Playing with fire
Be careful what you sing for, it is said, you may actually get it.
I should know, as I have heard so many songs. My patience and memory for songs and stories are endless. And some are remembered as lessons.
"Mine eyes have seen the glory of the burning of the school,
We have tortured every teacher, we have broken every rule..."
At first, the cruel version of “Battle Hymn of the Republic” doesn’t bother me. These are but children, I say, they don’t consider what they are saying.
“Are you sure?” asks Mockingbird. “They sound quite happy to sing it.”
I tell the bird he should understand folly, with all the cat’s mews and screen door sounds he copies, and shouldn’t try to overreach his skills. He is Messenger, I remind him, leave Wisdom to me.
“True,” he replies, “but is it wise to discount the song, Stone, considering where you are?”
The bird has a point. But he is only a year old, while I have always been, and will always be (in one form or another), providing wisdom to those with the stillness of spirit to hear it. I sheltered the Caddo and Ugahxpa peoples here; I know where the French girl is buried; I still hold a rifle - rusted to my rock - from the days when brother fought brother; I frame many men’s homes. Through fire and storm and tornado, Stone prevails.
(Tune of Yankee Doodle)
"...Homewood school is burning down,
Let's all give a cheer now,
Now it's done we'll have some fun
And all go get a beer now!"
I remember Homewood school burning, as many schoolhouses did a century ago. One day working men gathered to change that. Under orders from their great Chief Roosevelt, they came to me, taking stones from Rose Creek and Grace Creek and building me into solid structures. I stood strong, a solid two-story school and adjacent gymnasium.
I reflect the pride of their work, and as years pass, I lend my strength to the boys and girls who come to learn, the men and women who teach them. One of the boys who studied and played within my walls returns to teach the next generation. He tells stories of men who made this country. He tells what became of the Ugahxpa, known now as the Quapaw -- the Arkansa people for whom this land is named.
But the Homewood students call their teacher “boring.” They don’t respect his wisdom. They secretly sing of the school’s destruction, laughing to themselves. Eventually, by the time they take seats in my gymnasium to accept their diplomas, they have gained a respect for what my stone holds. But still, their young magick is taking its toll. It has not gone unnoticed by the Spirits.
Under a dark moon, Coyote looks up at my edifice.
“Why do you continue to shelter them?” Trickster asks. “They don’t love you.”
“Some do,” I reply. “Look how they’ve added to these walls, now speaking of my portion reverently as ‘the Old Hall.’”
“Some reverence,” he laughs. “They no longer use your upstairs auditorium.”
“They have their reasons,” I say confidently. “They make good use of the first floor. They cheer with pride in the gymnasium. When the state threatens to close the school, they rally to save it.”
“Is it really love for you?” Coyote sneers. “Or is it that they have no love for the county seat, where the children would go without you? The birds have told me what the young say, how they resent being in a tiny school, with no fancy classes or bands or football or a real track. How they wish they could consolidate with their friends across the county line…”
“They don’t mind making do,” I tire of his insinuations. “Besides, what concern is this of yours?”
Coyote Trickster shrugs. “None really. I just like watching human things burn.”
An approaching car sends him to the shadows, and I sense he’s gone. For the first time, I start to worry.
I consult with Sky and Lightning. They feel no animus towards the school. I check with living things from Ant to passing Deer. Bat is glad for the shelter of the gym rafters, but says he is not the only animal who hides in the building.
I reach out to the school’s caretakers, but they are occupied with the events of spring. Upkeep of buildings can wait for summer, their thoughts say.
For a week, those who love me most are gone -- the senior class at a distant resort city before returning for graduation. The remaining children feel impatient to get the semester over with. My energies ebb. Then, in the dead of night, I hear it.
“It’s-here-it’s-here-I-know-it’s-here.” Squirrel is within the walls. “Shiny-shiny-Coyote-told-me-something-special-here.” I try to warn him. He doesn’t listen. “What’s-here?-what’s-here?-Humming-humming-”
Though I understand eternity, it still feels like forever until a human arrives with the dawn. I exert my influence, make him look up to see the smoke. But by the time other men arrive, it is too late. Fire has taken hold. She laughs at me and dances all over me.
The senior students return to find me undone. Heartbroken, they take pieces of my stone to remember me. Etta Lou, who, like others, lived her whole life in this town, 13 years a student on this campus, carefully chooses another piece to give to her brother, a graduate here 10 years before - who I recall as one of the boys who sang those horrid songs.
- - - - -
This is my entry for LJ Idol Season 8, Week 20, Open Topic.
Based on true events.
(Edit to add) Epilogue: The school rebuilt but coincidentally went into decline as the state's transfer laws loosened. About 10 years ago the board voted to consolidate with districts across the county line. The "Homewood" (not its real name) campus is used but most students go to another town. I still have my stone from the old school's walls.