The nuns ruled us with rosary beads and yardsticks. Girls lined up on the right, boys on the left, facing forward at the school entrance every morning. That day, Janie leaned forward and whispered into my ear. “Randy Palma killed himself last night.” I sputtered. Sister Teresa’s head whipped around. She gritted her teeth. “Children!” As soon as Sister Teresa looked away, I leaned forward and whispered into Debbie’s ear. “Randy Palma killed himself.” By the time the bell rang, everyone knew, but we still weren’t sure until we saw the janitor drag Randy Palma’s desk out of our classroom.
Rita Riebel Mitchell writes in the Pinelands of South Jersey, where she lives with her husband. Meet her at ritariebelmitchell.com/friday-micro or on Bluesky @rrmitchell.bsky.social.