An Imperfect Story
When I was in fifth grade, each person in our class had to read a chapter from James and the Giant Peach. Every day, we would get through a couple of chapters, going in alphabetical order by last name. A – G. I was safe. I had at least another week. G – K . It’s coming. Maybe I have another couple of days. Finishing K. Beginning L. How many L’s are before Luckman? Am I going today? But I can’t do this. If I can count down and know for certain I will go tomorrow, then I will “be sick” tomorrow. Middle of L. I am next. We are almost to the end of class and the person before me still has a few pages to go. She reads faster. Time ticks slowly. How many pages can the chapter be? Please let it be a long chapter. “Courtney Luckman,” the teacher calls. I sit on the bar stool and begin reading. There is immediate laughter, most of which the students attempt to stifle. But I hear everything. My vision becomes blurred as tears form in my eyes. I still can’t remember wha