Octo 18

  Mary

         Mary could not stop thinking about how Mr. Browning could have called her to stay after class. He comment her history report was inappropriate. She would never forget how the other students laughed and whispered outside the door as they listened.

         “Mary,” He handed her the five page paper with a red letter ‘F’ shining from the front page of a well typed page. “You were asked to write a paper on someone from history that made a difference in your life. You could have chosen from anyone who influences your actions, your attitude, or your will to prosper…”

         “I did” Mary interrupted. “You agreed that the grade was not dependent on the time in history, the country in which the person lived, or what their religion. You said that the only real rule was that this person’s attributes help you to become who we become. Am I not right?” Mary could feel anger rise in her heart. She could hear her own blood pulsing in her ears. “Why do I have an ‘F’?” She asks in nearly a screaming. She had never gotten under a ‘B’ in any lesson since preschool.

         “I ask for reports based on history.” He replied. He answered. “You could have written a report from a biography of a president, first lady, or famous business man. You could have chosen to create a presentation from internet research of a recent politician that have died.” He paused. He could see that Mary was standing with both fists clinched on the sides of the desk where she stood. “I would have even accepted a report on a entertainer that you admire. However, the only thing that I ask is that the report be factual. I will not make an exception.”

         The laughter from the hall is now become audible.  She had read her report to the class just less than ten minutes ago. The audience was only making Mary more irritated. She heard the whispering. The sound was rushing over her like a tornado over the landscape. The only other sound louder was that of her own angry heart beating. It felt as if she were filling up with the rage. She felt that she could explode any minute. “My report was on a real person in history that impacts everything that I am and every decision that I make?”

         “I do not entertain religion in any form, myself. I don’t except it in my assignments, or do I allow my students to rally others while in my class.”

         “Really?” Mary began. The lights in the classroom brightening and dimming as she spoke. She didn’t notice the temperature drop as she spoke. “Yes, King Solomon is recorded in my Bible. His story was one of my favorites that my mother would tell us at bedtime. The story of his wisdom keeps my path straight and my mind in the right direction. However, this report was not written just from the recordings in the Word of God,” Mary used that term to make her point, “I researched the king on the internet. I found resources that support that the wise kind lived. I discovered that there has been found scrolls that support the man. His scribes had recorded his prosperous rule for future generations.”

         Mr. Browning walked over to the door to shut it so that they could continue their conversation, but Mary being done with the argument hurriedly passed right by him. The others dispersed because there was nothing else to keep their attention.

         Mercy throws herself across the bed. She turns over on her back tears still running down her face not yet wetting her pillow. She stares toward the door. She angrily thought of the fact that she would not want to answer questions from Mercy or Matilda if they noticed that she was crying, but she did not want to get up and shut the door. Then she felt a jolt rise into her chest. Not realizing what she was doing, she pointed to the door. She felt an energy fly from her body, and then the door slammed by without anyone touching it. She was shocked.

She wondered if she was imaging this event. So she points to the lights, and with energy flew from her fingertips, the lights went off.

         Still tasting the tears from the night before, Mary wakes up. She points to the light, believing that what happened was a dream. However, she pointed, the light came on.