A Walk With Lois McGee
by Rita Gesel
It all started in Somerville, Massachusetts, the city in which I grew up. The city where I first learned how to roll words off my tongue and wobble around on two feet. It was a densely populated area and not too far from Boston. Each morning, the sun would rise from the ocean horizon and would shine through the mucky air from the city's fuels and smoke. For breakfast I had the usual, which was a piece of toast enriched with cool grape jelly that Pops got from the convenience store down the street. After gobbling down my toast, I’d slip out of my pajamas and slide into my school uniform, which was the color of the sky on a warm summer day. I’d match the uniform with my little black leather dress shoes and a pair of white stockings. From there on, I’d descend the several flights of stairs in my apartment and begin my conquest to school.
Starting with kindergarten and working my way into sixth grade, I was enrolled in Bingham Elementary. The school was two miles away give or take and usually took me about 20 minutes. My father did own an old rusty pickup that could have done the job, but I didn’t mind walking and, quite frankly, I looked forward to it. Nothing was better than the late spring days, where the air was warm and little buds would bring color to the world that had been overcome by browns and grays during the winter months. It was relieving to see them awakening as we were promised an end to the frigid air and slippery roads, which would be replaced by another spring.
As I’d make my way down the street sidewalk, my little feet avoiding every crack, I would admire all the beauty that Somerville had to offer. Although it was a city and they tend to be bursting with commotion, they can also be peaceful at times. My daily route that led me to Bingham allowed me to wander through downtown Somerville and browse all of the intricate and eye grabbing objects in the windows of the local shops. Very rarely did I ever actually go inside, besides the occasional Christmas or birthday trips when I was accompanied by my mother.
My days as a kid flew by and before I knew it I was making my way through the doors of a new school after completing my short years at Bingham. I was now onto a new chapter of my life which would begin at Western Junior High School, a quite large building that held many opportunities. I soon began my high school career, making new friends and balancing the tremendous workload that followed. My life was going great as I saw it, but I was very unaware of how quickly things were going to change.
I remember the day quite well. It was close to summer break and all the students waited anxiously for the second school bell to ring, setting them free to enjoy the warming sun and cool breeze. Without disappointment the bell sounded, and I began weaving through the crowd of students that filled narrow hallways. We were all eager to push through the heavy wooden doors that enclosed the school and feel the fresh air in our lungs. After escaping the nonsense I exited the building and stumbled down the stairs, onto the pavement that had been scorched by the sun. From then on I started to make my way to my own set of stairs.
I had just completed the fifth flight and was slightly out of breath when I heard some distant yelling. I was able to distinguish the familiar voice of my father.
“What are we going to do now? We obviously can’t stay here anymore, and money is too short to afford another place to live!”
Confused, I continued climbing and found myself face to face with the white grooved door. Cautiously I began to open it, and the yelling stopped.
“Hello, sweetie. How was school?”
I tried to pretend like I didn’t hear anything, but my curiosity overtook me.
“What were you and mama yelling for?”
The fake smiles that had quickly been assembled when I entered started to fade. Mama came close to me and connected her eyes with mine.
“Oh….you heard that? Look honey…” she said as she reached for my hands.