SueAnn Porter

We lined up as instructed, and we marched back to class. The smell of chalkdust permeated our nostrils as we headed back to our desks, and sat down.

Mrs. Whitlock addressed the class, “I would like everyone who is able to donate 25 cents so that we can buy a tie for Mr. Edgarson.”

A chorus of groans ensued.

“I think she has a crush on him,” Brenda whispered to Terri.

“Two old fogies. Ha!” Terri giggled.

Mr. Edgarson’s wife had died a year ago. He kept to himself, kept his head down and kept his eyes on the wide broom which he pushed back and forth across the school hallways on a daily basis.

A sudden siren shrieked and Mrs. Whitlock ordered us to line up (in order, always in order) and file out of the classroom and into the hallway. “Turn and face the wall, kneel down, sit on your feet…