Rare Raspberry #2

Lesbian Lunch

I didn’t fit in at school. I went to a private Christain academy and even though we had school uniforms I was still noticeably different. My mom told me that I was there because of the grace of God, but what ever the reason, it definitely wasn’t because my family was rich. I had earned a scholarship and my mom drove the school bus in the mornings to help cover the cost of uniforms and fees. What the scholarship didn’t cover was a coat that fit me to wear in the winter time or more than one pair of school shoes. Maybe I was there by the grace of God, but in third grade God’s grace doesn’t make up for classmates teasing.

Lunch time was the worst. All of my classmates would pull out crisp, clean, brown paper lunch sacs full of white bread sandwiches and little bags of cheetos. I on the other hand brought the same tin lunch pail I’d been using since the 1st grade. My sandwiches weren’t on white bread and my lunches didn’t include a baggie of Oreos. Most of the time I would try to hide the contents of my meal behind my freckled folded arms, but everyone knew – my food was gross.

Lunches became a battle at home. I begged my mom to buy me Capri suns or at least to start using paper lunch sacs. She just sighed for a long time and said, “I’m sorry honey, I know it’s hard. I just wish you knew how lucky you are.”

I didn’t feel lucky, I felt like a loser.

One day I forgot to bring my lunch to school. Miss Nutall my adoring teacher asked everyone in the class to share a little with me so I wouldn’t have to go hungry. In a matter of minutes the paper towel spread across my desk held a feast. I got 3 sections of an orange, half of a peanut butter and raspberry jelly sandwich, a chocolate snack pak and a handful of cheddar gold fish. I was in processed food heaven. Over the next two weeks I “forgot” my lunch 5 times.

Of course Miss Nutall caught on. One morning she corned me in the cloak room and asked, “are you sure you forgot your lunch again? Why don’t I just call you mom and ask her to bring you one.”

I’d been caught. I can still vividly remember the cramping of my gut. My eyes dropped to the floor and my heart sank even lower. “Uhhh she’s at her other work,” I said. “So she can’t, but that’s okay, maybe it’s at the bottom of my backpack and I just didn’t see it.”

Lunch time came and I dragged my feet to the cloak room. My tin lunch pail honestly felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. I was about to sink into the pit of despair when Miss Nutall stopped by my desk. Taking a peek under the lid she exclaimed, “Ooooh tuna fish, my favorite. Any chance you want to trade?” In her hand she held a brown paper bag, swinging is gently from side to side. I looked at her with hopefully eyes, “for reals??”

Miss Nutall traded lunches with me every day that week. After that she just started to write my name on the bags. She even replaced the dots over the i’s with mini hearts. For 30 blissful minutes a day, I finally got to fit in.

Half way through the school year Miss Nutall disappeared. She was replaced by the terrible Mr. Preves, who didn’t want to trade me lunches and definitely didn’t write my name with tiny hearts over the i’s.

The rumors circling around the school about Miss Nutall were vicious. When I finally asked my mom about it she gingerly tried to explain that Miss Nutall made decisions that my Christian private school didn’t agree with. Instead of getting married Miss Nutall lived with another woman.

At the time I didn’t know exactly what she meant. But even as an 8 year old I didn’t get what the big deal was. A sob started rising in my chest, “that’s just not fair” and the tears began to fall.



In that moment I grew up. I learned the all important lesson that life isn’t fair and that sometimes eating saltine crackers from a beat up tin lunch box isn’t the worst thing that can happen.