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ANDREW JACKSON JUNIOR HIGH SCHOOL
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was the only way to describe the hustle and bustle of the hallways in Albuquerque’s Andrew
Jackson Junior High.
I
felt excitement over the hundreds of faces scurrying to the first hour
class. In my homeroom, I was one of five
new students. It wasn’t long before I
was joining in the laughter and chatter between classes. Through our many moves I had learned to push
myself forward, with an air of confidence that I did not always possess. It was kind of like, “Fake it until you make it.”
Two
weeks into school, Amy, a fellow ninth grader, walked up to me after dismissal.
“Gloria,
didn’t you say you were from Socorro?”
“Yes.”
“Do
you know Janet Bailey?”
“Sure,”
I replied.
“She’s
my cousin,” Amy said. I smiled, and was
ready to discuss our mutual acquaintance when Amy continued.
“Gloria,
is Fess Parker your uncle?”
The
question caught me off guard. I
remembered the day in the elementary school yard, where I had watched the fifth
grade girls’ jump rope. Feeling left
out, I had called Janet apart from the others and told her my lie, “Janet, my
uncle is Fess Parker.” The words rang in
my memory.
‘No,
he isn’t my uncle. Why would you ask
that?” I asked as if I didn’t know where she could have come up with the idea.
“Well...huh,”
she stammered, “Janet wrote me and said to ask you. She said you told some whoppers.”
I
didn’t say anything to incriminate myself and Amy walked away, perplexed.
I
watched as she crossed the schoolyard toward the city bus. No one, since the fifth grade, had ever
mentioned the lie. Now, four years
later, I was confronted with it.
“Whew! I will never tell another lie as long as I
live! Even as I thought it, I knew that
was probably not true.
