I said, “School?” He said, “Sure. School. What did you think it was?” “Oh. No, I don’t go to school here.”
“Do you go to Jefferson?” “No. I don’t go there either.” “Don’t you go to school at all?” “Sure I go to school.”
“Where?” “At home.” “You go to school at home?” I nodded. “What grade are you in?”
I said I wasn’t in any grade. Puzzled, he said, “You go to school at home, and don’t know what grade you’re in. Who teaches you?”
“My mother.” “What does she teach you?” I said, “Reading, writing, and arithmetic, and I bet I’m just as good at it as you are.”
He asked, “Don’t you have any shoes?” I said, “Sure, I have shoes.” “Why aren’t you wearing them?” “I don’t wear shoes until it gets cold.”
He laughed and asked where I lived. I said, “Back in the hills.” He said, “Oh, you’re a hillbilly.”
He ran back to the mob. I saw him pointing at me and talking to several boys. They started my way, yelling, “Hillbilly, hillbilly.”
Just before they reached me, a bell started ringing.
Turning, they ran to the front of the building, lined up in two long lines, and marching like little tin soldiers disappeared inside the school.
The playground was silent. I was all alone, and felt lonely and sad.
I heard a noise on my right. I didn’t have to turn around to recognize what it was.
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