418
MATTER AND ENERGY
1956
I am corning home from
school; I see myself with books, an old,
wrinkled, soft paper bag that must have
. . . my
gym
clothes in it, my soiled
gym clothes . . . and a towel. . . . I am
carrying the books and the bag and my
purse up against my chest, so that my
shoulders are a little hunched. Sharon
is
with me, she and I are talking. She
laughs at something I am saying. I
clown around. I imitate a teacher at
school, Miss Strong, who is very thin
and cries sometimes. . . . But the Fear
is
beginning: there it is. At the end of
this block, and when we turn onto the
next block . . . at the end of that block
it
will be waiting for me. It has a
shimmering shape, no shape to it.
I am
sick
inside.
I am twelve years old on
this
after–
noon. Sharon chatters with me. In front
of our old house we are standing, two
girls with books and things hugged up
against our chests. We make faces. We
roll our eyes. Behind me, inside the
house, behind the pulled shades, the
Fear is waiting.
"See you tomorrow," Sharon says.
She leaves me to it.
Inside the house, silence. The living
room
is
too empty. Nothing is out of
JOYCE CAROL OATES
