Madrid, Spain
10 November
Dear Mary,
You won! Congratulations! When I saw the name in the local elections, I knew it was you. In the 60’s, my family had the little brick place on Brocker and our school bus stopped at your [?] every morning. Sometimes you boarded with a niece [?] and on the side of your [?] once hung a string of [?]. Remember the fat kid across the aisle who [?] from you, the one whose hair you [?] till Mr Brown had to [?] the bus and tell you to quit? Well, never too late for apologies. I often sat with his son, Lanny, who did Jack Kennedy imitations (better than Vaughn Meader--and dirtier).        Later, you might recall, three-fingered Mr Jewell [?] the route, followed by a [?] Mr Welch whose [?] through the mirror at the senior girls once sent us into a [?]. Tammy Dean was the star. When the bus [?] she’d [?] her [?] and [?] the steps working a [?] of Juicy Fruit like a [?] all the way back to where the big kids kept. The barely pubescent of us found her rimmel [?] and [?] intimidating and, after a night of [?] those [?] lips and [?], we [?] and [?] her [?].
I’d almost forgotten Tammy’s little brother, Harold. Every day, he too would board, largely unnoticed, behind her. He appears now first at--then suddenly beneath, a table in the cafeteria.        A little kid with a rather large braincase, he is not, save for today, the first to [?] on the tuna noodle [?]. Against all orders to the contrary, our classmates have [?] their canned peaches and [?] first. Now, like the good little soldiers they aren't, they've begun the final assault on the double [?] of what looks like to some, and tastes like to most, [?] on a bed of [?]. [?] is coming, however. Bright-colored turkey [?] line the mint green [?]. Their construction paper feathers are still [?] and [?] from this morning's activity, yet a [?] has already been [?] and lies dried and [?] on the floor beneath. [?] eaters. Nearby sits Rosemary Lutz. She's a tall and pretty redhead with long [?] and a reputation for [?] [?] (the bitch).        She is also the daughter of a prosperous doctor and never eats cafeteria food. As usual, today she's brought her lunch and, to our [?], has just [?] an open steak sandwich on lettuce. Rosemary now smoothes the paper sack [?] her name in front of her. Her middle finger is wrapped in a [?] brown [?] and, when she has folded the sack into a neat square, she [?] the paper ring and pops it into her mouth, then, pinching the end, she slowly [?] it out, savoring every [?] inch before letting it drop discreetly onto the pile behind her. Dessert.       
Across the room a [?] draws the attention of the day's [?], snowy haired Mrs. Ivory. Ivory’s is the class whose students, when instructed to make flowers, usually draw her [?] them . She’s a [?] of a woman but hard as nails, and as Ivory [?] down the aisle, pinching necks and ordering her troops to [?], dig in, because by-God-people- it's-good- for-you! she [?] notices old Crampton with broom and [?] [?] in. Cafeteria detail. Worst part of the day. He is sprinkling sweet [?] over Harold's meal when Danny Haber drops forward three seats down and [?] with his own. Old Crampton lifts a hand and [?]. At Haber's elbow, a [?] pair of Scotch-taped glasses, an overturned three cent carton of milk, and Donnie Stern [?] over the state of his shoes.        Across from me, little Julie Stacey [?] a [?] onto her tray. "Clean your plates, now, people--or no [?]! Do you hear that, people? People!" Mrs Ivory is [?]. She was forever calling us people. It was a defence mechanism born of fifty years' teaching [?] kids. The mechanism isn't working too well today, though, as she bounces a [?] of [?] off Danny's shoulders and orders him to [?] his mess. It is kindergarten teacher Mrs Pratt, on the way in from the parking lot and a [?] Rambler, who spies her colleague's [?].
"For Heaven’s sake, give them air, Mildred, not noodles !" she cries, pulling off gloves and scarf. Crampton by now is on his second sack. His broom is getting [?] and, lacking reinforcements, he is starting to [?].        Beyond the [?], our two cooks [?], [?] and arms folded. Neither is about to go to the [?] for [?] (where, to their eternal [?], they might have come across principal Smith’s [?], paddles and
[?]). Chairs [?] and trays fly as classmates [?] and cover (Lanny would later call it a puke-ular attack) and goofy Glenn Van Horn [?] the moment. In a flash, the [?] little [?] leaps onto our table and launches into the twist. He’s pretty good and his resemblance to Sammy Davis Jr. is frankly [?]. In later times, Glenny would have been on medication and the rest of us denied a superb, if [?], performance.        Now he is [?] -- pant legged, rather, by Fat Roger, his cousin, and dragged off kicking and screaming..
But [?], Mary! How much if any of this really happened? Save for a lifelong aversion to tuna casserole, following orders, and [?], tobacco-breathed, disciplinarians like Miss Smith (was she ever [?]?), I can offer no clues as we’re led out, [?], green and [?], to the playground by the kindly Mrs Pratt.
Hope you are well. Please write soon.
Yours truly,
Bill C.