Mr. Tom and I walked the tree-lined field at the edge
of the playground where the music teacher went to smoke
her Parliaments. The day was so hot that the boys
needed towels to ride the aluminum slide. Mr. Tom
gave me a Sweet Tart necklace and said, If you were older,
we could go on a date. Do you know what people do on dates?
I used to daydream about having a bra and wearing jeans
on Picture Day. Mr. Tom put one finger down the neck
of my shirt and pulled. The other girls would be jealous.
But now he was so close, I smelled Old Spice and sour
breath. I blurted out, I’ll spit on you. He just laughed
and pulled me closer. So I did spit and ran down the hill,
and Mr. Tom ran after me. Get on the wall! he yelled.
On the wall, I braided limp stems of clover. He sent
me home with a pink slip in my backpack. That night,
Father removed his box of stationery from the locked drawer.
Mother told me to start the apology Dear Sir. I remembered
wet stains under Mr. Tom’s arms. When I was done,
they made me lick and seal the envelope.
