Bright, Built World

I HATED WASHING the dishes as a child. I was not tidy. My handwriting was chaotic, moving in and out of cursive. Legible only to me, that’s what I most liked about it. Its privacy. My mind moved faster than my fingers. I gave up on neatness, spelling, and consistency to get everything down before my mind moved on. But bright kids were supposed to be neat. The only thing I failed at school was the binder check. At random times, the teacher picked up everyone’s school materials. I was queer but didn’t know it; I knew only that I needed out of that town if I wanted to live. Getting an A in math and an A in English and an A in PE and an A in earth science was how I would do it. Notebook check: If loose notes and papers fell out, we failed. Loose papers, stickers, pencils, gum wrappers, a moldy sandwich crust, and a Lisa Frank slap bracelet fell out of my binder once. My neon embarrassment. If a tidy binder or neat handwriting was required to get out of that town, I would be stuck there now.