The Lesson

we morphed through adolescence and sex ed in 45 minutes vaj-eye-na ee-jack-u-late pee-nis and got it when she told us the origin of her name “Twinkle” a metaphor, and laughed out-loud behind our hands don’t tell the boys skipping toward home I remembered I am grown up now and stopped tried to walk like Doris Day in “The Thrill of It All” ur-in-ate (not tt) in-ter-course and, it’s not a doodle testing the new syllables outloud with each step Imusttellmymothereverything always pulling the heavy worn dictionary from the shelf because how could she have known those words my mother having learned them from her mother and her mother before her? I rush in and vocabulary spills like sugar cookies bursting in the vanilla scented kitchen but she turns heat rising slams the oven door and the sound bangs against the window above the lilies in full bloom while she white knuckles the black receiver to call the school no I try not to fall into the chasm in the linoleum take a deep breath will myself to appear to her what I must have been before lunch a vein in her neck bulges beneath the strand of silk pearls my heart thuds against my training bra and finally she replaces the receiver smoothes her apron her face proud that I am such a bright little girl and every day—after that—I walk home and pause at the front door to change my face fold the new one carefully between the clean pages of the crisp black and white text how was school today? she asks fine I answer and bite into a warm oatmeal cookie while she hands me a tall cold glass, of milk