. I had a thing for my English teacher. I'd have all these fantasies about her. Her name was Mrs. Peters. I'd guess she must have been about 40 when I had her class. She was tall and thin, always well dressed, very severe, and had this big yardstick in her hand when she was teaching. The other kids hated her, but she had this way in class that no one ever messed with her. She was the only white teacher in the school the kids took seriously... 'cause she had this way ... I don't know how she did it ... but this way of always being in charge, even around the gang-bangers. She knew how to make you feel really small ... just by looking at you in her special way ... and she had these sarcastic comments ... and the kids were afraid of her ... but I really liked her..."Ruthie paused ... trying to think about how she could put her disjointed memories together to express them coherently."She was totally different from any woman I knew. You gotta remember that I had been going to my mom's. "My train wasn't due to leave for nearly an hour so dad and I went to find something to eat for lunch. At 12:30 a. m. we began walking toward the platform where I would leave him. The world swam as I walked, my eyes so full of tears. I slid my hand into my father's as the tears began spilling over my eyelids. I looked up and saw the same was happening to daddy. He looked down at me and smiled sadly and I tried to do the same but wound up throwing myself into his arms and crying. He held me tight, almost crushing the breath from me. It took us a few minutes to get ourselves under control but eventually the waterworks stopped and we calmly, or as calmly as we could manage, sat down on a bench to wait for the train.There wasn't much we could say that would help either one of us so we just sat there, my arm around his waist while he held me in the curve of his arm. I wouldn't know it, of course, but that time before I boarded the train would be the last time he would hold me in his arms..
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