Ode to the Lunchroom 3/31

We lived right across the street from an elementary school which I didn't attend. I watched it recede in the background as the city bus pulled away. My mom had ridden with me the first couple of times to assure herself that I could do it by myself. I felt comfortable getting on since it was the start of the bus route to downtown Oakland and I could sit anywhere I wanted. Second grade was going to be great. I felt a little itchy in the cordoroy uniform pants that were as stiff as stove pipes but in my jacket pocket were the transfer ticket and some change for the ride home and my favorite snack so I had everything I needed. The pants would relax after a little sliding and climbing at recess. The only thing on my mind was the snack my friend Talmadge and I would buy mid morning. In the small catholic school courtyard was a window which only opened in the mornings so kids could buy hot donuts. The smell of fried dough swept through the school like a fog at 10 o'clock and clinged to our clothes and nostrils compelling us to line up first thing before playing. Inside the window was a nun we hadn't seen in any classrooms. Her face looked puffy and red surrounded by the black and white habit she wore holding her together. She had a full tray of donuts and a small cash box right beside her. Slip the nickel through the window and the sticky delight was all yours.