“If relative to the history of our planet, an individual life is short, a blink of an eye, as they say, then to be gorgeous, even from the day you’re born to the day you die, is to be gorgeous only briefly … To be gorgeous, you must first be seen …” from On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong
I see Mrs. McLeod
Sitting on the edge of her desk at the front of the class
One leg across the other at the knee
Her slim skirt well onto the calf of her legs
(Still, what teacher does that in 1960 … in our little Southern town?)
Her hair was swept back at each side
Held with combs
A style from the 1940s, I think
(like Lana Turner, but older, is what comes to me now)
One hand on the desk braced her, as she leaned slightly back
The first finger of her other hand, pointed on her chin as she thought
(Did anyone else see what I saw? I didn’t know. I didn’t ask. Unshared thoughts were familiar to me.)
But Mrs. McLeod knew things.
That I could tell. That I knew.
(One thing she knew was to have us use the Harbrace Handbook in our senior English class. We copied the Harbrace rules we broke when we wrote for her, and then rewrote to fix our mistakes. Mrs. McLeod saved me from getting F’s in freshman college English essays. A comma splice equaled an F in Ben Smith’s class, and all the other freshman English classes, too, no matter how outstanding the rest of the writing might be. While others started out with F’s … the sin of the comma splice! I proudly never did, thanks to Mrs. McLeod and the Harbrace Handbook.)
But in Mrs. McLeod’s English class, as I sat sideways in my desk chair, several rows back
On the right side of the room
I watched Mrs. McLeod, and listened
I had the feeling of a racing in my chest
She knew things
About life
I could tell,
(Sometimes she liked to shock us with them)
And I, a quiet and often sad high school senior,
I wanted to know, too.
Today while reading On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous
I dozed
Awakening, I saw Mrs.McLeod, legs crossed
Finger on her chin
As she sat in my life 60 years ago
And I had to get up to write
Immediately
The same pull in my chest propelling me
Forward
Is that what you knew, Mrs. McLeod,
That I wanted to know back then?
Keep looking
Inward
And when you feel the racing in your chest
(even beyond the comma splice)
Follow it
The knowing you could find
Is your own.
This is dedicated to the GHS Class of ’61 with whom I graduated from high school 60 years ago this year. We were there together in those halls, in those classes, all 375 of us, some of us wondering who we were and not even knowing how to ask. I see you now, whether you are living or gone from this earth, and I celebrate you being gorgeous, being there with me. Amen
Andy Horne
You describe her exactly as I remember her, and I reflect on her presence, her being, more each year. She was a powerful influence on the lives of all who watched and lost. Thanks for sharing.
Dale Midgette Smith
Oh, thank you, Andy! You were there, too! It is fascinating to be more and more aware of that long ago and still powerful influence, isn’t it?
Diane
❤️ ♥️ ❤️
Dale Midgette Smith
Thank you, Diane. 🙂
Karen Turner
Such beautiful reflecting and writing.
Xxx
Dale Midgette Smith
Thank you, Karen. I do appreciate you and your comment on this post. XXX
Marilyn
Dale…
You captured her so well. She was a force…we all watched her, wondered about her, tried to fathom what she was thinking, knowing. Thank you for bringing all that back so vividly.
And yes, she did indeed help me with Freshman English in college. My first essay, as a matter of fact, was a profile of her as my “most influential” high school teacher. I made an A.
Your writing is so expressive. Thank you for that, too.