WA #1: Emotional Release First Draft

“Okay kids. Time for Recess. Get in a line. Quickly, let’s go,” my second grade teacher said. I knew from her weary and slightly exasperated tone that what she was really saying was, “Freaking little kids. If they could just get in a FREAKING line after the first time I ask… it’s not like we do this routinely, like… what? At least ten times a day. And to think, the high school teachers think I have it easy? Oh the nerve of them… Honestly, this is as bad as if I were their actual mother. If it weren’t for recess, when the other second grade teacher can handle the kids and I can read my ‘Ann Taylor’ catalogue, I would quit. No doubt.”

At that age I didn’t understand why she wouldn’t just come out with it and say that instead, I thought it would’ve been much more effective. I knew she loved to teach, and we generally loved her, but she had her bad days. I didn’t learn until the 4^th grade that revealing her actual thoughts would get her fired. Then she wouldn’t be able to pay for those Ann Taylor skirts and sweaters.

We filed out through the big red doors and on down to the playground. Our teacher plopped down on a bench and opened her catalogue; the other teacher was already standing guard. As soon as my feet touched the white mulch that encompassed our allotted playing area, I sprinted up and down and around the jungle gym. Scattered beams of sunlight shone through the grand oak trees and the cool breeze pierced my skin. I made sure to run my fastest: my secret crush, Josh, was watching from the highest tower of the jungle gym. I swelled with excitement and anticipation as our daily game of intense tag was about to begin. I was always the only girl to play.

Trevor was “It” first. The boys and I scattered around the white-mulched area, some hid, and others merely waited until Trevor approached. Trevor tagged Dylan. I jogged through the jungle gym, ducking under the platforms and slides. Hunter was “It” next. I hid behind the rock wall, fidgeting with shorts. I breathed heavily as my nerves mounted. I heard a yelp from the other side of the playground; it was Josh. He was tagged. I revealed myself: I always waited until Josh was “It” to be completely vulnerable.

His eyes found mine and I glared back, smirking slightly so as to provoke him. He darted at me and I took off. My adrenaline mounted as I sprinted, smoothly dodging any obstacles. I took a sharp turn around a slide and my heart sank lower than I thought it ever could. Josh stood there with an awful grin spreading across his face. My feet wouldn’t budge; I was horrified. He stuck his hand out to tag me, but before he could tag me, I shoved him. It must have been the adrenaline along with the anger that had swept over me at the thought of being defeated that produced so much force: he flew backwards and hit his head on a pole. He began to cry. But I was confused.

I had let my anger get the best of me, and I had pushed him without thinking. I knew I hadn’t meant to the second my hands touched his shoulders. I wanted to help him up, to tell him sorry, but that just wasn’t how it worked. I was supposed to always be mean to him if I liked him. The other teacher was running over towards us, and so were the rest of the boys. I had to look tough. I folded my arms, shifted my weight to one leg and forced myself to smirk at him. “That’s what you get. Loser.”

Those words felt like poison seeping through my lips. I liked him so dearly, yet I just stood there making him feel worse. My adrenaline, anger and confusion had subsided, and my eyes grew hot and blurry. I turned on the spot and sprinted to where my teacher sat, still reading her catalogue. She seemed completely oblivious to everything that was taking place until I sat down next to her and sobbed loudly. She put on her nice voice, but for some reason, this time it seemed genuine. She asked what was wrong and I explained. We talked for a while and once she had calmed me down, she took me up to the nurse’s office to apologize to Josh.

After that day, Josh and I had become even closer friends. We continued our tag games, but, to our classmate’s dismay, it usually ended up in a game of “Josh and Ellie Tag.” We were competitive, but never again did I let my emotions get the best of me. At least not until 4th grade, when I decided to hold his hand.