A Lost Boy


I grew up on Ficlets. There, the writer inside me had a home. I'm a teacher now, and a 4th grader who reminds me so much of myself asked, "Why don't you share your writing with us?" So, I come tentatively, searching for a place to stretch my writing muscles again.

Three weeks ago, my brother died. Three weeks ago, I stopped raising my hand in class. Three weeks ago, I became lost in the background where no one would look for me. Or so I thought.

Today, I got a pass in study hall.

I'd gotten at least one a week for the last three, calling me down to the school psych, but this one was different.

Danny Barr to Office, it said.

When I got there, Carol the Secretary (she has a last name, but everyone calls her Carol the Secretary) handed me a paper bag--the kind without a real bottom, more of a sleeve than a bag. The kind a cookie from a bakery comes in, but bigger. Inside the bag was a book, I could tell without even peeking.

"From Nicole Llewelyn," Carol the Secretary said, looking over her glasses at me, waiting for some look of understanding, I'm sure. There wasn't one to give.

Nicole Llewelyn? The quiet freshman in my English class?

I slid the book out of the paper sleeve as I plodded back to study hall.

J.M. Barrie and the Lost Boys.


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