The Tall Girl
Everyone settled into there seats and then the ghost called Hush passed over them.
Mr. Rueben stepped into the classroom, shut the door quietly behind him and then stood at the front of the room with his palms supporting him on his desk. He looked at the boy on the far left of the very back row. He stood there for a moment staring at this boy as if he were going to make an announcement specifically to him. The boy squirmed awkwardly until Mr. Rueben finally spoke.
“Hello John Hampton,” He said with a nod. “Louis Gray, Marie Eager, Quentin Shoe, Iris Lighting, Malvina Dakota, Charity Sourton, Regina Wemberly, Yvette Soaps, Danny Pye, Ogden Leaf, Bob Snow, Trudy Richards, Claire Winters, Judith Appleby, Jacqueline Shiner, Marie Smith, Ronald Poe, Donald Poe, Garry Hobble, John Acton, Jack Cameron, Mable Harris, Wanda Tyler, Tilly Bing, Paddie Jones, David Jones, Walt Shores, Thomas Harp, Luke Rye, Edgar Englishman, Frank Woods, Agatha Rivers, Sara West, Ingrid Ingles, Poppy Yar, Rebecca Payton, Viola Day, Betsy Ram, Pete Jinkins, Opal Divine, Rosa May Barton, Etta Mast, Hurma Schlotskin, Lucile Light, Allen Jacobs, Martin Coins and hello to you too Andrew Orchards.”
There was a roaring applause from every student when he was done. Everyone whooped and cheered and smiled. Mr. Rueben put up one hand but did not smile. Claire thought he looked much less happy than he had the day before when she had first met him.
“Why…” He began, but the students were still loud. When they were calm he began again. “Why is it that that was so exciting to you?” He asked. But at that moment, Mrs. Tops opened the door.
“Mr. Rueben! What ever is going on in your class?” She asked looking ruffled.
“Nothing dear Mrs. Tops. The children were only cheering for the roll call.” He said coolly.
“Cheering for the what? They never cheer for roll in my class…did you bribe them about something Mr. Rueben?” As she asked this she wagged a finger at him and her jowls swung back and forth like that of a basset hound.
“No ma’am Mrs. Tops.” Mr. Rueben assured her. “What I said was true.-isn’t it?” He said looking toward the children. They all nodded and smiled.
“Well then!” Said Mrs. Tops all out of questions. “Carry on Mr. Rueben.”
“Thank you for checking on us Mrs. Tops. Have a lovely afternoon.” He said.
Mrs. Tops shut the door before he was done speaking.
“Well then!” He said with his first smile. “Who wants to answer my question?”
Several hands popped up like weeds.
“Yes! Miss Richards?” He asked looking at Trudy.
“Because all of the other teachers and everyone just call us “class” or “child” and I for one like the name my mother gave me.” She said proudly.
There were murmurs of agreement.
“Yes Mr. Shores?” He said looking Walt in the eye.
“Because now we know that you have a good memory and you won’t forget to dismiss us like Mrs. Tops.” He said smugly.
Everyone snickered except for a few rambunctious boys who laughed aloud.
“Now, now now!” Mr. Rueben said putting up his hand again.
Everyone grew sober and expected him to scold them, but he simply said:
“Let’s move on.”
“Queer teacher huh?” Someone said.
He then opened his desk and pulled out a large stack of papers and began to slip one onto each desk. They were blank.
“Please write a journal entry.” He said. “About you and what you have been doing or thinking about as of late.”
A few students moaned, others were happy to have such an easy assignment and Claire picked up her pen and began to write.
CLAIRE WINTERS 4:10 PM THURSDAY SEPTEMBER 24TH 1886
Dear Diary,
I used to go to Pine Creek Elementary Academy-a school so different than Beekman that one of them must be something that isn’t a school for they cannot belong in the same category. When I was in third grade I was in a play called The Fairy of the Will-o’-the-wisps.
I was an elf so I simply scurried around during the choir sequences but I watched as the some of the other girls (or fairies rather) sang, standing in rows. They were lovely in netted costumes of teal and pink. But, I will always remember one girl who stood on the top row. It was cruel of them to put her on the top row because she was good head taller than all of the other girls. She also had red hair and very fair skin to make her even more obvious and she looked so miserable up there, twisting her fingers and hunching over that I shook as if it were me.
And now dear journal, I feel as it I am that girl. I am participating and nobody is laughing but recently my mind has run mad with thoughts that I am sure nobody else in this classroom are thinking and I am set apart and strange and feel awkward and different just like that tall girl.
I wrote to Marvin yesterday but I am afraid of his reply. I told him about the “groups” as they are called. The unity of Beekman is a myth-I swear. These poor girls think that school is real life-because we live in as if it was. And they think that they are all doing well and going to be successful simply because they are taking these classes and getting good grades. And those who aren’t “succeeding” think they are on death row. Then I wrote to him about th…”
But just then, Mr. Rueben said: “Times up!”
The class continued and Claire was disappointed to find that it was a little more like all of the other classes. He simply talked and taught, but somehow Claire found it easier to listen to him than the other teachers. By the end of the class Claire had grown to adore her history teacher who ended the day with a skit of The Boston Tea Party. Everyone applauded when he chunked “packages of tea” (which looked oddly like volumes of history) into the tossing sea (which grabbed the tea with very human-like arms and fingers and gurgled so loudly, it almost sounded like laughter.) Claire walked out in a brown study, clutching her books to her chest with one arm, her other arm linked to Trudy’s. She heard someone say:
“He’s a quack but at least he’s entertaining.”
She then realized that Mr. Rueben had gone to Africa before this semester had begun and that today was the first time for most of the other students too. She felt a little peace of mind after his class, that is, until that night when she realized that she had given him her “journal entry” along with the roll sheet.
Mr. Rueben stepped into the classroom, shut the door quietly behind him and then stood at the front of the room with his palms supporting him on his desk. He looked at the boy on the far left of the very back row. He stood there for a moment staring at this boy as if he were going to make an announcement specifically to him. The boy squirmed awkwardly until Mr. Rueben finally spoke.
“Hello John Hampton,” He said with a nod. “Louis Gray, Marie Eager, Quentin Shoe, Iris Lighting, Malvina Dakota, Charity Sourton, Regina Wemberly, Yvette Soaps, Danny Pye, Ogden Leaf, Bob Snow, Trudy Richards, Claire Winters, Judith Appleby, Jacqueline Shiner, Marie Smith, Ronald Poe, Donald Poe, Garry Hobble, John Acton, Jack Cameron, Mable Harris, Wanda Tyler, Tilly Bing, Paddie Jones, David Jones, Walt Shores, Thomas Harp, Luke Rye, Edgar Englishman, Frank Woods, Agatha Rivers, Sara West, Ingrid Ingles, Poppy Yar, Rebecca Payton, Viola Day, Betsy Ram, Pete Jinkins, Opal Divine, Rosa May Barton, Etta Mast, Hurma Schlotskin, Lucile Light, Allen Jacobs, Martin Coins and hello to you too Andrew Orchards.”
There was a roaring applause from every student when he was done. Everyone whooped and cheered and smiled. Mr. Rueben put up one hand but did not smile. Claire thought he looked much less happy than he had the day before when she had first met him.
“Why…” He began, but the students were still loud. When they were calm he began again. “Why is it that that was so exciting to you?” He asked. But at that moment, Mrs. Tops opened the door.
“Mr. Rueben! What ever is going on in your class?” She asked looking ruffled.
“Nothing dear Mrs. Tops. The children were only cheering for the roll call.” He said coolly.
“Cheering for the what? They never cheer for roll in my class…did you bribe them about something Mr. Rueben?” As she asked this she wagged a finger at him and her jowls swung back and forth like that of a basset hound.
“No ma’am Mrs. Tops.” Mr. Rueben assured her. “What I said was true.-isn’t it?” He said looking toward the children. They all nodded and smiled.
“Well then!” Said Mrs. Tops all out of questions. “Carry on Mr. Rueben.”
“Thank you for checking on us Mrs. Tops. Have a lovely afternoon.” He said.
Mrs. Tops shut the door before he was done speaking.
“Well then!” He said with his first smile. “Who wants to answer my question?”
Several hands popped up like weeds.
“Yes! Miss Richards?” He asked looking at Trudy.
“Because all of the other teachers and everyone just call us “class” or “child” and I for one like the name my mother gave me.” She said proudly.
There were murmurs of agreement.
“Yes Mr. Shores?” He said looking Walt in the eye.
“Because now we know that you have a good memory and you won’t forget to dismiss us like Mrs. Tops.” He said smugly.
Everyone snickered except for a few rambunctious boys who laughed aloud.
“Now, now now!” Mr. Rueben said putting up his hand again.
Everyone grew sober and expected him to scold them, but he simply said:
“Let’s move on.”
“Queer teacher huh?” Someone said.
He then opened his desk and pulled out a large stack of papers and began to slip one onto each desk. They were blank.
“Please write a journal entry.” He said. “About you and what you have been doing or thinking about as of late.”
A few students moaned, others were happy to have such an easy assignment and Claire picked up her pen and began to write.
CLAIRE WINTERS 4:10 PM THURSDAY SEPTEMBER 24TH 1886
Dear Diary,
I used to go to Pine Creek Elementary Academy-a school so different than Beekman that one of them must be something that isn’t a school for they cannot belong in the same category. When I was in third grade I was in a play called The Fairy of the Will-o’-the-wisps.
I was an elf so I simply scurried around during the choir sequences but I watched as the some of the other girls (or fairies rather) sang, standing in rows. They were lovely in netted costumes of teal and pink. But, I will always remember one girl who stood on the top row. It was cruel of them to put her on the top row because she was good head taller than all of the other girls. She also had red hair and very fair skin to make her even more obvious and she looked so miserable up there, twisting her fingers and hunching over that I shook as if it were me.
And now dear journal, I feel as it I am that girl. I am participating and nobody is laughing but recently my mind has run mad with thoughts that I am sure nobody else in this classroom are thinking and I am set apart and strange and feel awkward and different just like that tall girl.
I wrote to Marvin yesterday but I am afraid of his reply. I told him about the “groups” as they are called. The unity of Beekman is a myth-I swear. These poor girls think that school is real life-because we live in as if it was. And they think that they are all doing well and going to be successful simply because they are taking these classes and getting good grades. And those who aren’t “succeeding” think they are on death row. Then I wrote to him about th…”
But just then, Mr. Rueben said: “Times up!”
The class continued and Claire was disappointed to find that it was a little more like all of the other classes. He simply talked and taught, but somehow Claire found it easier to listen to him than the other teachers. By the end of the class Claire had grown to adore her history teacher who ended the day with a skit of The Boston Tea Party. Everyone applauded when he chunked “packages of tea” (which looked oddly like volumes of history) into the tossing sea (which grabbed the tea with very human-like arms and fingers and gurgled so loudly, it almost sounded like laughter.) Claire walked out in a brown study, clutching her books to her chest with one arm, her other arm linked to Trudy’s. She heard someone say:
“He’s a quack but at least he’s entertaining.”
She then realized that Mr. Rueben had gone to Africa before this semester had begun and that today was the first time for most of the other students too. She felt a little peace of mind after his class, that is, until that night when she realized that she had given him her “journal entry” along with the roll sheet.
