While I Sit in ISS: A Thanksgiving Story

Here I am in ISS again. ISS is short for in-school suspension, in case you don't know. This is the last of my three days in ISS for fighting. Only it wasn't my fault. Two girls followed me down the hall and pushed me into an empty classroom. I was trying to defend myself against them when the teacher rushed in and broke the fight up.

How girl number one got a bloody nose, and how girl number two ended up with a black eye, and how I didn't get a scratch, I'll never understand.

It feels like prison without bars in ISS. It feels like the worst thing that can happen to me today. The room has empty white walls and no windows. We have to sit in our desks or cubicles for seven hours and write, read, study and work. The room locks when shut. Nobody can just walk in. Outside in the hall, I hear sounds of free people laughing and talking as they change classes.

My brain and my fingers are so tired of writing that I drift into another land in my head just to cope with this punishment. In this land, I see my mother's beautiful smile. I smell her citrusy, cinnamon perfume. I hear her fussing at me for getting in trouble again. Then I feel her hugging me and telling me how much she loves me; that she knows I can be great. At last, I can just about taste a slice of her potato pie that she's at home making at this very moment. In less than an hour, I'll be home with her. We'll finish packing for our trip to Grandma Bertha's house where we will spend Thanksgiving with Grandma, my aunts and uncles and all my cousins.

Just the thought gives me the push I need to write another page of "A Simple Matter of Respect," the 300 word mantra they make ISS victims write six times. Make no mistake. I love to write. I'd much rather be writing about what we will do at Grandma's for Thanksgiving. It's going to be great.

Mama and I will drive to Washington D.C. The last time we went, I wasn't old enough to help drive; this time I am. I was only twelve then. That was four years ago.

I will never forget being at Grandma's house with her, my aunts, uncles and cousins. There was so much noise, and so much food. Auntie Patrice glazed and baked a ham. Auntie Brenda made enough dressing to feed my health class. She brought pecan pies, too. Uncle Dwayne smoked two huge turkeys. Auntie Hope made chitterlings and lasagna. Uncle Mike and his wife Cynthia brought collard greens, cornbread, and enough potato salad to feed my geometry class. Auntie Rosslyn made fresh green beans flavored with plenty of pork, macaroni and cheese and broccoli casserole. My mama, the middle child, represented with her specialty - desserts. She brought Caramel, Red Velvet, Lemon Pound and Coconut cakes. All Grandma Bertha had to do was get the cranberry sauce and set the long table for a feast the pilgrims would have envied.

That Thanksgiving day was one of the best days of my life. We prayed together. We ate together. We sang and laughed together. Me and my cousins got in trouble, but we did it together. When we did get in trouble, all Grandma did was hug us tightly and tell us how much she loved us.

As I sit here at my cubicle and write the "Citizenship Pledge" six times, my ISS experience is morphed into one that is bearable, because in a little while I'll be with Mama, and a little while after that, we'll be at Grandma's with everyone. It's like my mouth waters for the Thanksgiving meal that's going to be outstanding. I hear the noisy people that is my family. I feel the love of family.

My sweet thoughts are interrupted by a loud thud on the locked door. When the teacher answers, she moves into the hall and pulls the door behind her so we can't see who she is talking to. I hear men's voices - one that is deep and unknown. The other voice is that of the principal. The two men and the ISS teacher are whispering.

In a few minutes, the ISS teacher steps back into the classroom and calls my name.

"Dahlia. Could you come here, please."

She is still shielding the visitors with the door. And when I walk up to her, she looks at me in a way no one ever had before. She pulled me by the arm into the hallway. There stood our principal and a red-faced man wearing a police uniform.

For a moment, no one spoke. It's like day and time stood perfectly still outside the door of ISS.

The red-faced officer walked closer to me.

"Are you Dahlia Clemmons?"

"Yes, sir," I gulped. "But I didn't start the fight."

The man lowered his head. Then he looked me straight in the eyes. Something cold and strong gripped my chest so no breath would come out of me.

"It's about your mother, Dahlia. I need you to come with me, please."

Again I gulped and tried to breathe. Mama had always taught me to never go with strangers. She didn't say anything about strangers in uniform.

That's when I realized. The time I'd spent in ISS would not be the worst thing to happen to me today.