Possible Origin: Wednesday September 29, 1999 

I hate Edgar Allan Poe. His stories are ridiculous but required curriculum in junior high. A local theater company, The Dog and Pony, adapted "The Fall of the House of Usher" for the stage, and my principal thought it’d be a great idea to see the story performed instead of read.

Controlling a pack of students, high on the prospect of freedom, is impossible. They’ll screw around, pinch each other, wonder why the theater doesn't sell popcorn, sleep, do anything but watch what’s happening on stage, and stay one step shy of Lord of the Flies.

This morning, however, they piled on the bus without the usual grab-assing.  They talked quietly with their seatmate or stared ahead.  No girls were groped.  No smaller boys got punched in the arm. 

I can't remember where Joan sat. 

I can't remember her face on the bus at all.