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| Why they prescribed me Ritalin �Start again,� Ms. Martha says. She looks out the window. �Why,� I�m on the floor putting clocks in red yellow order. �The red one � is one. The blue one is two. Show me five.� �It�s pretty,� I have green ones too. �Pay attention.� �Do you think it�s raining? I like it when it rains.� There are blue ones too. �Can we go outside,� I say. I turn and look out the window. It�s dark out, heavy clouds hand low in the sky. The air hangs like a blanket. The room is deep blue, like the blue when the sun is glowing down at the end of the day. Ms. Martha sits next to me on the grey carpet in her brilliant floral print dress. Ms. Martha�s skin is a ghastly pale green under the florescent lights. Everything in the classroom has an unhealthy grassy tinge. �No. Now show me five. You know you have to learn this. You are very behind in class.� She shakes her head ay every word to give them firm emphasis. I�m very behind because I can�t understand that red is one and blue is two. My blocks are an abacus of spinning yellows and greens. I am the Van Gogh of math class; the Salvador Dali of addition. I make a tower, but it topples before I can get five blocks stacked. Ms. Martha shakes her head and sighs as she stands up. �Move everything onto a desk. I can�t sit on the floor anymore,� she rubs her calves, �and only bring some reds and blues.� Grabbing two fistfuls of blocks, I stand up and dump them on the desk. �No! Only reds and blues,� she says. |
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