Chapter 1

This is the first chapter of my never ending short story "Index Out Front". I'll post additional chapters every couple of weeks. - Lyle



I noticed her the first day of class but it wasn’t so much because of her beauty as it was the way she walked. I’m used to young ladies and the way they present themselves; some barge down the hallways like the town sheriff, as if to convince you they are the toughest, meanest, most beautiful, delightful object on the planet while others crawl their way along in an effort to remain unseen. Most of them just flitter along with a fake joyous presence which, as far as I’m concerned, makes them the most invisible because it’s so “normal”.

She was different. She walked down the hall and into the classroom with the grace of a ballroom dancer. There was no pretense in her stride but when she sat down in the first row and glanced at me I felt like the conductor of her symphony had just poked me in the eye with his baton.

The boys bumbled in – you might as well have sent the orchestra home (except for the percussion section) but a boom here and a clang there got the whole mess seated.

English Composition is a required class for good reason – if it wasn’t people like me wouldn’t have a job. I love my job. I love teaching writing. I love writing. I would rather spend a day searching for the “correct phrase” than a week on a sun-drenched beach. My mission here is to teach writing - nobody said it would be easy. I’ve always given out my toughest assignment on the first day of class. “Catch ‘em off guard and see what they can do.” has been my adage. The best one I’ve come up with is the ol’ “Three to five pages on a minority. Explain why they are wronged, why they should be righted and if you choose and ethnic or racial group you will get an “F” on the paper. End of class, see you next time, papers are due at the beginning of the class – no exceptions, no excuses – period.”

I’m accustomed to a classroom of blank faces at this point and this semester didn’t fail me, except for her. She managed a silent fit of laughter and a face which expressed pure joy. I couldn’t wait to read what she wrote.

A few years of teaching will convince you there are only about so many kinds of people out there - only so many moulds from which they are cast. You get the same papers back every year – pathetic things really. You might think that they are plagiarisms except they are so bad that to admit it would be more devastating. Her paper was different - I knew it would be. She chose the minority of people who go barefoot and suffer the injustice of “No Shoes, No Shirt, No Service.” Her words didn’t flow across the page like water – it was more like gravel under a spinning tire with an occasional slash of a razor blade in the direction of the reader. She had a point – how many times have you washed the bottoms of your shoes? I loved it.
She missed the next class. I was disappointed and I’m afraid I took it out on the other students. By the time I was done they probably thought I was a lunatic because of the way I berated them about being such an incorrigible lot.