Room 103

Room 103

Chicago, 1958

"What is the capital of Illinois?" Mrs. Powell surveyed the classroom. “Becky.”

The third grader with butter blonde hair, a teacher’s pet, stood up, "Um, Chicago."

"Incorrect, but thanks for trying, Becky. Please be seated. Zahra?"

"Sp-sp-sp-spr-ingfield," said the little girl with big brown eyes, looking down at the floor.
Several of the other students giggled at the stuttering girl. Becky laughed the loudest. Mrs. Powell rapped the edge of her wooden desk with a yardstick to quiet the snickering. Zahra, still standing, waited for permission to seat down.

"Springfield is correct." That was Zahra's cue to be seated. "I want everyone to turn to page forty-four and study the map of the United States. Memorize the capital of each state...there will be a quiz tomorrow. Now put your thinking caps on. You have thirty minutes before class is over today to study. Begin."

A rustling of pages ensued, along with sighs, before all students were on the correct page. Several pairs of eyes darted around, seeking someone to interact with to delay the task. Restlessness was eminent near the end of a school day, but Mrs. Powell kept a close watch while grading papers.


Becky sat behind Zahra and stared at the back of her nappy head. She hated Zahra's hair. It was twisted and coiled into a jumble of braids that stuck out all over her head and were secured with strips of knotted white rags. Zahra's clothes were too long and shabby, and the soles of her scuffed loafers had holes in them. But most of all, Becky hated the girl's dark brown skin. It wouldn't be that way she thought, if she scrubbed really hard to wash it off.

To the relief of all students, the school bell blared to signal the end of their captivity.
"Attention! Everyone take your textbook home and study chapter five. Class dismissed...single file...no talking please." In unison the third grade class gathered their belongings and exited room 103 of Mills Elementary School.

Becky met her best friend, Daniel, at the front door and hurried down the steps to freedom, square metal lunch box in one hand, a schoolbook in the other. They crossed the schoolyard and watched girls with bobbing ponytails jump ropes or play hopscotch. Boys with crew cuts played tag and ran into anyone who got into their way.

Unfortunately, Zahra Jones, the only girl of color at school, got in the way. She stumbled and bumped into Becky, causing her to spill to the ground.

Becky shrieked in fury, "Look what you've done," her soiled pink dress had torn at the sleeve.

"So-so-so sssssorrry," whimpered Zahra, hugging her bloody scraped knee.
Other children stopped playing and gathered in a circle around Becky and Zahra.

"You tripped me and now you're gonna pay." Becky jumped up and attacked Zahra. First, by punching her in the chest, and then slapping Zahra in the face. When Zahra raised her arms to shield her head, Becky started pinching her arms. "Come on, Danny, help me get her," yelled Becky. But he and the rest of the children slowly crept backwards away from the two girls.

"Stop, Becky! It was an accident," said Daniel at last.

"No! She ruined my dress." She continued to flail her arms at the frightened girl.

Daniel persisted. "Please, Becky. No more. She's hurt enough." He could see blood flowing from the girl's nose. Zahra's tear stained face begged for relief.

Becky sneered at the crowd of stunned cherub faces. "You're all babies, ya know." With anger still razor sharp, she kicked Zahra in the ribs.

A piercing scream sent the children scurrying home, all being more afraid of Becky than the incident. They left the battered girl in her pain, and pitiful howling.

Room 103 never saw Zahra Jones again. No explanation or information was given. No one inquired.


Zahra Jones...

When I came back to this city and this school, I never even thought much about the day I received a beating from Becky. That afternoon, when I walked home, my momma said we were moving. Our meager belongings, all packed in beat up cardboard boxes tied with string, were stacked near the only doorway. Momma said daddy got a job in Halo and we’d be on our way soon.

She tended to my wounds and asked what happened. I told her all the sordid details about Becky. How mean she was to me on the playground. She pulled a single shiny blonde hair from my sleeve and put it in the pocket of her floral housedress, the one our neighbor next door gave her when she could no longer fit into it.

Momma gave me the last sugar cookie from the ceramic jar with the chipped lid and told me to sit on the stoop outside and wait for daddy to come home. I could hear her rummage in one of the boxes. “Stay right there, Zahra. I have some business to take care of in the bedroom.”

Momma always prayed in the bedroom. She prayed for a lot of things then, and most of what she prayed for seemed to come about. I knew she found her candles, cards, and oils, and I could hear her chanting and smell the musky incense. The next thing I know, some of the other neighbor ladies. Cora, Pearl, and Etta, go into my house and join momma with her praying and chanting. Momma always said energy was important in chanting.

Daddy got home before dark and we piled our belongings into Uncle Maurice’s old pickup. Uncle Maurice, momma, and I rode in the front of the truck, while daddy hoped into the back with our boxes. All the neighbors gathered around, waved good-bye and wished us luck. That evening some other people moved into our little shanty house with a patch dirt for a lawn.

The next day, daddy went to his new job at the factory. I started at a new school. I made friends and played jump rope on the playground. When I went to high school, I became an Honor student. My family chanted and found the means to send me to college. They were so proud of me when I became a teacher.

My parents are gone now. I kept photographs and my momma’s box full of prayer items. There is an opening in a school in Chicago and here is where I live.


Chicago, l993

Becky Williams, a single mother of little means, made sure her eight-year-old son, Jason, was up and ready for school early. She double-checked his homework, and then went through her list of chores he must complete before leaving the house to catch the school bus on the corner. She handed him a brown paper bag with three items for lunch, and enough change to purchase a container of milk. “Make sure you eat everything, this time,” she said sternly, never thinking to give him a hug. Jason stuffed it into his already heavy backpack. He hopped through the door of the yellow bus and took a seat behind the driver.

After adjusting his eyeglasses, he tried to smooth down his stubborn blond cowlick. The quiet boy stared down at his resale shoes, while the other children on the bus chatted about video games and toys.

The yellow bus promptly dropped the children off at school so they could be in class by 9:00 am. Jason was pushed and shoved in the busy hallway to room 103 where Miss Zahra Jones taught third grade.

"Good morning, children," announced Miss Jones. "Today we will begin with a review of the capitals of the United States. Does anyone know the capital of Maryland? "

A sea of hands raised, "Pick me, Miss Jones. Pick me."

"Lamar?"

"Baltimore," replied Lamar in an arrogant tone.

"No. That is incorrect." Miss Jones looked at the timid blond boy in front of Lamar and asked, "Jason? Can you tell us?"

He nodded a vigorous yes, although his hands fidgeted. "An-an-an-nap-po-po-lis."

Lamar snickered and chuckled behind his hands. Jason burned red with embarrassment.

"You are absolutely right, Jason."

"Now class, what is the capital of Illinois?"

Lamar's arm shot up and Miss Jones decided to give him a second chance. "Lamar."

"Easy…Chicago."

Some of the children giggled but were immediately silenced when Miss Jones signaled with her hand for quiet. “You should know this, Lamar.”

Smugness left Lamar's face and was replaced with resentment. He leaned in and whispered to the back of Jason's head, "You better watchit nerd boy, or I’ll beat your ass like I did yesterday."

Miss Zahra Jones made a mental note to keep an eye on the boy with nappy hair. She could always spot a problem. She made sure to collect all her student’s papers, especially, Lamar and Jason’s. When evening came she pulled out her momma’s box for praying. She remembered things momma taught her.

On Wednesday, Jason came to class with a gash on his cheek. Lamar had a cut lip and a puffy right eye. Miss Jones didn’t ask about their appearance. She was happy Lamar did well on the quiz, and Jason stuttered less and carried an air of confidence.

She also knew they would be friends one day, very soon…and perhaps she’d provide a helping hand to Jason's mother, Becky. Though, getting a strand of hair would be difficult, but not impossible.


Current Day

Zahra Jones retired recently. She never married, but provides a home for foster children from many countries. Becky Williams has been working as a nurse in pediatrics, married, and very proud of her son, Jason. He teaches third grade in classroom 103 and writes children's books. Lamar is a musician and expecting his first child. Jason will be the baby's godfather.



Word Count: 1626