August is a month of rising tension. I can't remember a time when it was not. Each of the 31 days feels like another twist of the tuner. It's only the 17th and already I'm tight against the frets. Taut. The finger of summer is pressing down.
It's time. I chase down flyers. Back-to-school sales. I want to buy Hilroy scribblers. I want new shoes. New jeans. HB pencils. Prune plums for my lunch.
This morning I woke up in a panic. I was late. I could hear the school bus coming. The rising roar as it crested the hill and sped towards the farm.
Even now, after more than 25 years, I can see the bus driver's face so clearly I could draw him, one hand on the wheel, the other opening the door. I can hear the radio. The static. It's tuned to CHAB.
I'll sit close to the front. Next to the window. I know down the road I'll hear Chickenman. I'm waiting.
2 comments:
Please no! It's summer!
I fell in love with school supplies all over again as my kids started new school years. It had to be new stuff, at least some of it.
In Herbert years ago, we came to school at night for the Christmas concert and found shiny new Phonics books on our desks.
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