High School

High school. Frank sat in the bus finishing his lunch time sandwich.

His mind wandered back to the 9th grade. He’d smarted off to a P. E. coach. Frank bent forward and grabbed his ankles.

The sound of hand hitting bare flesh made a cracking sound.

Frank felt a sting and sported a angry, red hand looking imprint on his ass.

“You better get in line and fast or you’ll spend your whole life grabbing your ankles,” Coach Dryman yelled,

Frank wondered; had he spent life so far “grabbing his ankles? He stared at the sky. It was blue with globs of white clouds.

Maybe not Frank thought.

He closed the bus doors and turned over the engine. He lean back to take a nap.

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