The Trouble with Being Born: A Novel

Mother

177 It’s quiet here now but the students were really wild today . Donald Johnson called Vernon Sample a nasty name during reading, and then Rosa Martinez said Lillian McPherson spilled finger-paint on her new dress on purpose, and then Lillian McPherson called Rosa Martinez a dirty lying Mexican. Rosa’s twin brother, Hector, heard that and punched Lillian McPherson on the arm. I marched Donald, Rosa, Lillian and Hector to Mr. Simmons’ office myself, and when I returned, someone had drawn a picture of me with big breasts on the chalkboard. I didn’t say anything. I just erased it and called on Pedro Sanchez to read. The weather has been bad, and they’ve had to play inside for almost a week straight. And it’s only a week and a half to Christmas vacation, so it’s probably mostly cabin fever. Still, the kids were never this naughty in Fulton. I’m going home for Christmas. I like that song, “I’ll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams.” My brother Lowell will be there. I haven’t seen him in such a long time. When he was in the navy he wrote a postcard to me every single Christmas day, no matter where he was. I have cards from Japan, Korea and some islands that I’ve never even heard of. I even have some paper money from Japan that Lowell says is worth about six cents. It will be wonderful to see him and his new girlfriend, Mother 178 mother Kay. I take the train to Salt Lake City, then to Denver, then to Chicago and down to Saint Louis, where Pa said he’d pick me up. I love taking the train. I love sitting up in the observation car, eating an apple or something, and watching the mountains with the snow all around. I like eating in the dining car too, although that can get expensive. I was hoping my cousin Florence would meet me in Denver, but she’s decided to stay in Fort Hayes for the holidays with her fiancé’s family. Lucky girl. Flo and I had such a great time taking the train to Washington DC last summer to see the White House, the Capitol, and the Lincoln and Washington Memorials. And then she came out here when I moved to help me get settled. We have such fun together. She’s supposed to get married next June. I wonder if I’ll be her bridesmaid. I can’t seem to concentrate. I’ll have to mark these spelling papers at home. I was always good at spelling. Spelling and attendance. I wonder if Mr. Damasio has gone home yet. We’re going to another movie this weekend. It’s all very exciting , but I’m not real sure what’s happening. I know I have my reputation to protect and all, especially being a schoolteacher, but sometimes when I’m with him, I just melt. I’ve done that, that thing before, with Terry, a boy from my high school who was going off to the war, and with Harold, a boy at college. I’m thirty-one years old, after all. It wasn’t that great. But with Mr. Damasio, Tomas, I sometimes want to try it again. It’s what all the songs are about. Maybe we could get married and we wouldn’t have to worry about what people would say. Florence could be my bridesmaid. I hope I’m not too old. “Did you like the movie, Miss Patterson, Frances?” We’re sitting in Mr. Damasio’s 1948 Mercury Coupe, on the Indian View overlooking the town. Patti Page is singing “The 179 mother Tennessee Waltz.” I’d prefer Christmas music. I’m not all that fond of Patti Page. “I did like the movie. I loved it when Gene Kelly asked the older woman, Milo, what was holding her dress up, and she tells him ‘modesty.’ That was clever.” Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. “I also liked when Gene Kelly danced on the piano at the end. ‘Tra-la-la-la, this time it’s really love, tra-la-la-la.’” Maybe I shouldn’t have said that, either. “Did you like the movie?’ “I’m not sure yet. I adored that long dance sequence at the end, with all those classical painting references. I’m...