School Begins

The weekend that followed Tim's departure lasted no more than a few hours in my books. After all, I woke up, and it was the first day of school. Like zombies, John and I dragged our feet and got ready for school. Noticing our sad faces, my mother tried to cheer us up, but the hype just wasn't there anymore. School was the same thing every year, and in my opinion, it was the closest thing to prison.

Unlike the majority of the families in Albany, we were well off financially, so we went to school every day God sent, unlike some children. But, in my eyes, this proved to be detrimental since five days of school felt like another form of slavery. My mother told me I ought to be thankful, but I was too young to understand, and my father didn't help it; he was a religious advocate for education.

On the way to school, John made the mistake of questioning him about going to school every other day and dared to mention the poorer children in Albany who hardly went to school.

That old middle-aged man, who claimed to know the struggles of not having an education, lectured him and pulled me into the mix. He carried on for about 40 minutes about how important it was to sit in a classroom all day until we reached the gate.

Still annoyed by John's suggestion, he didn't even bother to say goodbye but simply scratched off, leaving me and John standing outside the school gate. For a moment, we were both silent, staring inside the half-empty compound. 

Then John spoke, "So you know the drill, Lucy; you're not allowed to associate with me at school unless it's absolutely necessary." After that, he ran off in the direction of the 4th-grade classes.

I didn't pay any attention to his words since he's been telling me the same thing for the last three years; yes, school was as generic as the chalk boards in my school. My new teacher called herself Miss Betty Anderson.

She was a slim young lady with curvy hips who came from Montgomery. She started calling our names in a register until she reached mine.

"Lucy GreyHeart," she shouted.

I rose from my seat, "Here, ma'am."

"Oh, you're from the GreyHeart family. Tell your father I said hi," she answered, smiling.

 I replied with a smile as I sat down. My guess is she managed to get wind of my family before coming to Leesburg. Somehow, every teacher knew about the family from my fathers side. The rest of the day was spent learning maths and English, two subjects I had a love-hate relationship with. However, commotion erupted when Miss Betty noticed a boy named Lucas Skinner sleeping in her class.

She immediately rushed to wake him up, but he wouldn't budge. So she went back to her desk and grabbed the same ruler I saw her lash two other children with, supposedly to lash Lucas. I felt the need to defend him since his father was close to my father.

"Wait, Miss Betty, Lucas is really tired," I pleaded, holding out my hand.

She stopped and looked around at me, "That doesn't mean he can sleep in my class."

Her reply surprised me, and then it occurred to me that Miss Betty came from the city and didn't know much about country life. You see, on one occasion, John asked my father why lettuce, carrots, and all kinds of food kept appearing outside our front door.

My father told him it was something an economist called barter, and that it was Mr. Skinner's way of paying for the spots he rented in the minimart. Ever since the hard times hit, most farmers lost the deals they had with big companies and resorted to other selling methods to make ends meet. One such method was buying a spot in my father's minimart to sell their produce.

And since money was hard to come by, my father was pleased with food as payment. Then there's the fact they couldn't pay negroes to work on their farms, so kids like Lucas had to work hard with their parents.

I couldn't explain his situation as well as my father had, but I tried my best, "His father needed his help on their farm. Ever since the hard times hit, most farmers need an extra hand if they want to keep their land. So when you see Lucas, he's gonna look like this, and some days you won't see him."

The woman was surprised at my reply and asked the class if this was normal, to which everyone confirmed. The rest of the day flew by quite fast, and in the blink of an eye, John and I stood just outside the school gate, waiting for our father. Because we went to school in a different town from Albany, we needed to be picked up and dropped off at school.

Our father arrived right on time, and on the way home, he questioned us on how the first day of the new school year was. I told him it was the best and John said the same thing. Telling him it wasn't would just lead to another lecture.

When we arrived home, John and I quickly got dressed in our home clothes and rushed outside to play for the remainder of the afternoon. The sun hung low in the sky, but where there was light, there was play.

In the middle of a game of red light green light, he remembered his football at the back of the apartment. I was hoping he wouldn't, since I dreaded that game, but when he told me he would just play passing, I submitted and decided to go and get it, while he took a rest on the ground.

The back of the apartment was filled with wooden boards and concrete blocks stacked high in the air. It was a hard place to maneuver. One wrong step, and I could fall on something sharp. As I made my way to the back of the building, I began to think about Tim and wondered what he was up to right now, unaware of the unexpected item I was about to stumble upon.

The moment I bent the corner, lo and behold, there was the same yellow scarf Tim lent me, folded neatly on the concrete ground. The ball wasn't there, but this magical scarf was. I began to think back to that night and confirmed with my memory that it indeed was the scarf Tim lent me.

"But how?" I wondered, "Was it John, maybe Tim before he left, or perhaps…" I furrowed my brow and thought about it, but there wasn't any other explanation, "could it have been the Sleepwalker."

The thought couldn't find a place to settle in my mind; it just wasn't adding up. But after accepting it might have been the sleepwalker, I decided to use a stick to carry the scarf and discarded it inside the bin since there was a possibility it was infected. When I met up with Tim, I informed him about the missing ball, which he immediately started looking for, but I kept what I found to myself.