinning to the second period. I had been unsuccessfully outlining an essay that was due in thirty minutes, but I couldn’t think of one word to put down. The prompt was horrible and it sparked no memories from my mental resources to pull from. I knew the professor would call me aside and ask me why I didn’t write it; I would tell him honestly that I couldn’t think of anything and that he should all together fail me.

However, my professor wasn’t that cold hearted, and I had a hunch he would give me a second chance, which I wish he would. I looked down at my lined paper and then down at my old Chuck Taylor’s. I smiled, remembering how when I was eight years-old, I begged my mother to buy me a pair after I had seen To Kill a Mockingbird and Where the Red Fern Grows. All the child characters in those films wore them and I believed those shoes were the best things since cheese straws.

“Five minutes on your essay,” Professor Deacon announced over his round spectacles.

I pursed my lips and scuffed up my shaggy, short black hair. I once had my hair long, but then it became annoying and I had it cut. It was nice having it out of my face and not flinging in front of my eyes whenever I would swim or play softball. I wouldn’t know how to classify myself actually. Boys have told me I’m pretty, but I don’t think so. I would look in the mirror sometimes and curse my large, bug eyes, thin, pouty lips, and petite turned-up nose.  My mother would nickname me “Peter Pan”, my father would call me, “Ronnie,” after some baseball player I resembled, and my sister called me, “Tomboy.”

I grew to love those names, and soon accepted myself to be very boyish and enjoy whatever my guy friends enjoyed. I also worked out daily until my triceps poked out from underneath my long sleeve shirts and my shoulders broadened out. I was born with a rectangular frame and had absolutely no womanly curves until I hit nineteen, and even then, if I wore heavy coats and straight jeans, I was mistaken for a boy.

The clock chimed and the sound of papers scuffling and pencils rolling on the desks were heard over the eager students. I gently placed my pencil in its designated groove in the desk, and folded my empty paper. The students lined up and turned in their papers as they filed out. I made sure to be last in case the professor wanted to talk to me.  

“Thank you, everyone,” Professor Deacon said in a protocol voice as he stacked the growing essays. I squeezed in behind and meekly placed my paper in front of him. He just looked up at me and gave me a small smile. “Stay after, Ms. Freeman.”

I stepped aside and took a seat on one of the chairs beside his desk. I folded my hands in my lap and entertained myself by trying to read the equations on the white board on the other side of the room. When the class had left, I stood up and walked over to the professor. Clearing my throat, I asked softly, “You needed me?”

“Yes! I know you know what I’m going to say, so I’m going to give you a week to write this. This coming Saturday, I want five pages on something that’s happened in your life. I don’t care what, just make sure it’s grammatically perfect, formatted correctly, and is honest.”

I stared at him, trying to think on the spot of something worth sharing. But I couldn’t think of anything. For my twenty years of walking on this earth, I couldn’t find anything interesting enough to write about. I believed I had a very boring life. Smiling my crooked smile, I gave him an understanding nod and began walking towards the door. Before leaving, my professor called out in the most excited voice I had heard since when he had announced the assignment this morning.

“Yes, Mr. Deacon?” I asked, balancing myself against the doorway.

“If it would help, I have an English tutor who came in yesterday. He’s new to the school and new to the students, perhaps he could help you?”