B: Kindergarten

Chapter: Kid, Kindergarten

This morning my father wakes me up early. He flips on the light in my
bedroom and shouts, "Rise and shine." Then he leaves, my door left open
and the smell of frying bacon coming into my room. Today is my first
day of school. "Real school," my father said, which means it won't be
like the place where my father used to drop me off that smelled like
pee and where they made us take naps on little mats on the floor.

I stay there, almost awake, then get out of my bed. I put on the
clothes my mother left out the night before, along with the brown shoes
with a picture of a boy and a puppy staring out of each one. At first I
put on the shoes without socks, and then I remember that my mother said
I have to wear socks. I feel hot.

I walk into the kitchen. My big sister sits at the table behind a stack
of newspapers, still wearing her nightgown. Her hair is tangled all
over her head. I remember that I'll need to brush my hair before
leaving. My hair falls down over my ears won't lay flat like my father
wants it to. He put a bowl on top of my head and cut around the edges,
but instead of making one straight line, my hair curls up on one side
and sticks out on the other. My father wanted to make me look like one
of the men playing music on the television, but I think I look like a
girl.

I sit down at the kitchen table. The scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast
that my father has made make my stomach hurt even before I start
eating. My sister pours ketchup over her eggs, which looks too much
like blood, even though I like ketchup on my eggs, too. My father
smiles and tells us this is a surprise, because he doesn't normally
cook breakfast. He tells us it's the most important meal of the day,
then looks at me and says it's better than what I'll be eating at
school. My sister has told me about the food at school, so I believe my
father. My sister says they give you your food on a tray with little
sections, each section for a different food. They always serve
applesauce that no one likes but my sister. She gives away her dessert
so she can have everyone else's applesauce.

I brush my teeth and hair after breakfast, my stomach gurgling and
flopping and making me do a little dance. I shut the bathroom door and
do my business, afraid I might have to go again. It hasn't been
explained to me where people go the bathroom at school. I'm worried
that I will need to go number two and won't be able to hold it. I do
know that the boy's bathroom at the school doesn't have doors. There's
a door going into the bathroom, but no doors in front of the toilet,
which look just like our toilet at home only without the lid. I found
this out when I went to the school one night, while my mother and
father visited my sister's teacher.

Today my father is taking me and my sister to the school. "Come on!" he
yells, so we run out the front door and get into my father's purple
car. My mother has already left for work, leaving earlier than when we
got up. Her car is brown, bigger than my father's, and easier to get
into. My father's car only has two doors, so we have to crawl into the
backseat. I worry that the dirt on the car will get onto my
clothes.

"After today you're taking the bus," my father says. He makes the bus
sound like we will be going on a vacation. My sister and I don't say
anything. I know all about the bus from my sister already. I know I
will be pinched, or knocked out of my seat, or worse. My sister says
the lady who drives the bus yells a lot, and once, when the lady had
had enough, she stopped in the middle of the road and walked up and
down the bus aisle, making the kids switch seats. I'm not to sit in the
back of the bus, because that's where the big kids sit and they're
mean.

I've seen my sister screaming and kicking on school days. Sometimes
this works, and she gets to say home, but usually it doesn't. Sometimes
my father throws her out of the house, slamming the door while she
cries on the front porch. I've watched all of this from my bedroom
window, which opens out onto the front yard. Once I saw my father push
my sister out of the front door, and before she had even turned around,
her book bag came flying out and hit her in the back of the head. I
don't want this to happen to me, but so far I can't think of another
way to get out of going to school.

The school is too far to walk to, but a fast trip by car. My father
drives fast, but we slow down by the school because all of the other
cars. The school is a one-story building made out of brown bricks. Its
gray windows are closed. Kids walk around, by themselves or in groups.
Some of them stand in circles. They all look like they know what
they're doing, and their clothes are new. Nobody's wearing shoes like
mine.

I get out of my father's car, and a bell rings. The kids move towards a
big door in the middle of the building. My father has pulled up in
front of a school bus, and it's not until I turn around that I see he's
staying in the car. My sister walks off like she knows where she's
going. She probably does know where to go.

"Just go in and find somebody to help you," my father tells me. I stay
put, in front of the car's open door. I can smell my father's breath.
It smells like the bottoms of the glasses he leaves around his chair at
home.

"I don't know where to go," I say.

"Go inside, damn it," my father says, "And hurry. The bell rang."

The bell ringing means nothing to me, but I do as I'm told and shut the
car door. My father drives off, cutting off a school bus that is
pulling away from the curb. I walk towards the school, trying not to
look at the bus driver, who I know will be shaking his head or
yelling.

The schoolyard is almost empty, kids running towards the door. I don't
run, partly because my feet hurt from my shoes and partly because I
don't know where to run to. Somewhere in the school I'm supposed to sit
down at a desk and be quiet and listen to a teacher. I'm supposed to
use the pencils and paper, and to learn to write. I can already
read.

The inside of the school smells like cookies, and something like bad
breath. My sister is gone, and there are hallways and doors everywhere.
I want to go home, and could probably find my way, but I know my father
would bring me back.

I see a sign over a door that says office, with a line of kids under
it. This seems like the place to go. Each of the kids is with a
grownup.

I get into the line, and the mother in front of me looks down and
smiles at me, like she has seen something funny but doesn't want to
laugh out loud. She shakes her head, I think, but turns and faces the
door, so I can't be sure. She is probably just mad about standing in
line, like my mother gets at the grocery store or the movies.

Other people get in line behind me, and I'm glad, because now I'm
ahead. We move forward slowly. Some of the grownups know each other,
and talk about work. Some of them look at their watches and then lean
forward, looking into the office. I stare straight ahead, switching my
notebook from hand to hand when my palms get sweaty. My feet hurt, my
toes pushing into the front of my shoes while the backs cut into my
ankles. My shoes aren't new, even if they look it. I've worn them maybe
once before.

A lady behind the counter says, "Next" and points at me. I walk up to
the counter, which is so high that I have to stand on my toes to see
over it. My toes feel like they're burning. The lady at the counter
stares down at me.

"What's your name?" she asks, not friendly but not mean. She looks like
she has a lot to do. I tell her my name.

"Where are your parents?"

I shrug and don't answer, and the woman sighs. She looks over her
shoulder and shouts, "We've got another one!"

Another lady comes around the corner and tells me to follow her. My
head is even with this lady's rear end, which is as wide as my pillow.
She walks slowly, putting one foot in front of the other, and she takes
me into an office with windows that look out onto the front of the
school.

"Sit down, please," she says, and I do. She starts asking questions,
not looking at me, and I tell her as much as I can. Her finger goes up
and down a list, looking, she says, for my name. She doesn't find it
until I tell her my real first name. She rolls her eyes, and tells me I
have Mrs. Sanchez as a teacher.

We walk down hallways as wide as my house, with orange carpet that's
brighter at the edges. There are pictures on the walls, and trophies
with gold men holding baseball bats or balls. The lady doesn't talk to
me, so I watch her rear end. It moves from side to side in one big
piece, and I know it could knock somebody over.

We get to my classroom, which is not a room at all. It's a space in the
hallway with two chalkboards at either end. The kids don't have desks.
They sit on the floor. When the lady and I walk in, the other kids turn
around and stare, looking me up and down. My feet hurt. The teacher,
Mrs. Sanchez, has a desk in front of one of the chalkboards.

She looks up, and says, "Another one?"