Second Grade, Part Two

By Debra L. Winegarten

Being eight years old means walking
Alone to the Skillern’s Drug Store
At the Park Forest Shopping Center
With my weekly allowance quarter
Searing a hole in my already-sweaty shorts pocket.

I know what I’ll buy --
The latest Superman or Batman comic book
Whichever one came in that week
And doesn’t already live in the pile on my nightstand at home.

With my new Superman comic slipped in the sleek paper bag
Top carefully folded so my sweaty hands don’t ruin my treasure,
A grown man stops me on the sidewalk,
Eyeing my Star of David necklace and asking if I’m Jewish.

When I nod yes, (I’m not supposed to talk to strangers),
He tells me that’s really too bad for me,
Because didn’t I know that
Jews burn in Hell when they die?

Tears falling so hard I could barely see,
I dropped my weekly treasure and ran home
To Mom so fast I thought
I might keel over before I got to her
And be snatched right down to Hell.

When I told Mom what happened,
She put both hands on my shoulders,
Knelt to my height where she could look square in my eyes,
And in that Dallas drawl of hers, said,
“That’s okay, honey, don’t worry.
We’re Jewish.
We don’t believe in hell.”