Having lugged my behemoth accordion to school on the bus for
show and tell, the plan was to have Dad pick me up after school, so I wouldn’t
be once again burdened with the hernia machine that was making me tilt sideways
as I tried to heft it.
I pulled the heavy case out onto the sidewalk, let it hit
the ground, and I stood there and waited.
And I waited.
By the time I saw the last straggling teachers, and then the
principal, stroll out to their cars, I realized it was probably time for Plan
B.
I should have walked back inside earlier, and asked to use
the phone in the school office to call my mom, but I didn’t want to have to
carry that hateful thing back with me once again.
And now it was too late. The school was locked up. Everybody
had already said their goodbyes.
The closest place I knew that had a pay phone was the Laundromat
downtown, about eight long blocks away.
I was thankful, at least, that it was September, and still
warm. I had enough problems.
After taking one last long look down the empty street in
front of Valley Elementary, and still not spying even a distant glint of my
dad’s car, off I went.
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