Don't Look Down

by Bruce Conrad Davis

It was difficult to find someone to be president of the School Parent Advisory Committee but Sophia, a mother of a boy, assumed the responsibility.

Sophia was married to Roger. He did odd jobs for a living and was an entry level communist.

The Advisory Committee met in the evening in the school auditorium. Roger always accompanied Sophia. I had to focus on the committee and keep an eye on Roger. He’d slow walk the room casually dropping pieces of communist literature where they might be picked up.

I’d walk the parents to the door after the meeting, thank them for attending, say good night and return to the auditorium to gather up the Communist propaganda.

On most school days Sophia volunteered in the cafeteria. When she felt nobody was looking she’d slip a couple of small cartons of milk or pieces of food in to her handbag. Occasionally she’d swipe a box of crayons or a few pieces of paper from the supply closet.

I let it slide.The family was short on calories and kids like to color.

Roger died. Sophia scrambled to find pallbearers. “Would I lend a hand?” What’s a principal to do? I said yes.

I figured I could squeeze the church service and burial in before a mandatory meeting with the district superintendent.The service droned on. Time was fleeting.

I was about to be the bearer who bailed when the service ended. We headed to the cemetery.

I was the middle man on the right side of the casket. The other pallbearers were obese. We struggled up the hill through reeds and weeds. Roger was being planted in the outfield.

Suddenly there was the unmistakable warning sound of a rattlesnake. My fellow pallbearers faced a conundrum. They could drop Roger and beat it, break in to an Irish jig, or pray.

Calm as a cucumber I soldiered on. I had an advantage. I knew the “rattle” was the alarm on my Belforte watch. I had set it to remind me of my meeting. Due to the angle of ascent and the huge man in front of me I couldn’t reach my left wrist to silence the snake.

I didn’t tell my fellow toters my watch was what they took to be a rattler. I bet in later years when they gathered around their barbecue grills they swapped stories about the fearless principal and how we all cheated death.