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FICTION The Lunch Box Chris Wood BEFORE THE FINAL BELL RANG, EVERY STUDENT at George Rogers Clark Elementary in Belmont, Virginia, knew about the fight after school. Everyone except Dora Lund. The fight was between a couple of third-graders. Their names were Helen Shifflett and Dora Lund. The idea had been Helen's. As the biggest kid in her grade, she felt compelled to prove her physical prowess over her classmates by beating up on them. Dora Lund was the last one left. Truth to be told, though, Dora was unaware that Helen had saved her for last. Without admitting it to anyone, Helen had done this on purpose. There was something sad about Dora, the pudgy, pigtailed girl who always wore a dress to school. Dora was the middle child of three daughters. Although she had a cute chubby face with apple cheeks and dimples when she smiled, she was also heavy for her age, and that was how people saw her, including her parents. Dora was a quiet, obedient child. She always did what her parents told her to do, but her efforts always seemed to fall just short of their expectations. She was too softhearted. That was her problem. And like all softhearted people, she was gullible. He big sister, Nancy, was prettier like their mother, and little Anne was the son their father never had. The family ate their dinner in quiet, breaking the silence on occasion to ask for something to be passed. They ate formally. The girls remained in their school dresses, and Mr. Lund dined in the suit he'd worn at the men's clothing store that day. Mrs. Lund was always dressed up for some occasion, usually her own. She was a tall, elegant woman who kept her hair colored and permed and had her nails done once a month. She detested any show of bad manners at the table. One must push one's peas onto a fork with a butter knife, she said, or else a crust of bread, but never with the forefinger. That was what people with bad breeding did. Mr. Lund was a stooped, balding man with thick black-rimmed glasses. A devout Methodist, he enjoyed singing from a hymnal after dinner to his wife's accompaniment at the piano. He did all the cooking and cleaning at home and also knew how to sew. 55 During dinner one evening, and for no apparent reason Dora could think of, Mrs. Lund announced that Nancy had always been her favorite daughter. From his end of the table, Mr. Lund claimed Anne for himself. The two sisters looked at Dora for a response. But Dora continued to shovel peas into her mouth without tasting them, as though she hadn't heard anything out of the ordinary. Whenever her parents overlooked her, she just went into a little room inside her head and closed the door to them. After dinner that night, Dora dreamt she went to heaven. The only way to get there was to climb these steep steps that resembled the ones at school, only these steps stretched into the clouds. Dora had to pull herself up with the aid of a railing. There was nothing but sky on either side of her, so she didn't look down. A cold, damp wind howled down on her from the top of the stairs. They were wooden and uncarpeted, for they had been worn smooth by the feet of the dead. Each time Dora took a step the board beneath her foot creaked. The air smelled sweet and thick, like the attic where she liked to play. She kept walking up the stairs until she reached the gate of St. Peter's. Peter was a tall slender man with white, wispy hair and sun-dried tomato skin. He wore a long white robe that was frayed at the cuffs and had been patched in many places. His arms were folded, and he gave off a radiance like Mr. Clean. Clearly this was a mistake, Peter said, checking his long list. No one had called Dora's name. That wasn't supposed to happen for a long, long...

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