(Today I offer an essay I did for Period 10 English in 1977. I haven’t even corrected the two run on sentences the teacher marked.)
One of the most memorable days I’ve had occurred when I was in the third grade. I attended a private school that held classes in a large Victorian house. My best friend was a girl named Margaret Mohl.
One day Margaret and I were on the balcony by the library. Margaret leaned on the railing and it gave out. She fell to the concrete sidewalk a story below. Mrs. Shapiro, an art teacher, dropped the package she was carrying and rushed over to where Margaret lay. She called to Margaret’s mother, who was also a teacher, and the two of them carried her to the car so they could reach the hospital more quickly.
I turned around to go inside only to find Alan, Margaret’s younger brother, standing in the doorway. He was crying and I tried to comfort him. I told him that I understood how he felt because my brother had been in an accident two weeks before. That seemed to make him feel a little better, and within a short time he was playing with his friends.
I had a ballet lesson to go to that afternoon. I went, but halfway through I had to leave. I couldn’t concentrate because I was thinking about Margaret. I started to cry when I told my ballet teacher why I had to leave.
Margaret was back in school about a week later. Luckily she had suffered only minor injuries like scrapes and bruises. She chipped her front tooth and had to wear a silver cap on it.
That day was the first time that I cried about something that hurt my heart and not my body. In a way, it was a kind of turning point. I don’t think that I’ll ever forget that day, but I’m sure that the vividness of my memory will fade with time.
One year ago today, I went on and on and on about my trip to Utah.
Two years ago, I recalled the month of August. I still haven’t finished that quilt, but I still plan to.
Three years ago, I shared the state of my trees.
Four years ago, I tried but did not buy a car.
Five years ago, I did an entry for Random Acts of Journaling about missing things. Now I’m missing ElleBee. I hope there are lots of books in your corner of heaven, Laura.
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