Not Knowing

by James Schneider

Not Knowing
in memory of Cheryl

In fifth grade, I sat next to
a sixth grader in music class,
a pretty girl with brown hair
and brown eyes, like my own.
After class she’d whisper dirty
jokes in my ear.  I laughed or I didn’t.
Either way, she could tell and grinned
as she leaned close to explain it all.
I marveled then, and worry now, where
her vast knowing came from, where
it took her.  She moved that summer,
0and I never heard of her again.