Collection 5: "The First Day of School" by R.V. Cassill

She nodded a heavy, emphatic affirmation that now the clock was boss.

She nodded a heavy, emphatic affirmation that now the clock was boss.

She must have slept all right—and for this John felt both envy and a faint resentment.

And still, John thought, its lamenting, repeated call must mean something.

A volley of automobile horns broke around it as if they meant to drown it out.

Someone had come stealthily to the house to bring his parents word about the National Guard.

As her experienced fingers examined the shoulder of Audrey’s dress they lingered a moment in an involuntary, sheltering caress.

She was standing beside him, serene and prim when their mother came out on the porch again.

She was standing beside him, serene and prim when their mother came out on the porch again.

He was already turning to face the shadowless street, but he heard the unmistakable poised amusement of her voice when she said, “Ma, don’t you know we’re a little too old for that?”

As they turned to the right, facing the sun, they heard the chattering of a tank’s tread on the pavement by the school.

There were horns again and a crescendo of boos.