7. My Story (cont.)

I thought my story was quite good. I especially liked the way you found out at the end that it was all only a dream. I felt very sophisticated to have concluded my story on such a surprising note.

I thought about the nice, fat, red 100 on my paper, the highest grade a paper could get. But then I thought about something else. I thought about what it would be like to show the paper to my parents. Because every single word I wrote was a lie. Betty and I played together all the time, and we sometimes made a blanket tent over a clothes line, but we never spent the night in one. I never had a dream about a green monster, either. And staid, timid Mrs. Groll never, ever threw anything at anybody, not even a small cup of water.

My parents, of course, would know. And knowing, they would not say, “Marion, what a fine imagination you have!” as I wanted them to. They would say, “Marion, why are you writing such lies?” And I didn’t have an answer, except that lies were so much more interesting than the truth. I knew, however, without any doubt that my parents wouldn’t be impressed with my idea of “interesting.”

So I was walking and thinking about what to do with my paper when I arrived at an army-green container that commanded, “Keep Your City Clean.” I thought harder. I took one last look at that beautiful 100. Then I tore the paper into tiny, tiny bits, and I kept my city very, very clean.