I was afraid he wouldn't get to see
me being a tree or hear me say my Aunt Vic piece.
"When's Papa gonna get here, Mama?"
"Pretty soon. He'll be in before we start singing. Let's me
and you sit on the front bench. That way, you can see good."
The mourners' bench?"
"Sugar, it's not the mourner's bench, except during
protracted Meeting time."
Mama and I sat down and waited-and waited.
All the school kids, ganged up in the corner behind the stage
curtain, were getting noisy. It sounded like fun, but we heard
Aunt Vic ask them to please be quiet.
Mama wanted me to be still. "Quit twisting around,
Bandershanks!" she said. "You'll tear up your costume!"
I hadn't been doing any twisting, except when I slid down to
the far end of the bench to watch the folks hang gifts on the
tree, or when I looked back to find out who else was coming in
the door, or when I turned so I could see everybody sitting
behind us. Mama should have known that bit of twisting around
wouldn't hurt my walking-tree dress.
Mama turned sideways herself to see what Ginger was gonna do,
as he kept trotting up and down the aisle.
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