Freedom Stick

Second grade. Our teacher, Mrs. McBee had a baby over Christmas, so had a new teacher, Mr. Grater. Mrs. McBee (or as she sometimes allowed us to call her, "Carmen") was very pretty and she brought candy to class every Friday.

On his first day, Mr. Grater sat at his desk while we filed into our seats. He was a large man, with a long black beard. I don't mean a happy, dwarf beard, but a gnarly, scraggled beard that covered three-quarters of his face. His cold black eyes were the only part of him that moved, darting back and forth from the foilage of his facial hair.

After the morning announcements were done, he stood along with us for the pledge. The class was so stunned by his size, we couldn't concentrate on the flag while we gave our allegiance to it. We could only stare at his 6 foot eight frame, his great gut, and arms like steel girders. His legs were lanky, though, like two frail slilts holding up a stone temple.

We were reduced to recting the pledge in halfhearted mumbles, rendered speechless by the sight of this man who would hold dominion over us for the next six months.

At the end of the thing he walked the aisles, taking attendace. His voice sounded like gravel kicking up under a truck on a back road, harsh and gurgled. When the bok of our names was put away, with our mouths trembling under this man's harsh gaze, he produced a thin wooden board. So thin, it was almost floppy. Written on it were the words "Freedom Stick."

"Children," he began, using the only name he ever calle dus, "This is our freedom stick. We are all happy the freedom stick is here, because it means we are all free. Free to study in peace and quiet. Free to learn about the great, wide world outside these doors. Free to always feel safe from other classmates' teasing and ridicule."

What was said next, I cannot remember. I heard the softest of whispers behind me, and in a flash Grater was on top of me. I heard the Freedom Stick crack past my ear like a bullet, then the air was filled with Derrick Cobb's screams. I turned and saw him clutching a warped hand, and that horrible sound still fills my ears. The sound of flimsy pine whacking against human flesh and bone, the swift, violent pounding of terrible, tiny thundercracks.

"No talking," Grater said in a low voice. "Now go see the nurse."

to be continued....