Aunt Bee is some kind of celebrity,
or at least it seems that way,
since everybody in the hall
knows her. At least the light-skinned kids do.
The dark-skinned kids stare and
don’t say anything.
I try to meet the eyes
of some of them,
but they just look away,
like they’re ashamed to be here.
The first thing
Aunt Bee does every time
someone waves or gives her a hug
or opens their mouth at all
is push me forward and say,
This is my nephew, Paulie Sanders,
like she wants everyone
in the world to know me, too.
It must take us an hour
to get back to Aunt Bee’s office.
I’ll walk you to your class
in a few minutes, Paulie, she says.
My stomach jumps, over and over,
like something is stuck inside it,
even though I only ate half the fried egg
Aunt Bee cooked me this morning.
I take out my sketchbook,
since drawing always
calms me.