Teacher’s Pet

A buttoned-down white shirt, navy pleated skirt, and black loafers. That was our uniform. Some looked great in it; some seemed to disappear. Back in those days, I did not pay too much attention. I suspect I probably fell somewhere in the middle, not an incredible beauty, neither the most popular nor the most ostracized.

If the memory is a bit hazy, it's because it was not a life-changing moment. It is just a memory that sometimes surfaces and waves from the misty past. I have yet to connect this memory to any particular emotion.

The recess bell had just rung. Lily and I were about to join the other students in the field. We passed by Mr. Larry's desk. We had just gotten our quizzes back, and we both scored the highest mark in the class. Mr. Larry stopped us on our way out, gently said, "Can you guys come and massage my shoulders for me?"

What an honor to be close to the teacher? We each took one side, rhythmically, our fists percussed his broad shoulders. Standing over him, I can see the lines of his well-combed hair. I watched the other kids out in the sun and wished I did not have to share this duty with Lily. This means Mr. Larry doesn't think I was the best student, but only equally as good as Lily. Yes, we were best friends, but competition made up part of our friendship.