To the Boy Who Was Late for Class: I Should Have Reached for Your Hands

Abstract

I do not remember the name of the boy in my high school who was perpetually late. I do remember that he was tardy four times in one semester, and the fourth tardy meant detention. I had perfect attendance in high school. Had I been presented with that ominous yellow slip, I would have broken down on the floor in tears right then and there, blubbering excuses and groveling for mercy and pardon. Fortunate to never have been tardy, absent, or sick. Sounds neurotic, and looking back I shall admit I was…and maybe still am.