Mrs. Joy Alpers
Rt. 1 Box 52M
Center Valley Road
Willits, California
Miss Under The Thumb
By Joy Simmons
That’s me! Always under somebody’s thumb. Right now the thumb belongs to my big brother.
Lancelot Jones, bachelor, handsome, redheaded is my Jr. Lit instructor as well as my brother. It’s hard to accept him in such a dignified position. Maybe it’s because I keep remembering things like the wet rope he laid beside my bed that I stepped on with bare feet, or the live frog he put in a flower arrangement that I was especially proud of.
I’m supposed to call him Mr. Jones in class—it’s more dignified that way. I try to get around that by not calling him by name at all, only once in a while I say ‘Lance’ automatically.
Today in class, during a lengthy discourse on Shakespeare, I stuck a note in my shoe and slyly edged it up to Anne, the girl in front of me. She purposely dropped her pencil and picked up the note while retrieving the pencil. Lance always did have sharp eyes. He saw the whole transaction.
“Pricilla,” he asked, “Is Shakespeare boring you?”
“Well,” I complained, “It might be more interesting if somebody would rewrite it in modern language.”
“Was that note you passed to Anne so important that it couldn’t wait until after class?”
“It seemed especially appropriate at the time,” I assured him.
“Perhaps you should read it to the class if it’s so appropriate.”
“I don’t think you’d appreciate it,” I told him, hoping he’d let the matter drop.
He evidently thought I was being insolent, because he said, “I’m sure the class will want to hear anything that is in line with our lessons.”
I picked up the note off Ann’s desk and held it out to him. “You may read it,” I offered, hoping desperately he would take the hint. The room was strangely silent except for an occasional snicker.
“Come, come Pricilla,” he demanded, “I insist you read it to the class.”
“All right, you asked for it.” Unfolding the note I read, “Brothers may come and brothers may go, but this one drones on forever.”
Lance’s face was still red with anger when the uproar in the class had subsided. “Pricilla,” he said evenly, “You may be excused from class.”
“As you wish, sir” I said with mock politeness and swept out of the room with what I hoped was dignified departure.
Lit was my last class of the day. “I may as well go on home,” I told myself. Fireworks would be popping soon enough anyway. But no! Just as I got my books and homework assignments from my locker and started out the door, I had the tough luck of running into Mr. Jenkins, the principal. Of all the people I didn’t want to see at the moment, he topped the list.
“Hello Pricilla” he greeted me. “Aren’t you feeling well?”
“Oh yes, I feel fine,” I told him.
“How come you’re leaving so early?”
“Oh, I’ve been dismissed from my last class.” I tried to sound casual.
“Dismissed? That’s highly irregular isn’t it?”
“Well---I suppose you might say I was kicked out.” I explained.
“Kicked out—you? Pricilla, you aren’t the type of student to be kicked out of class. Suppose you come into my office and tell me about it.
Explanation, 3 minutes—Lecture, one half hour. I’d heard the other kids say that when ‘Jenky’ (That’s what we call Mr. Jenkins among ourselves) called you down, you always came away with a resolution to better yourself. Even I came out of the Prof’s office with a helpful attitude toward my big brother.
“Is school out already,” Mother asked as I opened the kitchen door. “I had no idea it was so la—why darling, you’re home early!” she exclaimed, glancing at the clock. “Is anything wrong?” Mother is one of those punctual people. Everything must be scheduled to the clock on the wall.
“No, everything’s fine,” I assured her.
“Are you feeling alright?” she asked suspiciously.
“Oh, just a slight headache.” I fibbed, starting to my room.
“Dear, dear” Mamma complained, “I just know you are doing too much homework. You just shouldn’t have to study all day and at night too.”
“I’ll recommend you for president of the P.T.A. the first chance I get.”
“Now dear, don’t be flip. Where’s the pain?”
“Pain?”
“Yes dear, where does your head hurt?”
“Oh. Well the pain is sort of in my neck, Mamma. It’s nothing. Really.”
“Well you just sit down here and let Mamma massage the back of your neck for you.” She pulled a kitchen chair from beneath the table.
I couldn’t exactly tell her that her son was the pain in my neck, so I straddled the chair and rested my forehead on my arm for one of Mamma’s brisk, probing massages.
“There now, doesn’t that feel better?” she asked after having kneaded and pinched and squeezed for some time.
“Seems too.” I answered gently rubbing the spots she’d dug into the hardest
“Now, you just go lie down until dinner’s ready.” She patted my shoulder as she glanced at the clock. “Oh my goodness, dinner will be late if I don’t get the meat on this instant.
Dinner was right on time however. Father, as usual was preoccupied with the evening paper. Mother bustled around making sure everyone was eating enough salad and vegetables so that she neglected to eat the proper amounts herself. Lance kept watching me with that air of applying psychology when he told Mom that there was a very good movie playing tonight.
“That’s nice dear, but you shouldn’t go out on school nights you know.”
“That’s not what I meant mother,” Lance explained. “I thought maybe you and Dad would like to go. I’ll help Priss with the dishes so you can make the first show.”
“That is sweet of you dear,” Mother purred, “but I’m not sure it would be wise for me to run off tonight, even for a movie. Pricilla came home from school early today complaining of a terrific pain in her neck. How are you feeling now dear?” she turned anxiously to me.
“Fine, Mother, fine.” I scooted down in my chair. That pain in my neck was sitting right across the table glaring at me.
“Now go on Mom,” Lance urged. “It will do you both good.”
They had no sooner gone out the front door than Lancelot began to orate. Then that wonderful invention the telephone began to ring. “Two lectures in one day is one and a half too many,” I remarked as I lifted the receiver.
“Hi Priss,” Anne, my romance minded girl friend called to tell me she knew I was in a tough spot. She just happened to have an out of state cousin visiting, and wouldn’t it be just ducky if she brought cousin over to get teacher’s mind on other things besides unruly sisters.
I could not have thought of a better idea in a million years. Plans began to flash through my mind on how to get my brother married off and out of town. I really didn’t hear much of what Lance had to say after that.
Oh! That out of state cousin! A southern doll. Long black hair, big blue eyes, and a honey mellow voice. ‘Aren’t I all lucky to have such a handsome brother for a teacher—and she would just adore bringing her problems to him--.” Anne and I slipped off quietly to my room.
As be battled our way through a jungle of homework, we’d hear a soft delicate laugh float up frequently. Just too too devine. And the plans we made, Anne and I—even down to the dresses we would wear at the wedding.
Anne and her cousin were getting ready to leave when Lance remarked off handedly that he was engaged to a girl he’d met at college—my own brother mind you, and this was the first I knew about it. He was planning to be married during summer vacation, and, he looked coldly at me as he said this, “If Mr. McGuire retires this year, I hope to be Senior English and Literature teacher next year.”
Oh brother! What do I do now!
