I was tired that night anyway, and the Tylenol that Mom gave me got me to sleep quickly. But a couple hours later the pain woke me, and I remember mindlessly rustling in the bed. It was late and I didn’t want to go to sleep again, or stay awake, or go to the bathroom; so, my mind swam over that day’s events.
The morning started with watching Dad fill our backpacks with the right papers and lunch containers. As I recall, hot lunch that day was the dreaded cafeteria BBQ beef that my friends and I hated back then. While I ate my cereal and raspberries at the breakfast table, I mentally prepared for the school day. I was looking forward to seeing Tricia and finding out what her family gave her for her birthday the night before. She was pushing them for an American Girl doll like mine, but I recall kind of hoping that she didn’t get one because I liked being the only one in our circle of friends with a genuine American Girl. I also knew that I would tell Freddie that I thought he was a jerk for pushing me hard down the twisty slide – and then laughing about it. Oh yes, I definitely had planned to discuss this with him.
Mom drove me to school that day.
During the spelling test that morning, I was confused how to spell reliance because while practicing the night before I put a “y” in the middle. But I ended up getting it right, and I was anxious to show my 100% test sheet to Grandpa who had helped me practice. Later, in the afternoon, Gerald was such a showoff. He didn’t stop after reading aloud his designated section, and Ms. Fisher didn’t notice he continued reading onto the next page, which I was supposed to read. Ms. Fisher told me to just pick up where Gerald left off. Unfair, I thought. Even back then I loved to read aloud.
I still remember after school events: Tricia told us she got her American Girl doll; I told her I was happy for her. And I did confront Freddie. He said he was sorry, so, I told him I forgave him, but to not let it happen again.
At dinner that night, which Grandma called supper, I was not feeling very well, probably because Issac accidentally hit me in the mouth while putting on his coat by the lockers as we lined up to leave school. With homework done we watched Full House and laughed like crazy when Uncle Jesse and Uncle Joey sang a song they wrote for a cat food commercial. I recall laughing so hard I almost forgot about my tooth Issac knocked out.
I think I was sort of happy when they sent me to bed a little early.
At some point, hours later, I heard my bedroom door open. I probably thought it was mom or dad checking in on me and I think I planned on just playing possum. But then there was movement underneath my pillow. I squinched open one eye a tiny slit and I saw my dad remove my tooth and replace it with money. He left as stealthily as he had arrived, and in those few seconds I understood and knew everything.
I gained 50 cents that night, but I lost so much more. I was often the mouthpiece of the kids at school that believed it all because I knew for sure that somehow in the cosmos it was all possible. As my naive faith, dissolved that night, I remember how sad I was, but I didn’t cry. Not then.
I’m sure I never went back to sleep, but just as the sun was beginning its ascent I heard the alarm from my parent’s room, and I efficiently and robotically got dressed. Once downstairs I remember hearing the staccato of dad’s shower water as I prepared the breakfast I knew I wouldn’t eat.
“Hey peanut! You’re up early.”
“I saw you last night! It’s all a lie isn’t it? Everything is just you and mom, isn’t it. You hide the eggs! You guys buy the presents! You lied to us!” By now I was breathing in and sniveling. Dad rushed up, grabbed me from my chair, and held me tight like he did when I was little. My muffled sobs grew messy, his grip tightened, and I felt a tear from him on the back of my neck. He kept saying softly, haltingly, “it’s okay, honey. It’s okay.”
That was a long, long time ago. My husband’s voice brought me back to today: “Hey, honey, it’s getting late, you better hurry.” It was my turn.
I opened up our spare money drawer in the kitchen, clasped a dollar bill and headed up the stairs.
Doug Jorgensen lives 45 minutes from Green Bay, Wisconsin and spends his retirement writing stories about life. His six grandchildren spark his creativity as does his wife, who he met in college long ago, in a galaxy far, far away.
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