Zella had old parents, thick glasses and a heart condition, which killed her in fourth or fifth grade.
Zella missed a lot of school to spend time in the hospital. When she’d come back, the teacher always assigned me to help her with her school work. When we had square-dancing, the teacher had me dance with Zella because I was never mean to her, although I feared if I was too nice she’d want to marry me.
In high school, Zella’s sister went crazy and talked to dead Zella until they locked her up in the mental hospital.
Every now and then I think of Zella for no reason.
hm. now i will too.
yes. me too.
I never had a Zella, but my mother used to make me play with all the little kids that no one else would play with – the puffy pale kid with asthma, the girl with thick glasses and a thick speech impediment, the stick-thin kid who was pretty dim. By the time I was 8, I’d internalized it and picked these people as my friends without needing any encouragement.
What I wonder, sometimes, is how this has affected me now.
As for you, Miguel, it sounds like you must be nice. A good boy, in the best meaning of the phrase.