Milly Strelzoff

School Ants

The dead ant is working or soon will. The line of school kids moves following the fringe of the teacher’s skirt, our sides hugging the walls. Our hands are on our backs and there are bubbles of air in our mouths to keep us silent.

“Remember kids, you are a train, not a snake,” the teacher says.

Marcus whispers, “Trains don’t hug walls.”

The teacher admonishes him. Her skirt floats at the level of my nose. Then she exclaims, seeing another line of ants, and another skirt hem flutters at her hemline. Their shoes point at each other. Their words float above us.

By a silent signal we all flop down, trains, snakes and hands forgotten, bubbles still intact. The teachers are going to talk.

Susie May with her monster cheeks is now sitting opposite me. Her cheeks always look like they have a quiet-bubble trapped inside. A line of real ants threads its red way between us. We have disturbed their well-woven ant paths. All summer long they laid their highways and built their cities.

I think of Donny and Mom and I look at Susie May. I think of the air inside Susie May’s cheeks.

Thwack. I slap the ant and it stops moving. I lick my palm and pick up the ant.

Shonuff, Susie May is looking at me.

I bring my palm up to my lips and open my mouth. They all gasp, I think. I know Susie May does. I see her round mouth like a waxy painted crayon ‘O’. The air is all gone.

For a second my tongue touches my palm and the ant disappears down my throat.

I slap another ant and wet the fingers of my other hand. I move them slowly over the ant, touch it, and now it sits on the tip of my tongue.

It wiggles its legs a little and Susie May gasps again.

A few more ant-kills; she has finally crossed the line. She slaps her hands down on the concrete and crawls slowly to me. She is on my side now. Her monster cheeks droop, but their color is soft, like pink rose petals.

She leans close to me; she is going to kiss me I can tell. I close my eyes.

Thwack. She wets her nail with her tongue, slowly like she is painting it.

She slaps another ant and sticks it to the nail and lays it on her tongue.

Suddenly the teachers skirt is lowered. Her voice is aimed at us.

“Back in line ya’ll,” she says.

The dead ant drops away from Susie May’s tongue.

A flower of ants carries her away.

I think of things I maybe should have done. Like Donny does to Ma. He will hold a hot dish over her feet, under the table and when she is not looking he will drop it on her feet.

Then he will scold me for being clumsy and carry Ma away and soothe her and take care of her, and then they go inside and drop things.

I get to clean up the mess and sit and practice what I will say to Ma, how to tell her the truth about the dish. I have to practice hard at it. Lies are easy. Truth is not. But when she gets up, she and Donny are wound tight like spaghetti around a fork and he carries her to the door like a flower. I bite my tongue like the ant should have done but I would not wait to see what he would do in my mouth.

I look around since I am the caboose today and I see something else, something that will surely get Susie May’s attention, so I don’t have to hit her to get it which I might do.

A sandy earthworm squirms out of a patch of dirt. In case I can’t find one when I need it, I know what I will do. I will just carry it around with me, wiggle it and pretend to eat it alive. I will do something.

Milly Strelzoff is a writer and mother of three children who are a constant source of inspiration. She lives in Hattiesburg. Her personal blog with short stories has been featured on Sulekha.com. She is a computer programmer and an avid reader of all genres of fiction and non-fiction.