Everything was oversized really. I was in Fourth Grade, the letters capitalized at Judith Jacoma Elementary school because Fourth Grade was the highest grade at the school. There was nothing fancy about third grade, other than the report that things were going to start getting tough. No, third grade was not the year to cherish, especially not with Ms. Dodd, who insisted we pronounce the Mizz as spiked as her bull dyke hair shards. In Fourth Grade I had a hippie of a teacher who let us call her Maureen, and Maureen never once slapped me for biting my nails. Fourth Grade was oversized and capitalized because that was the year that creativity counted. It was an election year, and a year that I was voted class president. It was the year I had a best friend, the year Tiffany was touring the malls in those fabulous boots of hers, the year I believed I could make it on Star Search. Most importantly, it was the year of the Fourth Grade Musical.
Our music teacher, a vibrant and thin blonde who let us sing KoKoMo in class, announced proudly that we would be performing “Mickey’s Christmas Carol” that year, and immediately I invested myself in learning all of the music. The try-outs were held during recess, which I believed would increase my chances of landing a role immensely. While this diminished the number of boys looking to begin their theatrical careers, the girls lined up like Star Wars fans on opening night. Each Brandy and Sarah and Amber stood stonily, eyeing each other up, knowing that there were very few female roles to be had in this particular musical. Those not cast would have to stand on the risers, singing all of the parts of the choir.
When I landed the role, the coveted role, I nearly peed myself. Fact is, I was known for peeing myself. I had done it several times in my few years at that school. I had bladder control; that was not the issue. I would just get so involved in what I was doing that I would hold it until I could hold it no more, and the pee would stream as the tears did the same. This time was different. This was the leading lady role, Daisy Duck, the dreamy fowl of Scrooge McDuck’s money minded past.
Beyond the draw of getting to wear a flowing pink dress, learning to (one-two-three-one-two-three-one-two-thr
ee-twirl) waltz, having lines, and, of course, the oversized wobbling Daisy Duck head, there was one oversized factor that made every girl in the school envious of my standing in the Fourth Grade Musical. That factor was Nick Blue, Scrooge McDuck in the feathers and flesh.
Oh, Nick Blue. Memory may do funny things, but Nick Blue was to that school what Brad Pitt is to Hollywood. When he walked down the halls, even the sponge paintings stopped pretending to be cool. He was circled by boys lucky enough to catch his Frisbees. His class picture had a special spot in each girl’s desk, and mine was no exception. Technically, Timothy Dittmarr was my boyfriend, with his thick glasses and always runny nose. Still, Nick Blue. That is all that needs to be said.
Practice was an ethereal experience. I didn’t have many lines, and only two scenes, but I found it important to show up to each practice. I needed to know my motivation. As I watched Nick rehearse each scene, I thought of how easily Daisy just let Scrooge walk out of her life because he forgot to may the mortgage on their house. I had no idea what a mortgage was, but it could not have been so important that it meant letting someone that Packed With Pretty walk out of a relationship. I would have stuck it out. I would have found a way to pay that mortgage myself. I would have done anything.
It was all business when we rehearsed our scenes together, though. I appreciated the way he did not gag when we had to dance together. He did not turn all Fourth Grade Boy when I puckered my lips for the mistletoe kiss. In case you are wondering, that kiss doesn’t happen in the play. I remember the lines exactly.
“Ebenezer, oh Ebenezer. My eyes are closed, my lips are puckered, and I’m standing under the mistletoe.”
You’re also standing on my foot.”
Kiss or not kiss, our faces were close enough to make anything imaginable. If it is possible to have a Fourth Grade Fantasy, mine was to coyly take that peck when I had the chance, and that the peck would be reciprocated with a full lip contact that would shock the entire school.
On the week that the Fourth Grade Musical was to be performed, our music teacher was in a terrible car accident. There was no word on when she would return, and quite honestly, we were too horrified to even think of the Musical. As far as we knew, it was not to happen at all. When the music teacher returned after a month, it had seemed as if a much longer period of time had passed. Still, using a cane and smiling as brightly as before, she wanted to reschedule the performance and carry on. Yes, On with The Show.
That first day she was back, the school buzzed with a renewed optimism. For many of us, this was the first time we had realized mortality aside the occasional elderly grandparent. With this accident came, albeit temporary, the removal of a light source and fixture. No longer was she standing before us teaching us rhythm with “Hi, My Name is Joe”. But then she came back and it was as if anything could come back if you missed it enough.
I doubt I would remember the accident itself, or even the return of the teacher, had it not been such an oversized day. It was Math when Maureen told us the happy news, and recess came right after. In those last few minutes before the bell signaled that it would be time to kick balls and practice silly cheers, Nick Blue approached Maureen and asked her if he could go say hello to the music teacher. Not wanting to get the entire class involved, she quietly made the allowance. Still, I saw him look to me and quietly say something to her. He nodded to me (oh, he could nod so well), and I followed him into the hall.
On the way there he chattered excitedly. He told me about his baby brother. He talked about the Musical. He talked in a way that made me feel like we’d always just talked like that. But the whole time, playing it cool, hoping people could see us from their classroom doors, I kept thinking NickBlue NickBlue NickBlue until the words were chewing gum in my head, soft and ready to be turned into a bubble.
The Fourth Grade Musical went off without a hitch. All lines were remembered, all parents were proud. During our dance scene my duck head nearly fell off, but that was a momentary glitch in a monumental night. After the final scene, as the parents clapped and the chorus bowed, I walked out to my public, followed only by Nick Blue, who took my hand and let me know in that gesture that even Pee Girls can touch Cool Guys. That night, I was something. Oversized wonderful loved and something.
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