A Memory of Third Grade

a memory

this is a memory of second grade.

I am sitting in my desk.  It is in a group of four.  Mine is on the right, farthest back, and facing the door.  My back is warm from sunshine.  Mrs. Hayhurst walks towards my left.  There is a chalkboard and underneath, cubbies in columns of threes.  There is a radio on top of the green cubbies. She turns it on and presses play on the cd portion of it.  The song comes on, soft but audible.  It is heard throughout the room.  Mrs. Hayhurst looks at the class and says that we may get started on our tests.  We start writing on our papers.  The sound of scratching pencils fills the atmosphere, competing against the music to be the loudest sound in the second grade classroom.  I raise my head.  I look about the room, wondering how far along everyone else is.  Trevor's head is up.  He meets my eyes and smirks far to well for any eight year old.  I look away, breaking contact.  I glance to my right and examine the clock, doing a mental calculation as to  what time the face of he clock is showing.  I look back to my paper.

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