Once a month I post a micro story (a story that is 1,000 words or less). Enjoy!
Along the long, white rectangles, I was flanked by brown faces with dots of white and yellow. The plastic bag rustled in my hands as I opened it under the table. Today, a common mom special: white bread, mayonnaise, sometimes corned beef, or baloney, turkey, with lettuce. I picked at the neatly cut triangles and drank my juice box. The PTA president’s kid had the usual crowd around him, lapping at the scraps of Chinese food he threw at them.
I remember the one day they flocked to me: it was the one time I scored the highest on the chemistry test. As Mr. Bowman read off the names and scores, his Irie accent enunciating each syllable, he skipped mine. I knew what this meant, but I didn’t believe it. He confirmed the news at the end. Suddenly, at lunch time, everyone remembered my name as they begged for a piece of the plantains, oxtail, rice and peas smothered in gravy.