Looking through bandages, Emma tried to focus on her surroundings. Everything was so different, strange to her! “Where am I?” she muttered. Hearing voices, Emma heard someone asking, “Where do you suppose she came from?” the voice was asking. Emma, listened as the voices faded away with each step she could hear.

Trying to focus, Emma saw that her arms and legs were scraped and bruised. “What happened to me?” she wondered. Trying to recall, Emma immediately had an image of the wild and raging river she had intended to raft on…”wait, I do remember rafting”! Emma moaned.

“I was in the raft and…and the river was angry. Nothing could have prepared me for the powerful force beneath that raft! Terror filled Emma’s very soul as she started to recall the events which had left her alone, frightened and hurt!

Events, she wished she could not recall but, they were real as she continued to remember with more clarity than before. ‘It was that second run!” The one known for extreme currents and whirlpools”! Emma grasped the covers as her mind recalled the next scene. ” I was doing okay until, the rock! Oh my God! Where did it come from”? Emma shivered, as she recalled the sight of the protruding rock and the water which was driving her on,… closer to the monster which now was approaching quickly! Struggling and fighting the currents, Emma recalled how the water was overtaking her raft and the fiercness of its pull! It seemed as though she struggled for hours as her strength diminished. The day turned into night and Emma felt the sting of the rock when her head hit the sharp edges. “OH!” Emma cried out from her bed. “How long was I out there? Who found me? How did I get here”?

The door to her hospital room opened and in stepped a young man who looked to be about her own age. Looking through the bandages, Emma saw that he was a kind looking fellow with a smile on his face. “Hi, Emma, my name is Ben and I just came by to make sure you were recovering from Devil’s rock.” You took quite a beating from the water bashing you into that rock”! Ben was shaking his head as he continued.” I saw you struggling to keep away from the rock but, the water was just too strong. I jumped in and tried to pull you to me but, I too was swept into the rocks. Once near you, I pushed you on top of the rocks so that the water could not wash you downstream”! Do you remember this”? asked Ben. Emma shook her head no.

“Thank you, Ben, I suppose you saved my life and I am very grateful to you.” Emma said with sincerity. Ben simply smiled back and laughed,” we were lucky as the devil must have been sleeping when we both met up with Devil rock.”

Three months later, Emma and Ben were back on that river and both very much in love!

The devil must have been sleeping when I came in from a night of drinking. I crept up the stairs, careful not to make any noise, fearing to wake the beast. I sneaked between the sheets and enjoyed my drunken stupor as I slipped off to sleep.

Suddenly, a Hell broke loose. I found myself on the floor, the morning sun glaring in my face and the screaming Banshee was standing over me, cursing and jabbing her finger back toward the bed. I painfull rose up on one elbow and looked to see what was the matter. All I had time to think was, “Where do you suppose she came from?” before the day turned to night.

The wild and raging party the night before must have really been something. I don’t recall any of it, but it’s okay because nothing could have prepared me for how pretty those Pearly Gates are.

Question: Can you do a story that would include these phrases??

Answer: Sorry, no.

xD

I looked up from the assignment just as old Miss Beezer, who was sitting at her desk, leaned over and yakked into her waste basket. The can was empty before the Beeze-Geezer made her deposit with it’s own tinny drum-roll-like accompaniment. She sat up, …then leaned over and did it again. It was clear, looking at her ashen face, that, even for an old woman, Miss Beezer was NOT well. That was the last time any of us saw Eleanor Ruth Beezer. Her obituary said she died three weeks later of pancreatic cancer. Poor Miss Beezer. I was sorry I ever said anything about or did anything mean to her… real sorry …for a lot of things, including …Viola MacGillicutty.

ESPECIALLY, Miss Viola MacGillicutty! Nothing could have prepared me for the beefy, black robed, jack booted presence of the menacing Miss MacGillicutty. If Miss Beezer was soft-spoken, Misery Viola MacGillicutty was shrill. If Miss Beezer was prim, Misery Violent MacGillicutty was grim. If Miss Beezer was easy, Misery Violent Mac-Kill-and-Cut -Me was a hardnosed harda$$! But, please, please, PUH-LEEEEEZE don’t ever tell her I said so!

From the very moment my eyes first laid on her, I knew English class in the 7th grade was going to be a WHOLE LOT different. If I didn’t involuntarily shiver then, I know I felt an eerie foreboding when she slammed a ruler on her desk just after the starting bell rang and she shrieked, “CLASS HAS BEGUN! WE WILL START WITH THE ROLL.!!”

You never saw a room full of 7th graders come to full attention, …both feet on the floor, …sitting erect, …facing straight ahead, …and hands folded on desktops faster than in that instant. For Ronnie Adler, day turned into night when Miss MacGillicutty called his name and he fainted. I don’t know how she found the guts, but Mary Jane Alderson daringly tried to cover for Ronnie by explaining she thought she had heard him say, “Here”, just before his head hit his desk, to which a barely revived Ronnie responded weakly, “H-here” as he rubbed the knot on his forehead.

As the roll call continued, the sense of dread in me grew with each passing name. Clarence Stimson, who sat across from me on the back row, timed a quick whisper out of the corner of his clenched mouth while staring intently at Miss MacGillicutty, “Where do you suppose she came from?”

I waited for my chance to respond and summoned enough stupidity to attempt the same watchful whisper, “I think the devil must have been sleeping and she got away.”

Clarence and I felt the wild and raging wrath of Miss MacGillicutty instantly! “CLARENCE! WALTER!!”, snarled the beast as we were inexplicably forced to an immediate standing-at-attention. We daren’t look at each other, but I know Clarence was wondering just as I was how she could possibly have known our names before she had called them from the roll. “YOU WILL SEE ME AFTER CLASS WHERE I WILL TELL YOU, PERSONNALLY, FROM WHENCE I CAME …AFTER I INTRODUCE YOU TO MR. SWACKBOTTOM.” The entire class, collectively, Clarence and I included, stopped breathing and gulped as she withdrew a two inch thick oaken paddle that was four-fingers wide and four feet long counting a two foot baseball bat grip at one end that was wrapped with black friction tape for all to obvious reasons. The paddle face was peppered with holes the size of quarters!

That was absolutely the LONGEST English class of my life. I don’t think I heard another word Miss MacGillicutty said after, “…MR. SWACKBOTTOM!” I just remember staring at the horrible instrument of terror and contemplating the pattern of welts it was sure to leave figuring Clarence was going to have the worst of it because his butt was about twice as big as mine.

When the ending bell rang, all the other students cleared the classroom as furiously as a floor full of cockroaches in a darkened hotel bathroom in Guatemala when the light is turned on. (Don’t ask me how I know this – that’s a story for another day.) Clarence and I delayed the inevitable as long as possible by remaining stiffly in our seats, frozen with mounting apprehension; the tiny beads of sweat forming on our brows rolled down the reddening cheeks of …our faces.

“CLARENCE! WALTER!!”, BOOMED Miss MacGillicutty. “IT IS TIME FOR YOU TO MEET …MR. SWACKBOTTOM!!!” For emphasis, Miss MacGillicutty assumed this netherworldly, guttural tone when speaking the name, “…MR. SWACKBOTTOM!”

Clarence and I slowly rose from our seats and paused to look at each other as if for the last time. Our delay prompted an irate, “NOW!!”, from Miss MacGillicutty. We hurriedly obeyed the remainder of the distance to her desk.

When we reached Miss MacGillicutty, she lifted MR. SWACKBOTTOM from the paddle end and offered the baseball handled grip to Clarence. “MR. STIMSON, YOU WILL FEEL THE QUALITY OF THE PREMIUM STRAIT GRAINED FRENCH OAK USED IN HANDCRAFTING MR. SWACKBOTTOM.” Clarence rubbed his hand tentatively across the entire face of the paddle frequently glancing at Miss MacGillicutty as he did so.

“MR. WILSON!” At the punch of my name, Clarence spontaneously handed me MR. SWACKBOTTOM. “YOU WILL FEEL THE FINE BALANCE AND SURE GRIP OF MR. SWACKBOTTOM!” I waggled MR. SWACKBOTTOM lightly as I grinned nervously at Miss MacGillicutty.

“NOW!!”, bellowed Miss MacGillicutty as I flinched and flipped the handle of MR. SWACKBOTTOM, on cue, out of my hand and 180 degrees into the waiting hand of Miss MacGillicutty. “I AM …NOT… FROM HADES. I AM FROM …HATTIESBURG, …MISSISSIPPI. YOU WILL BOTH TURN AROUND …AND ASSUME THE POSITION!”

Dutifully (and ruefully) Clarence and I nervously turned our backs to Miss MacGillicutty and bent over to fully expose our targets.

“WHAM!!!!”

Miss MacGillicutty emphatically slammed …the desk drawer she had apparently opened while Clarence and I were “assuming our positions.” Clarence and I just stared at each other blankly.

“You may go now, boys. Please pay attention in class from now on.”, someone said behind us, politely. We turned to face only Miss MacGillicutty who was busy correcting papers …or something… while we simply stood wondering who the angel was that had released us and bid us our leave. Miss MacGillicutty refocused our attention with a slight wave of her hand towards the classroom door and the faintest hint of a grin on her face.

I learned more from Miss MacGillicutty in the eight months she taught my 7th grade English class than in any other English class before or since. In that short time, she instilled in me a love of good literature, of writing, of words and their power to influence our lives. Today, I teach 7th grade English …with similar help from MR. SWACKBOTTOM.

I think I’ll call Miss MacGillicutty, tonite, and thank her again.