First Day of School

I did my homework one day a year — the first day of school. The fresh binder, the not yet dog-eared manila dividers with the colored plastic tabs, the empty loose-leaf, papers crackling as I turned them … all beckoned. And I promised myself I’d continue every night.

But the next night, I no longer put my uniform jumper and shirt over a chair, lying in wait for the morning. I left them in the closet from where I’d pull them out in the morning rush.

Yesterday’s vow was a hoax. By the time we were up to chapter two in math, knew that Shaul was anointed king, and had our second spelling test, the allure of school had vanished.

Rather than pulling out my hole puncher, I jammed holes in the stencils with the ring of the binder. The weather was turning muggy and the sunlight receded. Oh, and my tights had a hole so I couldn’t stand wearing them. Especially not with my shoes, which already sported a deep crease up front.