Using Colors - Emma Clairie (pocket ebook reader .txt) 📗

SEVEN TIMES SEVEN

BAM!

Too late! Ellie got smacked. I blew my whistle. “Tanner!

“Yes Miss Sanborn?” innocence dripping from Tanner’s voice.

“You’ve been warned. One more and you’re out of the game.”

It was my first year teaching elementary physical education. All my classes were going well except for two fifth graders: Ellie and Tanner.

Sweet Ellie was a special needs child. Ellie had the reading level of a first grader. In PE, she always did her best with a great big smile. For a ten year old, she was a good size girl; around five foot six and weighed one-eighty pounds.

If Ellie was a north magnet then Tanner was the south. A short and scrawny boy, I scolded him several times every class time for tormenting Ellie. A teacher can only see so much and the minute my back was turned, he’d be saying hurtful things or pinching her. I always made sure they were on opposite teams, thinking this would ease the tension.

We were playing a game called Psycho Ball. It was a wild, fast game with two-dozen yellow three inch soft rubber balls. They were flying all over the gym. The team players aimed to hit their opponents, tagging them out of the game. If Tanner got a ball, Ellie would be his target. Ellie got hit hard a few times. She’d say something to herself but go on with the game. It didn’t take long before one of the soft yellow spheres smacked her in the face.

“Ellie, are you all right?” I turned my attention to her.

“I’m ok. Miss San Born.” Ellie always said my name as if it were two names. “I want to play some more.” Ellis was smiling like nothing had happened. The spot on her cheek was cherry red.

“Are you sure? That hit you pretty hard.”

“I need to get seven times seven on Tanner.”

“Seven times seven?”

“That’s what my mom says I have to do.”

I had no idea what Ellie was talking about, and since she wanted to join the game, I let her continue.

Two seconds later, BAM! Ellis got hit hard. I got my whistle ready, but I didn’t need it. What she did next brought the whole class to a standstill. Ellie lumbered over to Tanner, pushed him down. Then she sat on him!

It shocked all of us.

“Ellie,” I hurried over to her and helped her up. Poor Tanner looked like yesterday’s pancake. I knew I needed to address this right away.

“Class, please pick up the all the nerf balls, then line up. Now!”

I focused on the two.

“Now what is going on here? I want an explanation, Ellie.”

“Miss San Born, I did it. Seven times seven. I don’t like Tanner calling me names or pinching me. Mom says to forgive seven times seven. That’s 49 times, Miss San Born. Tanner did bad things 49 times. “

“So you’re telling me you’ve been counting to 49, so you could sit on Tanner?”

“Yes, Miss San Born. I want Tanner to stop.”

I looked at Tanner. I don’t believe anyone had ever sat on him before, especially a girl.

“Well, Tanner, will we have anymore trouble out of you?”

“No Miss Sanborn.”

“Ellie, Tanner says he’s stopping. So, no more sitting on him, ok?”

“O.K. Miss San Born,” Ellie was smiling.

I released the kids to their next class. It was later that evening before I figured out Ellie’s seven times seven. She had simplified, with her sweet simple mind, the Bible verse ‘seventy times seven’.

For some reason, I didn’t feel the need to tell her any different.


AT THE STATION

We pulled into the parking lot at the train station. The early morning darkness was accompanied by fog. A lonely street lamp did its best to radiate light beyond its shiny orb, to burst through the dense vapor. The train station windows glowed warmly but did little to help luminate the dark.

“We’re a little early, June Ann,” Dad said as he rolled down the window a crack. “Let’s wait in the truck.” He shook out a cigarette from the package of Marlboros. I heard the soft scratch of the match. The tiny fire eagerly lit the paper and tobacco. The end of the cigarette glowed bright orange as he sucked in the fumes. Smoke curled out the truck window.

I worried about my dad. Would he get sick, get lung cancer from smoking? Headed back to college after Christmas break, I worried about things like that. What if I never see him again? There were things I wanted to say. Things I wanted to hear from him. I didn’t know how to start as Dad wasn’t the easiest person to talk to, especially the sentimental stuff.

I watched as he took another drag, the end glowing fiercely. The orange radiance faintly outlined my dad’s weathered face. Farming year after year baked in permanent wrinkles.

What should I say? Should I thank him for giving me this chancel? I knew the cost was great, but he never said anything. I felt so thrilled to be learning how to be a teacher. It was like food that nourished my soul. Teaching young children someday was a dream I acquired many years ago. I wondered what had been his dream when he was 19? Did Dad what to farm all of his life? What if he didn’t? Did I really want to know that maybe he didn’t?

The truck’s interior glowed dimly again while dad took another drag,

There were times I wished he would just talk to me like an adult. I pictured us chatting about the pros and cons of the political issues, about farm bills, stuff that was important in his world. Then we’d switch gears and talk about what matter to me.

The last puff of the cigarette and then was snubbed out.

“Hoot hoot” blasted the whistle of the train pulling into the station. The fog tried to contain the train, but the huge steaming machine punched through, hissing and screeching to a stop. Wishing I could punch through my fears, I knew opportunity was laughing at me. Time had run out. He turned to look at me. Did he sense my thoughts? I watched as he opened his door.

“Time to go, Honey,”

I got out of the truck. Closed the door. Dad got my suitcase out of the truck bed. Not a word was exchanged as we walked to the platform. He set the case down and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his coat.

“Here’s your ticket,” Dad handed it to me. Surprised by the warmth of his fingers, I nearly dropped the ticket. I didn’t feel well. I wanted to stay home, and be with him, Mom, my siblings. Bile churned and began moving up my throat.

“All Aboard to Wichita.” A loud, brassy voice called. “All aboard.”

I swallowed hard, keeping tears at bay. “Goodbye, Daddy.”

“Goodbye June Ann. Make good grades. Your mom is so proud of you.”

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you proud of me?” Afraid of the answer I looked at the train as it hissed again.

There was a pause. I looked back at Dad and saw tears in his eyes. I threw myself into his arms. That firm hug was all the talk I needed. I kissed his cheek.

“Thanks, Daddy,” He handed my suitcase to me and waved as I boarded the train.


FARM AUCTION

Sarah listened to the crunch crunch crunch of each step as she walked in the frosted grass. The dark morning seemed to amplify the boisterous noise. The sun wasn’t up yet, and the black silhouettes of the trees against the horizon made a pretty picture, one she often wished she could capture by painting or even a photograph. She did neither for these scenes were all ready captured in a safe place, in her mind, forever.

The quietneigh sound came from Jim Bob, her aged gelding, as he greeted her at the gate. He knew breakfast was coming. Sue, the shyer one, stood beside him and nodded her head up and down.

“Morning, “ Sarah softly greeted the horses. It seemed rude to talk loudly. She figured they enjoyed the quiet as much as she did. Tossing the contents of the buckets into the trough, she stood back and watched as they jockey around to their spot and began munching on the sweet grain.

Finally she forced her mind to think about the up coming event for the day and just like that, it ruined the morning. It was the day of the farm auction. She felt the familiar tightening to her lips and stiffening shoulders. All those horrid feelings about her husband came rushing into her mind. All summed up in one word: death.

Dan’s heart attack was unexpected; his death even more so. The emptiness wouldn’t go away even after a year. The children worried about her. What about Mom and the farm? What should ‘we’ do about the farm? You’re not as young as you used to be, Mom They couldn’t let her run the farm. And they were always bringing up the ‘what if’s’…

‘What if’s’. Too many of them. Sarah knew she could do it, farm. And she wanted to. How many years has she been a part of this farm as a partner, wife, and mother?

However, the children did have valid points. And the thought of working the fields, baling the hay, cutting the crops without Dan made her tremendously sad.

“Dan, how can I let go of this part of our lives? It’s hard to imagine strangers and neighbors come here today and take our things away. All our farm equipment that we used to make this farm.”

She wandered through the rows and rows of equipment lined up so neat and tidy. The last shred of night shrouded the items, all sizes and shapes of black silhouettes in the field. Every tractor, combine, wagon, all of them told a story, a chapter in their lives, and beginning, middle and, well, now an ending to their life.

Am I doing the right thing? Sarah looked up at the heavenly blue. The stars were fading, their bright twinkle not so bright.

“Dan, I miss you so much. I can’t make these tough decisions by myself. It’s too hard. Am I doing the right thing?” She asked out-loud, uncontrollable tears falling.

A mere