The Seventh Grade

 

I remember clearly the day John arrived．

I was sitting in our drab¹⁾ living room，bored．The whole house，in fact，seemed to me very lifeless．My mother had furnished it with plain furniture．The walls were each assigned a dull art piece，just to be proper．All the rooms were colorless and plain，except one．It was the room in the attic²⁾．That room was never boring．Ever since I could remember it had always been full of the belongings of a boarder³⁾．Sometimes it was a relative or a friend，but most of the time it was just a stranger．Someone like John．

John arrived one Saturday afternoon in September．Our last boarder had gone off and gotten married or something so the attic room was free．I'd anticipated his arrival longingly．The boarders were the only break from the dullness of my life．When the doorbell rang，I wanted to jump up and answer it．I cont rolled myself，however．“Mother”always answered the door．“What if it is someone important？”she would say．“What would they think，a child answering the door？”I used to wonder how long she was going to call me a child．

Mother strode out⁴⁾ of the spotless kitchen，the creases in her grey flannel⁵⁾ pants swaying slightly．As she reached the door she typically placed her hand on the fierce knot of mouse－brown hair at the nape of her neck．

“Yes，it's still there，”I mused silently．

When she was satisfied that everything was in order，she unlatched the door and swung it open．There stood John．

He was slightly taller than Mother（still not very tall）．He had longish blond hair that sort of hung in his eyes．He was wearing a faded denim jacket，red jeans and a black and yellow striped teeshirt．On his feet were yellow sneakers－without laces⁶⁾．One look at him and I knew I would like him．One look at Mother's face and I knew she wasn't thinking the same thing．She didn't voice her disdain⁷⁾，however．She stepped politely aside and said，“Come in．My name is Mrs．Dawson．”

“Hello，”John said，barely audibly⁸⁾，“I'm John Steele．”I jumped up and greeted him warmly．“Hi．I'm Kate．”I said．

“Katherine，you needn't be so loud，”My mother criticized．I pretended not to notice John cocking his eyebrow．

Though Mother may have had doubts，John turned out to be the perfect boarder．He had all his stuff brought in the next day while we were out at church．He was neat，quiet and polite．He almost never ate with us．That was lucky for him because Mother was a horrible cook．She wouldn't let me cook either．“Not until you've learned how at school，”she would say．I often wondered where she had learned．

Anyway，all went well for about a month until one day I bought a new Beatles record and had it playing very loud when Mother came home from work．John was in the living room with me and he did something I hadn't expected．As Mother walked into the front hall and shouted“Kath－er－ine，”pronouncing each syllable harshly，John jumped up and put his hands on the dials of the stereo．Mother appeared in the doorway and stood silently while John removed the record．He turned around to look at her．

“We do not play our music that loud in this household，John，”she said severely．John looked down at his yellow sneakers now with laces courteously⁹⁾ provided by the woman who was glaring at him．“Is that understood？”Mother asked．

“Yes ma'am，”John answered．Then，as Mother strode off to her room，John looked up and flashed me a big smile．I was too shocked to smile back．John was the first boarder we had ever had who seemed to care about me．

I liked him a lot，but I didn't really understand him．He was so quiet，yet he seemed so care free．He didn't seem to care that he had no money，or that he was living in a dingy¹⁰⁾ town with nothing going for it．I wished I could be more like him，but there was always Mother telling me I was too young to do this or too old to do that．John seemed so free．Freedom was some thing Mother did not condone．She was really beginning to bother me at this point．Being in grade seven，I really was too young for some things and too old for the rest．Mother just made the feeling of“stuck－in－the－middleness”worse by always reminding me．

One night she was yelling at me for wan ting to stay out later than ten on weekends．I just sat and listened to her rave about being worried and trying to maintain discipline in a fatherless home etc．As she was telling me about children needing lots of rest，John appeared in the doorway behind her．His expression was one of dismay，like he didn't understand why she was yelling at me．He didn't look at me though．His eyes seemed to be fixed on the knot of hair at Mother's neck．That knot，the perfect symbol of strictness，properness and boredom．

I knew John wanted to butt in，but he knew it was none of his business．Or perhaps he wanted me to deal with Mother．He looked down and walked away．His appearance，however，gave me inspiration．I stood up and yelled（a little louder than I should have）“Mother，you're being so conservative．”

“Young lady，you will not raise your voice to me，”Mother said，eyes blazing．“Oh，for Christ's sake，”I muttered．Another mistake．

“You can go to your room without dinner，Katherine．We do not take the Lord's name in vain．”

Knowing that more arguing would do no good，I heaved an exaggerated sigh and trudged off up to my room．As I stomped up the stairs，I heard John say he was going out for a while and the door slam shut．

About an hour later there was a knock at my bedroom door．I opened it．John was standing there with a bag of chocolate caramel¹¹⁾ chews and at all glass of milk．He smiled．

“I thought you might like a snack，”he said．

“Thanks，”I said，a bit surprised．John started to leave；then he stopped and turned around．

“You know，you shouldn’t talk back to your mother，”he said speaking slowly and carefully．“It does no good at your age．Mothers are confuse d between being a mother and a friend．They soon get over it．Just wait．”He smiled and left，closing the door behind him．

Later that night，after I had gone to bed，I heard noises from John’s room．Since I was wide awake I decided to investigate．I tiptoed up the attic stairs，careful to skip the seventh step because it squeaked atrociously．John’s door was open and he was sitting on his bed，fully dressed，softly playing the guitar．He looked up and saw me．

“Hello，”he said．“What are you doing up？”

“I heard you．What are you doing？”I asked．

“I’m．．．”he paused，“writing a song，”he finished．

“Really？”I asked．“That’s neat．”

“Yeah，”John said smiling．“Did you enjoy the cookies？”

“Oh，yeah．There are some left－－here．”I passed him the half full bag．He took one out and bit into it pensively．

“Do you write a lot of songs？”I asked，not knowing what else to say．

“Tons，”he answered．“In fact，that’s all I do．Well，I sing them too．”

“You’re a musician．I didn’t know that．”

“Yep，I am．Someday I‘ll have a best－selling album and be rich and famous．”

I laughed at his optimism．

“I will，you know，”