English
in Octoberby
Shi Y, Arizona, USA, Age 16
When I think
of English, I always think of my cousin Sally. Sally went to school
with my brother Johnnie and me, and even though I haven’t
seen her in such a long time, her memory still lingers like the
smell of eggs rotting in the back of the fridge.
This particular memory came from late October, sometime during our
school years. Sally, Johnnie, and I went to a boarding school, and
our days were full. In fact, some days were too full for Sally.
This day was one of those days. We were in the library for an English
class when Sally came up with one of her ‘brilliant plans’.
We could always tell when she was struck with an idea; her eyes
glazed over and her mouth turned into a pinprick of determination,
as she jerked her head sharply to the left. It was always the left—even
if we were standing on her right, her head unfailingly swiveled
to that side. And then she’d say, thoughtfully, “Johnnie.
This is my lucky day.” Upon hearing those words, I felt my
stomach sink like the Titanic, and Johnnie said, voice trembling,
knees audibly knocking together, “Why’s that, Sally?”
“I’ll show you!” she said, as she scampered off
into the reference section.
Johnnie shrunk back instinctively, fearing once again that he would
become her unwilling accomplice. We followed reluctantly, drawn
by a perverse curiosity, to witness Sally’s newest escapade.
She was struggling with a world atlas half her size when we approached.
“Come on, Johnnie! Don’t just stand there! Give me a
hand!” she barked.
He timidly grabbed hold of the massive book and heaved as she directed
him. When it was almost out of the shelf, she let go and strategically
placed her foot below the volume.
“Okay, Johnnie! One last pull!”
Johnnie hesitated, a look of consternation on his face. “But
Sally… You’ll hurt yourself!”
She glared at him for a moment before finally making her intentions
clear. “I know, you nitwit! That’s the whole point!
I’m gonna get out of English for good!”
Johnnie stared at her blankly.
“You pull the book, I break my foot!” she cried, exasperated.
“No, Sally! No! I can’t do that! What about Halloween?”
he howled.
“What about Halloween?” she hissed back.
“You said we were gonna go trick-or-treating! You can’t
go if your foot’s broke.”
“Oh, for crying out loud…!” she spat, and with
that, she gave one mighty tug and sent the book crashing down.
To this day, I can’t think of English without thinking of
the triumphant smile that played on Sally’s lips as she pulled
her crushed and mangled foot out of her torn canvas sneaker.
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