Fifth Grade Lunch

Samantha emerged from her classroom to face the outside of her building. Her face was as red as a poppy and even though I was some distance away, I knew by how she comported herself that she was angry as hell.

She flung her book bag over her right shoulder and completely missed. The seemingly heavy thud of it landing on the ground was drowned out by a loud, indignant scream of something incoherent. I could not help but giggle to myself slyly, thinking I would bet my monthly allowance that Samantha's familiar scrunching of her forehead was clearly apparent too.

Being across the square, with only a small garden and our facing buildings separating us, I decided to text her instead of risking her further undue flailing of items at hand. For a moment, Samantha disappeared out of sight presumably delving into the depths of her huge, compartmentalized bag, to regain her phone. I stared bewildered at how my clear description of my whereabouts could not get through Samantha's brain fog. I could see her head turn, jerking left and right, scanning like a meerkat.

Finally, I resorted to waving my brightly red jacket as I agilely texted with my free thumb. I reprimanded myself, however only after another giggle, as I wanted to tell her that it would be a serious fashion faux pas to wear my clothes, as she often did, in her current facial state.

We locked eyes and both motion-pointed to walk in the same direction to the end of our blocks, already hearing the words of, "It's not fair, she always has to be teacher's pet!"

I suppressed a giggle and replied with a big hug, "There, there, Sammy. Don't worry little sis, it's your favorite - spaghetti Bolognese."

She punched me hard in the arm and with another scrunch of her forehead said, “OK, let's go get lunch.”

Jan M.

Feb. 2019