Carried To Play

In my fifth grade class there was a boy that combined a most vivid imagination with an encyclopedic knowledge of speedboats. He would squat in his chair, hands up at the steering wheel, providing the sound effects for his cruise through the bay of his mind.

Our teacher would call him back to chalkboard words, calling his name, but never telling him to stop. She would ask him to please bring his boat in and park it at the dock. The rest of us would listen as he revved his motor, slowed down as he approached the classroom coast, and reversed perfectly into his spot before shutting off the ignition. Now he was back with us, and ready to learn.

First Marriage

My first husband was a black Great Dane named Alex. The ceremony took place on the porch of my grandmother’s house, with my sister wearing a gypsy skirt and pretending to be a mother appalled by her daughter’s choice to marry a dog. I wore my aunt’s communion dress; he went nude. Once everything was official and my “mother” had gotten over the shock, instead of carrying me over the threshold, Alex let me ride on his back across the yard.