Mr. Catastrophe

I lifted the window pole to open the front window from the top. Out the bottom of my eye, I saw a boy about my age, wearing a small dark yarmulke, playing on the schoolyard blacktop. The Jewish kids had the day off. Not us. I dawdled when I got to the back window, watching the boy. He extended his right hand grasping some yellow thing and pulled on a string. A brilliant yellow whirly bird spun up into the September breeze.

Seventh grade at St. Jerome’s

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