 Lingering scents of greasy school pizza and teacher perfume in the room, when the teacher wasn’t looking, I raised my finger to give commands. Like Ground Control to Major Tom. : “Crrrr Chhhh Zzzz, Come in, Rose?” (Rose, a soft brown plush bear wearing a red checked dress, says ‘here’). “OK, here’s the plan. Take the group to the mall until 2 P.M. and then quickly get back in position so no one knows you are real. They would freak out.” (Rose signaled, ‘got it'). “Gotta run, time for the spelling test. Over and Out” Here was 11-year-old Lynn, sitting in my 6th grade classroom at my generic wood topped desk, inside an orderly row of exact duplicates. We were the oldest kids at Burroughs Elementary School . I had a warm grandmotherly teacher and aimed to please. The kids around me were growing up (or so I thought). Rumors of crushes & giggles about Saturday Night Live. I felt “cancelled from the culture.” Most kids had stopped talking to me after I spoke up during a popular playground game called foursquare. The ball hit the line and there were rules about that. Not sure why I got hate for this, because others spoke up and stayed popular. But imagination kept me company, and I had plenty of that. Story characters can feel ALIVE in our lives. At that time, 'stuffed animals' (now called ‘plushies’) were my characters. I really enjoyed nurturing them. My ragtag group had developed over my earlier kid years. Some wooed me to buy them with my allowance coins at musty local garage sales. A few were gifted to me, brand new. Those had soft, glistening, fur and vibes from the givers. The rest were handed down from random friends of the parents. Three central personalities were: Rose-My Teddy Bear who listened to all my woes. She was naturally in charge, my leading lady. Penguin-Bold orange bellow, black flappable wings, and beady eyes. He was the ‘nosy neighbor’, the anti-hero. Koala-He was the baby of the bunch. Innocent and sensitive. Koala literally needed protection. My siblings kidnapped Koala once, ransom note and all. On the weekends, I made sure they got to hang out together. They got arranged on the top bunk, the landing at the top of the stairs, or once we did a photo shoot. My heart went out to these friends because they had to hold still. (Keep up the ruse). In contrast, during the week, us kids were each at different schools. Mom was at the downtown office-building, doing her computer/insurance/wear a suit thing. By this time, my Dad was resettling after the divorce in his own apartment. The petite, fragile housekeeper came only after school to perch on the mustard yellow kitchen stool, dust, or tidy up a bit. Thus, from about 7 AM to 3 PM, those plush personalities got to RULE-THE-ROOST. I believed in them, celebrating their ability to play around and get into mischief. Speaking of mischief, I got an emergency interruption from Penguin during math later that week. Eye roll please. Leaning forward, hiding my hands under the desk (how teens in the 2020s use their cell phones in class), I whispered into my “finger-coms”. “What is it Penguin? Make it quick, she’s teaching long division.” “Beaver and Red are arguing bad. Sorry to interrupt math, but they are starting to fight! What if they destroy each other?”. This young lady led calmly. “I’ll call Rose in 5 minutes with advice. Sit tight.” With proper midwestern etiquette, I sat up straight, raised my hand, and asked permission to go to the restroom. Granted. Phew! Across the grey speckled hallway, I creaked and latched the tall stall door, then sat on the black wooden toilet-seat. A makeshift office. “Buzz, buzz” “Come in Rose, emergency!” “Commander Lynn, Penguin reported the scuffle. What shall we do?” “Have them sit in different rooms for 15 minutes, then get them back together to talk it out. Everyone should be on alert to help for safety. I know those two can get rambunctious.” “We will handle it, thanks.” “If things turn out ok, send me 3 beeps.” If I don’t hear from you, I’ll check in at recess”. After the math test, it was finally time for recess. I ran and hunkered down under the gargantuan oak tree, it’s wide gnarly roots like welcoming arms. “Beep, beep, beep” came in my human telecommunications system. PHEW, all is well, my friends. Feeling secretly proud, I scurried off to wait for a turn on the swingset. Lynn Jodeit Ouellette copyright 2025. Photo by me as a kid | ___Says it better than I can. |
