The Long Way Around

Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash

The Long Way Around

It was a dull, wet day in March 1974.
I wanted the earth to give way and lead to another reality.
It is a mission of mine—finding portals to unknown worlds.

I proudly step in mud puddles.
A small electric arc shoots through me, straight out of my sparkly hazel eyes.
I always take a moment to honor my kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Sedgwick, when I encounter a puddle.

On that day, I took the long way around one—
between the gymnasium and the main school building.

Other children followed Mrs. Sedgwick.
I didn’t.

Everyone stayed in line.
My legs had received a different message.

I like greeting water. All of it.
Most children moved around puddles—
a small shift to the side,
just enough to stay clean.

I wanted the center.

There’s something about stepping directly in—
the sound,
the surprise,
the way it answers back.

I wasn’t a happy-go-lucky child.
My joy lived in my head.
Thoughts moved through me and spilled out as action.
I was spirited.

The present felt heavy.
I found comfort in where I was going more than where I was.
My mother was sick.
My father was unavailable.
So my mind found other worlds.

I didn’t understand lines.
They always asked something of me that didn’t make sense.
Stillness.
Sameness.

My body never agreed.

On that day, I didn’t jump.
I went all the way around.
A full circle.

Behind me, they stepped—
one inch to the side,
one inch to the side.
Perfect synchronicity.

No one followed.

I slipped back into the line like nothing had happened.

Mrs. Sedgwick tapped our backs.
“In you go, in you go, in you go.”
She counted her sheep.

Inside—
desks,
chairs,
order.

My neighbor Miss Opal, drunk Leroy’s wife, made me a dress for kindergarten.
A long brown floral thing—Little House on the Prairie beautiful.

I was proud.

I stepped onto that bus feeling prepared.
Radiant.

By the time I reached school, I understood.

I wasn’t radiant.
I was a relic.
A time capsule.

On that boiling August morning,
I looked like an oven mitt with bad teeth,
a sock puppet with engine wires for hair.

I did not represent any kind of extraordinary beginning.

Oddly,
this made me disappear more than it made me stand out.

Mrs. Sedgwick had no admirable qualities beyond being in charge.
She always had something urgent to solve.

She had a shaky, busy kind of walk—
head high,
face forward.

Her body jittered as she moved,
like a red rubber ball sprung loose from a bubblegum machine.

Mrs. Sedgwick marched down the hall with an awkward rhythm,
as if she had her own song playing over a loudspeaker.

Don’t talk to me, I’m busy.
Don’t talk to me, I’m busy.
Waddle, waddle, waddle.
Don’t talk to me, I’m busy.
Places to go.
Problems to solve.
Maybe there’s a fire.
Don’t talk to me, I’m busy.

I ignored her the way she ignored me.

She had the personality of a thumb.
Useful.
Unattractive.

After recess,
we returned to our desks.

Mrs. Sedgwick cleared her throat
and smiled.

“Miss Kimberly,
would you kindly come to the front of the class?”

Her voice was warm.

This was the circle.

Perfect coloring.
Proper girls.

I had never been called forward.
Not once.

My grip on a crayon was too tight—
like I was trying to break it.
Shading and blending weren’t in my box of eight.

I stepped forward anyway.

She pointed to the center.

I stood there—
every eye on me.

My smile stretched wide.
Every crooked, spaced-out tooth on display.

Marty Luke sat in the front row.
He looked at me.
He smiled.

I thought this was my chance.

Two weeks earlier,
I had jumped off the teeter-totter—
left him slamming into the metal bar.
Blood ended it fast.

But now,
maybe this would fix it.

I stood there glowing,
waiting.

Mrs. Sedgwick looked at me.
She really looked.

Her smile stayed.
Her eyes changed.

Slowly,
she reached into her desk
and pulled out a paddle.

The room went still.

“There are rules that are never meant to be broken.
Rules are for your protection.

Kim here,
she doesn’t like following rules.
When all of you are napping,
she’s wide awake daydreaming.
When I call on Kim,
she’s rarely listening.

And today,
little Miss Kim stepped out of line
and jumped in a puddle.”

She stared straight through me—
that 9-1-1 face—
and told me to bend over.

Right there in front of everyone.
In front of Marty.

She pulled the paddle back.

One.
Two.
Three.

I can do pain.
Humiliation is different.

My face burned.
My mind exploded—
words firing off faster than I could hold them.

Shit.
Damn.
Stupid.
Mean.
Donkey-ass.
Hateful.
Spit crust.
Hell.
Heifer.
Cow.
Piss on the floor.
Shit-dumb.
Lying shit.

I howled internally.

Marty looked away.

Mrs. Sedgwick saw what she wanted to see in me—
not who I was.

She thought she had broken my spirit.
She hadn’t.

She interrupted me.

I stayed.

I bent.

I took it.

The room moved on.

Years later,
I still feel it—
right before the center calls,
right before life swings.

I remember.

I step in.