I munched on
six stale goldfish crackers from my jacket pocket,
and then ran to the
playground for a few minutes of free play.
“Gr-r-r-rowl,” roared my near empty stomach as I sat in class
fifteen
minutes later. I rolled my eyes at Alex for squinching up
his face when
he heard the starving sound. Then I stared at the
math paper lying in
the center of my desk— the paper I was
supposed to complete during the
first ten minutes of class.
Time was almost up and I’d finished only
three of the twenty
problems.
Simple arithmetic.
Add three rows of three numbers. The kind
of assignment I usually
completed as easily as I wrote my name.
But right now, hunger wouldn’t
let me stop thinking about the
hot oatmeal I left sitting on the kitchen
table this morning.
“You’re too late to eat,” Dad had told me.
Mom said it would be all right for me to eat the porridge in the
vehicle on the way to school. But Dad said he didn’t want me
spilling
all over the seat. That I should’ve been more punctual.
But, it wasn’t my fault sleepiness slowed down my teeth brushing
and
face washing time. Or that my dumb allergy made me spend
extra time
blowing my nose. And it wasn’t my fault I couldn’t find
the red shirt to
match my pants, or that once I remembered
putting the shirt in the
hamper a few days ago, I had to change
pants to match a different shirt.
Whatever… My get ready for school fiasco doesn’t matter any
more. Well,
except for the fact that because I came to school
hungry, my grumbling
stomach, that didn’t get to eat its oatmeal
has me thinking about food
instead of arithmetic.
“Denise. Do you hear me?” asked Mrs. Washington.
“Y-y-e-s, Ma’am,” I stuttered gazing up from my incomplete math
assignment.
“Please write problem sixteen on the board.”
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