If, Then, Because (on hold)

My Job

It May Not Be Forever

Nathanial Smith

                Nell and I were thirteen years old when we met. It was a hot summer night in 1939.They told us all it was a time of new beginnings; at my age I was eager to believe in all American things. I was proud to play on the local ball team, a little chubby brown-haired boy with wide green eyes.

                At my first game, eight o’clock at night on the Haskin’s farm my daddy brought my momma along out to watch me play. At the sound of the whistle, I slammed all my weight into one of the rival team’s players. He barreled right threw me, racing on to score.

                A girl my age with blonde hair in pig tails and blue eyes in glasses giggled at me lying on mid-field. Her hands covered her lips, but I could still see the pink edges tilted up in a smile and her eyes were wide, framed by the thick lens. I shot her a nasty look, getting up in the manliest way I could, struggling in a pile of mud.

                “What’re you lookin’ at?” I growled. She dropped her hands to cross her arms. I was shy and awkward with girls, even as a young boy. I was embarrassed and acted damn foolish because of it. Even when I was little my momma told me I’d never meet a girl I liked because I was too afraid to meet anyone.

                She turned right around on her heel, chin high up in the air, and walked away from me. I didn’t see her again that summer.

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                By my last year of grammar school I had slimmed down. Playing ball that summer had brought me down- or I should say up, from my plump one-sixty at five foot four to a fit one-sixty at five foot eight. I was now considered a small boy, but I wouldn’t trade that height for anythin’. I towered over the boys in my class. It made me feel as powerful as a black man could in those days.

                My school had one room: it wasn’t for any white boys. We were kept away from the girls too. I had to walk an extra mile just to get there every day while I watched all the girls my age skip into the room at the teacher’s call with their notebook and pencil.

                Luella was my momma’s best friend’s daughter. She was over after school by the time I walked through the door. Our families had dinner together every night because Luella’s momma was on her own. I never thought nothin’ of it, but my daddy didn’t like it very much. I never realized that all the work he did was to feed two extra mouths. If I’d have been raised selfish like my grandson I’d have been angry. That’s what he told me he’d be.

                My teacher, Ms. Carter, took an awful handful from us boys every day. She was a strong and independent woman, living on her own from a very early age. She taught me when she was in her forties and we were about her fifteenth class. It was my last year of schooling because I knew my daddy couldn’t afford a high school for me.

                I wanted to make the most of it, but those boys I was with always seemed to distract me. Maybe that’s just how I remember it. I never did attend a high school. My schooling did stop after that year. I watched the generations change and I couldn’t do anything about where I’d left off.

                Ms. Carter had long, tight braids that hung down past her shoulder blades. She had kind eyes and a wide smile. She took care and always smelled like lavender. We learned little about the outside world, the war, and other countries, but plenty about our history.