All By Myself

Long before the yellow school bus became a common sight, my adventurous, five year old spirit said, "I know the way home. I can walk home by myself." From my first day in kindergarten and throughout the winter, I walked to and from school everyday with my older sister Marilyn, but that was about to change.

As I'd been taught, I waited for the green light at the corner of Main and Mather Streets and looked both ways before crossing. With the sun in my face, I skipped merrily along the wrought iron fence that separated the sidewalk from the grave yard. At the corner of Mather and Center Streets, I stopped once again to look both ways before crossing. On one side of the street, sun-beams spotlighted two and three-family houses surrounded by orange, pink and yellow flowers. On the other side, the rusty brick Sym Street City Jail lurked tall in the shade. The excitement of seeing Porky, the policemen who stopped traffic on Albany Avenue, urged me to run towards his open arms. "Where's your sister," he asked as we danced in circles. Bubbling with joy and confidence, I replied, "I don't know, but I know my way home." At this point of my journey, Edward Street would have been a shorter walk, but today was special. I wanted the butchers at Bazzono's meat market, and the candy man Mr. Polite, and Jack the pizza man and everyone else to see how grown-up I was. So with a half-moon smile I proudly strutted down Albany Avenue to William Street. Suddenly neighbors began calling from their windows, "Your sister's looking for you." They seemed worried. Finally, Walnut Street, but as I skipped toward the six-family house where I lived, I saw Marilyn huddling our mother and crying. My adventurous spirit didn't tell me I should have told her I was going home by myself. Although sorry for upsetting my sister, I beamed with pride for the remainder of the day; I knew my way home from school just like the big kids.