And now...

“Once Upon a Time.”

How many people I wonder have awakened quite like I did once; frightened out of their wits, wondering where they were, and how they got there, and having no idea what to do? All I can say is that it is very disquieting, especially if they’re a child, and they know something terrible has happened. I know this, because it happened to me. My name is Timothy McLeish, and this is my story

I guess things started to come together when I was around eight years old. I’m much older now. I’ve been told I was an only child, but I’ve never been convinced of that. I remember my mom and dad and I were on some highway. There was an accident. I remember a loud crashing, and a lot of noise. Someone was crying and it wasn’t my mom. I knew that because I remember my mom was all pushed forward up against the windshield, and the windshield was all bloody. I remember how bad I felt. They told me later the accident was in Tennessee. They said we lived in Tennessee. I remember I didn’t even know where Tennessee was. Someone said my mom was a school teacher and my dad was a writer, but they said he’d never written anything. At least that’s what they said. I can’t remember who said it. I couldn’t remember much about anything for a long time. I know I spent a lot of time in different hospitals. I’d been pretty badly hurt. I still have a few problems. One leg is shorter than the other, and sometimes, even now, I have problems trying to concentrate when I need to write something or think about something, or make a decision. Somewhere this woman showed up. She told me she was my mom’s sister. The woman said my mom was Madeline, and she was my Aunt Katherine. She used to come and see me, but not a lot. When I was around twelve, I think I was twelve, she took me out of the place where I was and took me to her home. She was married to a car salesman, and they had one boy whose name was Brandon. Brandon is supposed to be my cousin. Aunt Katherine said she wanted to adopt me, but her husband, Mr. Cameron, said no. I found out later they’d taken me in as a foster child, and as long as I was a “foster” and not legally adopted they got paid money. They treated me fairly good I suppose. I never got hit or anything. I almost never got my own clothes, except underwear and socks. Most of my clothes were Brandon’s stuff he’d outgrown or wore out. We all lived in a big house, a two story they called it. They had four bedrooms upstairs; one was for my aunt and Mr. Cameron, one was for Brandon, one was a guest room, and one was Mr. Cameron’s special office. They fixed up a place in the cellar for me. It was a little damp sometimes, and pretty cold in the winter, but I had a bed and a bureau. I also had a rack where I could hang Brandon’s old clothes. There was a woman who came to visit once in a while. She said she came to see how I was doing. She said she was from the government. She would ask my aunt a lot of questions, smile and leave. She never said anything to me. She never asked me any questions. I wouldn’t have known what to say anyway. When my aunt and uncle took me in I got enrolled in middle school. I remember they said I was supposed to be in the ninth grade, but everyone decided I’d be better off if they held me back a year. They said it was because of my accident. I didn’t understand any of that. When I started school, they put me in “special classes”. There weren’t as many kids in those classes, and I was supposed to get a lot of extra help with my reading. Mostly though, the teachers just talked to each other about stuff. I do remember that. What I didn’t like was what some of the teachers said when they didn’t think any of us kids were listening. Sometimes in the hallways as we walked to class I overheard some teachers say things like, “Oh, he’s one of the dummies”, or “he’s one of the gold fish.” I knew what that meant; I was told gold fish are so stupid they can’t remember anything so when they swim around in a bowl everything they see is like something new no matter how many times they go past it. I remembered that, and I remembered which teachers said it. I especially remember the ones who laughed. I was good at arithmetic, and I think that confused some of the teachers. I was supposed to be dumb at everything. Reading and talking were problems. I could keep up with what everybody said, but whenever it was my turn to talk I was always just too slow making the words come out. Sometimes people, especially some of the teachers, got impatient with me. I knew I was slow, but they didn’t have to look at each other and smirk. My cursive wasn’t any good either. Everything I wrote they said was always all squinched up. Some of the teachers got mad and said I didn’t know how to write. I know I got lower grades on a lot of things because of my writing. One thing bothered me all through middle and high school. While my cousin Brandon got an allowance, all I ever got was lunch money. Brandon even got a car when he turned sixteen. He wrecked it right away. Uncle Cameron never gave me anything. He hardly ever talked to me.

It was around the time I was in the ninth grade my life started to change, and little did I know back then, that the changes that started then would ultimately put me in an entirely different world.

By the late winter of the ninth grade I knew if I ever wanted anything other than Brandon’s cast offs I’d have to find a way to get my own money. I started looking around. There weren’t many opportunities for a backward slow-witted boy like me, but there was one old lady who didn’t live too far away who I’d come to know and like. We were all Catholic, and we attended mass the same time she did. Uncle Cameron was always especially nice to her. I found out a little later my Uncle Cameron had a special reputation as an ass kisser. The old lady’s name was Pauline Grummond. Mrs. Grummond lived on a street people at our church called “Quality Hill”; people who weren’t Catholic called it “Catholic Hill”. One day after mass Mrs. Grummond asked me if I might stop by her house and help her with a couple chores. I wasn’t very big, and kind of skinny, actually real skinny, but I saw my chance. Aunt Katherine tried to talk me out of it. She told me that Mrs. Grummond was old and not very smart. Aunt Katherine said I’d probably mess up everything she asked me to do, but I remembered when I told Mrs. Grummond what Aunt Katherine said she patted my head and said she didn’t think so. The next Saturday I paid my first visit to Mrs. Grummond’s house. In hindsight it was like what Eldridge Cleaver said in his book “Soul on Ice”, “somewhere in the universe a gear shifted”. Mrs. Grummond met me at her door and handed me a list of chores. Mostly they were the things my aunt made me do back at her house; I had to change some sheets, make Mrs. Grummond’s bed, clean her two toilets, vacuum the rugs, and scrub and wax the floors. I worked all that first day. She showed me how to make a bed properly. She explained the proper mixture for the cleansers. She even fed me lunch. That first lunch was just a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich, but it was the best peanut-butter and jelly sandwich I ever had. She sat with me while I ate it and asked me all sorts of questions. She even listened to me, and she never got impatient. She asked good questions. It was like the first time I could remember when anyone was ever talking to me like it wasn’t some job they had to do. At the end of the day, she gave me $5.00. She told me to save at least 10% of it. I remember she asked me if I knew what that meant and if I knew how to figure it. I told her I knew and then I showed her. I was so proud. Mrs. Grummond told me to come back the next week. When I got home, I didn’t tell anyone how much she paid me. I told them I only got $2.00. I was stupid, but not that stupid. My aunt said I could keep it. The next week I did some of the same chores. I made her bed for her, and cleaned her house, but that second week she started talking about the coming warm weather and her yard, her lawnmowers, her weed-whacker, and her flower beds. This all surprised me because back at Aunt Katherine’s those were things I wasn’t allowed to touch. Mrs. Grummond gave me another $5.00. Gee, after eight days I had $10.00. I was getting rich. I found an old envelope, put the money in it, and hid it under my mattress. The next two weeks went about the same, and I had $20.00!

It was the fifth week at Mrs. Grummond’s when my world changed in three of the most wonderful ways. First, Mrs. Grummond opened her garage up. Inside there was an old Chrysler, and an even older Ford pick-up truck. We went to Lowes where Mrs. Grummond bought a lawn spreader and ten big bags of pelleted lime. I loaded the pick-up all by myself. The bags were heavy and it was hard, but I did it! She said next week she’d show me how to run her riding lawnmower so I could spread the lime. On our way back she asked me what I was doing with my money. I told her I’d saved every penny. When she asked me where, I told her under my mattress. When she heard that she did something I swear was the most wonderful thing anyone had ever done for me. She took me to a bank, and we started my own bank account. Since I was under age, I asked her if she’d be my adult co-signer. She was very serious about that, and agreed in the most solemn way. By the time we got back to her house I had my own bank account, and the promise of some really responsible jobs starting the very next week. I felt like I was walking on air. As I walked out her front door that day, I got the biggest surprise of all. Mrs. Grummond was seeing me off when a big black Escalade pulled up in front of her house, and out of it jumped two of the most beautiful girls I’d ever seen in my whole life. I took one look at them and I lost my breath. They were wearing their school uniforms. The taller thinner girl was wearing a beige Oxford button-down shirt and khaki pants. The smaller one had on a banlon shirt, but she was wearing a khaki mini-skirt. She had beautiful legs. Both girls had what I thought were pretty nice tits. The uniforms told me they went to Saint Mary’s; only the most expensive private girls’ school in the county. My heart was in my throat. Something else too. I got a hard on. Mrs. Grummond took my hand and walked me down the steps where she said, “Girls I’d like you to meet someone.” I was so embarrassed. They were so beautiful, and I was sticking out so far. They had to see. I know I blushed. They stopped and stared at Mrs. Grummond and at me. They were wearing those school uniforms and were so pretty, even prettier up close. Mrs. Grummond said, “This is Timmy McLeish. He’s been my special assistant these past few weeks.” Then she looked at me and said, “These are my granddaughters. The blond is Darla and the brunette is Amber.” Then she said, “Say hello to Timmy girls.” I remember Amber kept back. She was wearing thin tinted glasses. I wondered is something might be wrong with her eyes. All she said was “Hi.” But the other one, Darla, stepped right up, took my hand, shook it, and said, “So you’re my grandmom’s newest boyfriend.” Her hand was so warm. Her fingers were soft. I was dumbfounded, totally flustered. I tried extra hard not to stare at her chest. I didn’t know what to say, so I said the first thing that came out of my head. I said, “Yes, I guess so.” I was so stupid! That’s when the other one said, “You’re pretty skinny. You don’t look like much to me.” Lost and confused I mumbled, “I’m Tim McLeish. I’m in the ninth grade. I go to Lake Pamunkey High School, and I’m Mrs. Grummond’s assistant on Saturdays.” The younger girl, a girl who by then I’d already fallen madly in love with said, “He’s not skinny, he’s cute, and I like him.” The other girl, Amber, didn’t say anything right away, but then she did say, “Where’d you get those pants?” I was wearing my usual “workers”, a pair of Brandon’s old khakis. Since Bandon was six feet tall and kind of broad at the waist the pants didn’t quite fit. Aunt Katherine had cut and stitched the bottoms, but Brandon’s thirty-eight-inch waist didn’t quite work on my twenty-two. Aunt Katherine had cut out some of the back, but they still didn’t fit. The old belt I used had everything kind of bunched up around my middle. I had better trousers; Aunt Katherine and I had gone to the Goodwill Store where she got me a nice pair of black slacks and a white shirt for mass. She also got me a pretty nice older sport coat. It was blue like the kids at one of the rich peoples’ private schools wore. At school I wore Brandon’s old jeans; Aunt Katherine would fix them up. The jeans all had holes in the knees and some other places, but that was the style so I was OK most of the time. The only thing I really hated was having to wear Brandon’s old shirts. They were all banlon and were what Aunt Katherine called like totally “pilled”; that’s when small pieces of cloth had grown up from all the times they’d been washed. I hated those shirts, but, except for my one white shirt, that was all I had. Mrs. Grummond smiled at me and tousled my hair, “Mass tomorrow, and lime next week.” I smiled like I was in Heaven already and said, “Yes ma’am.” Then I left.

All that next week, every single night I jerked off. I’d jerked off before ... some. The guys all talked, and everyone was worried about losing their eyesight or wearing their dicks out. Jerking off beforehand had been kind of a fanciful thing. There were the senior girls, and a couple youngish teachers, but to me they were never real. I was one of the school idiots; the occasional girl who said anything to me was always brought to her knees by her girlfriends. I overheard them a couple times and they’d say things like, “You spoke to Him? Are you crazy?” With Darla I had someone to jerk off to, and man did I wear myself out! I even got sores. For once I was glad I was in the cellar. No one came down there. I had the whole place to myself, and I could abuse my body to my heart’s content. There was confession, but I didn’t care. What was a few extra Hail Mary’s?

The next Saturday I learned how to use Mrs. Grummond’s John Deere. I spread all ten bags of lime without a single mistake. What I especially liked was how Mrs. Grummond didn’t watch me from her windows. She trusted me the whole time! I worked inside again too. I made Mrs. Grummond’s bed. I did her carpets and floors, and I did her bathrooms. Before I left she showed me how to check the oil in the tractor, and I got to refill the gas tank by myself while she watched. I didn’t spill any of it! Not a drop! While I was scrubbing a couple pots in her kitchen, I happened to overhear Mrs. Grummond on her telephone. She had an old wall phone. I overheard her talking to someone about me. I could tell by Mrs. Grummond’s voice that whoever it was sounded angry about something. I figured it out. My coming to Mrs. Grummond’s was messing up somebody’s plans. I heard her say something about an “old peoples’ home”. That was when she looked up and saw me. I saw her, and she saw me. I didn’t know what else to do so I walked over and put my arms around her. That’s when I realized how small she was, just skin and bones like me. She sort of quivered and leaned against me. I said, “I’m here if ever you need anything.” She straightened back up and led me into her kitchen. She sat me down, and then she sat down, “My son-in-law wants to put me away.” I didn’t know what to say. Heck I was only a ninth grader, but I felt like I had to say something. I asked her, “Do you want me to move in with you. I can. Aunt Katherine wouldn’t mind.” “No,” she said, “but you could stop by after mass on Sunday afternoons if you want.” I tried to smile and said, “Be glad to. You won’t even have to pay me.” She reached across the table and took my hand and said, “You are a sweet boy.” Imagine, me, a sweet boy.

After that day I checked the school bus routes and found one that stopped down the street from Mrs. Grummond’s house. No one noticed at home when I wasn’t there. I started to spend all my free time at Mrs. Grummond’s. I was going to make sure no one would ever make her go to some ‘old peoples’ home”. I even slipped out at night after dinner a few times and went to Mrs. Grummond’s. I could get away with it. I lived in the cellar.

My life was changing! Once I started going from school to Mrs. Grummond’s, Darla and Amber started to stop in once or twice a week. Sometimes they brought friends. Meeting their friends was nice up to a point. One of them lived near my high school and had friends there. Somehow word got back about who I was. I remember I was busy digging out a place where Mrs. Grummond wanted another flower bed when I overheard one of Amber’s friend’s whisper, “Don’t you know who he is?” Amber answered back, “Sure, he’s my grandmom’s helper. His name is Tim ... something.” The other girl whispered, “Jeez Amber, he’s one of the retards at the public school. Nobody likes him. He’s creepy.” Almost right away I noticed Amber’s mood changed, and after her girlfriends left, she said almost nothing to me. I felt terrible. I just knew Amber would tell Darla, and together they’d tell their grandmother. My life was over.

The very next day when I got to Mrs. Grummond’s I saw all three, Mrs. Grummond, Darla, and Amber were outside on the front porch. Mrs. Grummond waved me over and asked, “Come sit and have a glass of iced tea.” I watched as Amber poured me a large glass of tea. I was suspicious. Mrs. Grummond had a glass of her own. She took a sip and said, “My granddaughters heard something about you, they’re very upset, and I find it very disquieting. Do you know what disquieting means Timmy?” I knew what was about to happen. I wanted to just turn and run away. Everything always ended up the same way. Somebody would say something. Somebody would say something else, then I would go through some kind of test, a test I always failed. I answered, “It means something bad.” Mrs. Grummond sighed, but she still smiled nicely at me, “Timmy how are your grades at school?” I gave it up, “Mrs. Grummond, I know. I mean I heard Amber’s friend yesterday. She told Amber I was a retard.” Then I tried something I’d never tried before, “I hear that word a lot. It’s always disquieting. I know I’m different. I was held back a year in school. I didn’t fail, they just held me back. My reading’s not very good, but I know my math.” I could see the uncertainty on her face so I said, “I’ll just leave.” I turned and started to walk away. I really wanted to run. All my hopes and dreams were dying. I knew kids who had dogs who got treated better than I did. I wished I had a dog. Mrs. Grummond called after me, “No, please don’t go Timmy. Come back and talk to me.” I stopped but didn’t turn around. God, I really wanted to start running. I knew what it was all about. How many times? How many times had it happened? Oh, we’ve got to be nice to the retard. Give him a chance. Let him slur out a few words. Tell him we’re sorry and send him away. I finally did turn around. I was ready to cry. I saw their faces; the same phony sympathy. Even Darla had it. I said, “It’s not fair. It’s just not fair. Am I a retard? I don’t know. I guess maybe I am. Everybody says so.” Mrs. Grummond was coming toward me. I broke down. I started to cry. I didn’t run though. Once the tears started, I couldn’t stop. This had been my big chance. I was making my own money. I had a bank account. I got to be around two pretty girls. I had some place to go. I was helping someone. Then one word, one word and I was nobody again. I wanted to turn around and run, just run. I was Forrest Gump! Only Forrest had a mother, and I had nobody! The next thing I knew Mrs. Grummond had her arms around me. She had her hankie out. She was wiping away my tears. That made me cry even harder. Then all of a sudden Darla was beside me. She was hugging me! I felt her breath on my cheek. I cried even more! Amber sat there and was really quiet. She had a strange look on her face. I wished I knew what she was thinking. I figured she probably hated me. They walked me back up to the porch. They sat me down on one of the steps. Mrs. Grummond asked me, “Tell us Timmy what happened? Why do people treat you so?” I slowly stopped crying, but I kept hiccoughing and breathing heavy. I couldn’t get my breath. Finally, I got out, “My mom and dad are dead. I’m an orphan. There was an accident. I don’t remember. There were hospitals. I had a lot of procedures. They said I hit my head, but my legs were bad too. One’s shorter than the other. I get headaches.” I looked up at Mrs. Grummond, “I’m not stupid though. I can think. I can keep up. I mean at school I can keep up, but sometimes I can’t get the words out. I mean I want to say something, but nothing comes out.” Mrs. Grummond kept wiping my face, “You’re surely not having any trouble talking now Tim.” That made me start to cry again. I had to say something. I had to tell her, “You’re nice to me. You and Darla and Amber never make faces.” I rolled my eyes and frowned at Amber. Then I said, “You always listen. You act like I have something to say. You don’t pretend to listen; you aren’t like other people. You don’t pretend.” Mrs. Grummond touched her temple, “So you’re Aunt Katherine. Is she really your aunt?’ I answered, “She says she is. I’m a foster child. Aunt Katherine and Mr. Cameron get paid to take care of me. I don’t mind, not really. I mean I remember the other place.” “Other place,” Amber asked? “There was a big room with lots of beds. It had green floors. Linoleum I think. All the other boys were older. Some were there because they got in trouble. You had to be good. You had to obey the men, but the older boys had rules too. If you did something wrong, they messed with your food. They’d spit in it and pee in it. You knew because after you ate there’d always be a writing on the plate. The ‘F’ word.” Amber asked, “Did that ever happen to you?” I answered, “One time.” I had to stop, say something more, “I know you don’t believe me. No one ever did. Everyone said they were good to the boys at that place. If I ever said anything they’d say I was a troublemaker and a liar. Liars and troublemakers always got punished.” Amber asked, “Did they ever punish you?” I said, “Yes, only once.” Mrs. Grummond asked, “What was the punishment?” “They had a big paddle,” I said. Mrs. Grummond said, “They spanked you with the paddle?” I knew what she was thinking. I knew I couldn’t tell her the truth. No one ever believed the truth so I said, “Yes, I got a spanking.” Mrs. Grummond remarked, “This was after the accident where you...” I said, “Yes, after the hospitals too.” Mrs. Grummond stood up. She held out her hand, “Come inside. I have a whole plate of doughnuts and milk.” I got up. Darla and Amber got up also. We all went inside. I still cried some, but they were all so nice, even Amber.

After that afternoon nobody ever said anything. I got to keep coming to Mrs. Grummond’s. Darla and Amber were always nice to me, but none of their private school girlfriends ever came to Mrs. Grummond’s again. I worked hard for Mrs. Grummond all that spring. The girls came by less, but when they came, we all had a good time. I found out the girl’s father had heard about my “special situation” and liked me even less. He didn’t want his daughters associating with someone like me. I knew this because Darla told me. Darla said her father said I was from the wrong side of the railroad tracks. That hurt almost as much as anything. I really liked the girls. They were so pretty. We planted a lot of new flowers, and we used fertilizer Mrs. Grummond bought to help the ones growing from past years. I felt a growing sense of pride, and for a lot of reasons. For one I was watching things grow that I helped start, and second, I know I was helping Mrs. Grummond keep her house. A third thing, and I felt the biggest of all; I was freer than I’d ever been, and at the same time Mrs. Grummond was staying free. Darla and Amber’s dad and mom did stop by once while we were working outside. The girls were there and they got real quiet, but Mrs. Grummond got louder and more active. She gave me orders all over the place, and I listened and obeyed each one. I could tell Mr. Wexler, that was Darla and Amber’s dad’s last name, was getting mad. Mrs. Wexler, the girls’ mom, watched and smiled the whole time. Once she even laughed. I liked her almost right away. Her first name was Genevieve. I thought it was a very pretty name. She was pretty like her daughters. She had eyes the same color as Amber’s. Amber’s eyes were violet. They were the prettiest eyes I’d ever seen. I could look at her eyes and feel calm right away.

The school year ended. My homeroom teacher said I passed by the skin of my teeth, and that I better shape up because the tenth grade was where they separated the wheat from the chaff. She thought I didn’t understand what she meant. I pretended I didn’t; it always made it easier to let people believe what they wanted. If someone like me let them know we understood things, they only got mad. Both Darla and Amber passed too. Of course, I knew they would. Darla was going into the ninth grade and Amber was going to be an eleventh grader. Amber and I were both the same age. I was looking forward to the summer.

That summer was partly good but partly bad too. Mrs. Grummond was wonderful. I had my jobs, and I did them well. I spent most of my days around her house. She paid me for everything, but the money seemed to matter and less and less. I loved that old woman. I pretended she was my grandmother. I thought I’d see a lot more of Darla and Amber, but that didn’t happen; they lived in an entirely different world than me. The week after they graduated both were on their first summer trips; Darla went to Yellowstone and Amber, being older, got to go to Europe. After that they were both back and forth between places like San Diego, Victoria, Canada, New Zealand, and Scotland. Every time they got home; they’d share all their experiences with me. They’d show me pictures. They were so happy, so carefree and so nice I had to enjoy their stories. The tough part was I was starting to realize just what I was missing. Every trip they took, every experience they described only made me feel lonelier. I had no plans except to help Mrs. Grummond and of course, do a heck of a lot more at the Cameron’s. I think Mr. Cameron resented my relationship with Mrs. Grummond. He never came right out and said anything, but I’d come to know the man, he was like a “one-eyed Jack”. Brandon was the son. I was the person who lived in the cellar. Brandon never did very much; maybe empty the trash every week or so. I did all the menial work. Mr. Cameron decided since I was cutting grass for Mrs. Grummond I could do it at “home”. We had a half-acre lot at “home”, and an old Toro push mower. Cutting, weeding, and trimming became “home” staples. Around mid-summer when it got real hot Mr. Cameron decided someone needed to pressure wash the vinyl siding. That meant of, course, scrubbing it with a brush and bleach. The house was a two-story hence I had to use an extension pole to get the top. I got everything but the soffits. Meanwhile my Aunt Katherine started complaining about her back so inside cleaning, the laundry, and a lot of other stuff nobody ever worried about became a bigger part of my life. I didn’t get paid for any of it. Brandon got his driver’s license, and a car. Once he told me I was supposed to keep it washed. I told him to kiss my ass. He told his father, and yeah, washing Brandon’s car became a part of my repertoire. I started to feel like Cinderella, and with the girls gone so much, jerking off wasn’t as much fun.

When school resumed in the fall things certainly did get different. First, no one could deny that, though I might be behind in the Language Arts my mathematical competency was without question. I was re-diagnosed! I was no longer the “retard”; they decided I was autistic! This was unbelievable, because I was good with numbers but short on English and a little backward with the social skills, I was crazy in another way. My “so called” guidance counselor made me sit down and watch this old movie titled “Rain Man”. At first I enjoyed it, but pretty soon as I watched the movie and my “counselor” watched me I came to the realization, as far as the movie was concerned, I wasn’t the cool Tom Cruise, I was the weird Dustin Hoffman! Why would she make me watch something like that? Weren’t there rules or something? I ended up getting suspended for three days over what happened. About two-thirds through the movie I got up and switched the television off. I turned to the “guidance counselor” and said, “You think I’m that nut job Hoffman.” I was really pissed! I exclaimed, “Jesus Christ! I’d never get mad and throw a fit if I couldn’t watch something as stupid as Judge Wopner? Fuck!” I said, “I don’t even know who Judge Wopner is!” The guidance counselor got scared. She called in one of the administrators who called the school security policeman. I got sent home and Aunt Katherine had to come to school. Even crazier, they got some social worker to come in too. They all sat inside and talked about me while I sat outside in the hallway. Eventually they let me in. I was given a warning. The administrator explained they had a special school where they sent disruptive children. If I didn’t straighten up and fly right, I’d be expelled from Lake Pamunkey and get sent there. I thought back to before when I was at that other place. I knew I was probably screwed, but I asked them one thing. I asked if there wasn’t some test. I said I meant an English test or something that might show just how far behind I was. The social worker, Aunt Katherine, the guidance counselor, and the administrator all looked at me like I was from Mars. To my surprise it was the school security guard who spoke up. He said I’d never been a problem, and he didn’t see any harm in finding out how far behind I was. I swear to God they all sat there and argued about me having to take some stupid test like it was one of the labors of Hercules. See, I’d been reading my mythology. I got it; nobody wanted to take the time to give it to me. Finally, they did agree. I got sent to school board headquarters where some Psychologist sat with me while I read and answered a lot of bullshit questions. The Psychologist was rude and ignorant, but at least she scored the test while I was there. She didn’t tell me anything, but she didn’t have to, I knew I’d done pretty well. What all the assholes didn’t know, and I hadn’t told them was that Mrs. Grummond had seen how I was behind and she’d started working with me. When the results came back, I was still behind, but only behind for my age. I was reading and functioning as well as any tenth grader. One thing I was absolutely glad of. All that spring and summer when Mrs. Grummond had been working with me, I never told anyone about the help I’d been getting. The sisters knew, but no one else. It occurred to me, if anyone else knew they would have prevented me from going to Mrs. Grummond’s. I’d already learned when people make up their minds about someone or something they hardly ever change. I got reinstated. No one asked me to watch anymore stupid movies, but they still kept me in the slowest English classes. I didn’t care. Thanks to Mrs. Grummond I had a library card! I could read whatever I wanted. I’d watched “Lonesome Dove” on the television so I got that book out of the library. Pretty soon I was hooked on Larry McMurtry. I’d sneak something he wrote in and read it while I sat in my “dummy” English class, ‘How’s that for a stupid moron?’