by Brit Herz

Created on: March 06, 2009

Kindegarten

"My dad said God's not real."

"He is too!" His six year old stature was unmoved by my determinacy of the truth. "He is too real, and you better watch your mouth or you'll get punished." I said as I looked up to the sky. Beings I was also only six as well, I wanted a little back up, a little help down here please.

"Oh yeah, what's He gonna do huh? Nothing that's what."

I was never a violent child, I didn't put mice in garbage disposals like some kids. I never had violent temper tantrums. Never chased my mom around the house with a butcher's knife, usually I was a pretty quiet good girl. However, in a moment of defiance I felt all the anger from years passed ball into my fists. Maybe just because he was disagreeing with me, maybe because he was proving me wrong.

I tensed my throat and made my own hair stand up on my neck with the sound of my scream. I charged my body onto him and threw him up against a tree. I don't remember us colliding or anything after that, all I remember is the smell of blood.

He didn't die; although, with the way everyone was acting you would have thought so. He had a concussion but made a full recovery and was out bothering other little girl in no time. Even with that it took my mother weeks to be able to sit next to me with out tensing.

That same year, my Kindegarten class got read to the story of Paul Bunyan and all his travels. Being the educated child I was, I had already heard the story and was the most familiar with Paul Bunyan going to Texas.

"So what did everyone think about Paul Bunyan?"

My peers all nodded, except me. I was totally transfixed on one particular girl that sat next to me. Beings my name was Herz and hers was Hess, I always was stuck next to her. Adorned in clothes that looked like they had been run over by a few dozen cars and always smelling like moth balls and peroxide. Her appearance and her hygiene isn't what were catching my attention. It was her glue stick. This girl always carried around one of those gel glue tubes that you roll onto paper. For some reason she would go on that thing like she hadn't experienced any bliss in her life until now. Squeezing as much glue out as possible the devour it; she actually made a loud swallowing sound. Her fingers and face were always covered in dry gel glue flakes and some was stuck in her hair.

While observing this girl I noticed that the rest of the class had moved on the conversation to talk about where everybody had come from or had been to. I knew I was a local,

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