My best friend,
Devil-may-care and wise beyond her years.
Ninth grade, my lessons began.
Algebra:
Our one common class,
We became friends the day of the first test.
She psssst’ed at me until I turned around
to discover her wearing a mustache of fringe
she had cut from her purse.
I snorted my way
through the rest of the equations.
Weeks later, an unsuspecting substitute
allowed two mild mannered girls to go
to the restroom to straighten a hairpiece.
The thrill of skating across the newly waxed floor,
while wearing our patent leather shoes,
was too much to resist.
The livid faced Vice-Principal
ripped toilet paper squares from the dispenser
and we dutifully wrote our names on them.
We filched those papers off his desk on our way back to class,
where the sub appeared somewhat puzzled
that the hairpiece was more askew now
than when we left.
Tenth grade promised to be enlightening.
Physical Education:
Our balance beam routine,
which we had practiced to perfection,
was set to rival anything Olga Korbut had ever done.
But for the one Lucy and Ethel moment-
without the censorship.
While facing each other on hands and knees,
she felt it would add a little interest
to give me a quick peck on the lips.
I lost my composure
and my balance at the same time.
Music Appreciation:
Once a week, the poor exasperated D.J
of the only underground FM station in town,
home to Janis, Hendrix, and Steppenwolf,
would take a request call
from two deep southern drawling girls
insisting he play Tommy Roe’s bubble gum song “Sweet Pea.”
She continued instruction through the Junior Year.
Applied Music:
I was tutored on how to sing
the National Anthem,
using my best operatic style,
during mandatory attendance pep rallies.
Composition and Penmanship:
I shared the revelation that my mother
was reading all the notes my friend passed me during school.
This resulted in such future, creative salutational gems
as ‘Dear Hand Job Hannah and Mother.’
Grade Twelve schooling,
I was ready for the world!
Calculus:
She’d taught me to roll up my own smokes
and my skirt underneath my shirt
to match the fashion of the day.
Biology:
She and her long term boyfriend
shared a back seat adventure,
she slipped off,
landed on the hump, broke her pelvis,
she clenched, he stuck.
They must have looked like conjoined twins
being carried off on the same stretcher.
Matriculation:
I flew solo
while her long recuperation proceeded.
My regret at her absence
turned to mirth
as I watched the prankster in front of me
put his hand buzzer to good use
on the Superintendent.
Never had anyone walked across that stage
with such a straight face as I,
until reaching the far edge.
I laughed my head off,
just as she’d taught me.
Linda Imbler believes poetry has the potential to add to the beauty of the world. Her poetry collections include “Big Questions, Little Sleep,”
“Lost and Found,” “The Sea’s Secret Song,” and “Pairings,” a hybrid ebook of short fiction and poetry. Examples of Linda’s poetry and a
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