Liminal
Liminal
I remember the smell of the screen door
as I stood looking down at the scruffy patch
of the small park where we kids played ball.
It was still early summer— there would be
many days of ball playing before I started
seventh grade at the Junior High. No more
solitary walks across town to the to elementary
school. No one knew me there except Mr, Justice,
who was my teacher and the school’s principal.
I liked his smiling eyes. He liked me because
I caught on fast, he said. Good thing, too, because in
Oberlin schools we hadn’t had grammar or
handwriting. Now I knew 8 parts of speech
and how Palmer Method capital letters were
supposed to loop and swoop like barn swallows.
I knew my life was changing. Nancy was in 11th
grade and already planning to go back to Oberlin
for college. Which she did, Nancy planned ahead.
Pete didn’t. He was super smart but didn’t like
school, so never did homework. That scared me.
I liked school much more than Pete did. I did my
homework. In 7th grade I would have my own
text books to take home. Also, there was a library
in the High School where I could take out 3 books
at a time. Plus 3 at a time from the town library.
so that made a good stack in our room. When we
moved to Leetonia, we three sisters shared a room.
Nancy didn’t like sharing with 2 younger sisters
but Barbara slept in a twin bed now and we all had
Paisley India print bedspreads. I liked matching
both sisters, even though Barbara was only 4. It was
important for me to learn big-sistering, my mother
said. She was a middle child, like me, and so she had
learned two very important lessons that she knew I
would learn, too: 1. How to keep up with those ahead
of you, and 2. How to be helpful to those behind you.
I liked it when Mother told me important things, and
so I remember that long ago June day with my nose
against the screen door, promising myself that I would
always, always remember standing here
in this moment, even when I got very old
and it was the 21st Century.
-Sef, 4/19/2025
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