Then something inside me told me to cross my ankles in a certain way and to slump in my oak chair in a certain way and to breathe in slowly and I did all this without really thinking about it and there I was. I was in Miss Ralston’s classroom in September of 1942. But I did not materialize as a grown man to see myself sitting as a young student. I found myself as that student again—ankles crossed, slumped in my chair, breathing in slowly. I heard Miss Ralston’s voice droning about the primary exports of Latin America. Fawn Harrington was on my left in a green tartan skirt and green sweater; Toby Kavanaugh sat on my right. I was wearing my Thom McAn shoes, the brown ones. They were too tight and my feet hurt. I had a headache; Mother and Daddy had been fighting in the kitchen the night before and I had barely slept. I hadn’t done my homework. Fawn had tried flirting with me before class but I had ignored her. I did not like flirts; I always felt they were up to something.

It was all completely familiar and all clear and real. It was no dream. I tried to stand, to get up and leave that awful room; but I could not. I found that I had no control over my body. It was doing whatever it had done on that day the first time I had lived it. I was only there, it seemed, as an observer. I felt that I could return to Limbo whenever I willed it. I calmed myself and watched.

Miss Ralston finished her reading and then called on Jack Mowbray to read. He stood—a sly, freckled boy whom I distrusted—and read a paragraph about Simon Bolivar. Miss Ralston corrected his pronunciation of Bolivar, pronouncing it poorly herself. She called on Marylinne Saunders to read. And on it went. I watched and listened, fascinated, waiting for it to come to me. I had no awareness of what I was thinking—that other, fourteen-year-old I—but I began to be aware that this was a time when something bad had happened. It was about to happen again. It was going to happen when I was called on to read. I sat in the second row; it would be soon.

When it came to me I found myself standing up awkwardly and looking down at the text. I knew that a humiliation was coming but I could not remember what it was. I heard myself begin to read. My voice was tired and a bit resentful.

Suddenly I was shocked by Miss Ralston’s voice, harshly interrupting me. “Billy!” she said. “Billy Whaley. Will you please consider your appearance?”

I looked at her stupidly.