Saturday, March 6, 2010

I am not a good person 1

When I was in fifth grade, there was one time at the end of recess, when I was walking back to class from the playground, and I heard someone call out. I turned and saw another kid with a lot of freckles and brown hair cut into a mullet. I couldn't tell if she was a girl or a boy, but I later found out from our yearbook that she was a girl, and she was my age.

She called out and said, "Can you help me?" because somehow she had ended up tangled in one of the climbing nets. It was patient and it was a plea. She couldn't figure out how to get out. She was a "special education" kid, and I was scared. Her hands were dirty. Will she be clingy?

"Sorry," I said, after five agonizing seconds, "I have to go."
Then I walked away.

No comments:

Post a Comment