Our Miss Brooks
You came home early. You didn't feel like going to any more classes. You couldn't face school. The world had been drained of color.
You hung your scarf in the front hall. You left your sweater on the bench. You willed your leaden feet up the stairs and down the long hall to your bedroom door.
You took off your clothes in your room and put on your flannel nightgown. You walked into your bathroom to pee. You slid your panties off and threw them in the sink. You pulled the sink's stopper lever. You turned on the cold water and, as it filled the basin, soaking your panties, you watched it slowly turning pink. You turned off the water. You stood in silence looking down.
You had gotten your period.
You peed. You climbed into your bed. You lay under the covers. Lost.
You didn't cry.
You didn't cry.
You didn't cry.
The early afternoon light shifted as the hours passed.
There was a tap at the door. "Little Miss." Margaret's voice.
"Little Miss..." from the door opened just a crack.
"Yes, Margaret." Your own voice sounded harsh and grating to yourself.
"Little Miss, there's a package for you."
"Thank you, Margaret, I'll look at it later."
"I -- I'll leave it here for you."
"Very well. Thank you, Margaret."
You could hear her placing something heavy-ish by the hearth.
You heard the door gently close.
You could barely move. You ached. You sighed.
How would you bear telling me? How could you look me in the eye?
You didn't cry.
You heard something. It was a scratching. It was coming from the direction of the hearth.
You forced yourself to sit up. You looked over at the box on the hearth.
It was open. It was a heavy cardboard box. It had been covered in flowered wrapping paper, but it had no top and there was pale green fabric inside.
There came a thumping and scratching from inside the box. You were so alarmed and intrigued, you momentarily forgot about your grief.
And then there was a whimper from the box.
"What the..."
You suddenly felt like a child on Christmas morning. The ache in your heart was giving way to excitement. You got out of bed and slowly approached the thumping, scratching, whimpering box and peered over its edge into the open top.
Two dark eyes stared back up at you. The eyes were set in a dark, fuzzy face. A black nose. Pointy ears. The creature sat down and lifted a paw. It was a Scottish Terrier puppy and you were instantly in love.
You picked it up gently and it licked your face. It was trembling. You knelt there cradling it in your arms.
It was time to cry.
Silently.
And you held its paws, feeling the little pads. It licked the salty tears from your face.
You cried and cried and cried and cried. Until you felt cleansed and tired and the weight had lifted from your shoulders.