Trust (poem)

TRUST

When I was in seventh grade

I did not always behave well.

Particularly in Mrs. Scott's art class

which I did not particularly enjoy.

I have reason to believe

that Mrs. Scott did not

particularly enjoy me either.

But the unit on macrame

was different.

For some reason,

I was really into it.

I really enjoyed it.

In fact, for my class project

I wove a forest green choker

as a gift for my sister.

This was 1975 or 1976.

My mom put the

finishing touches on it

sewing two belt-like buckles

and parallel straps

to make it easy to fasten.

It really came out nicely.

I was unusually giddy

to turn it in to Mrs. Scott.

I was certain she would love it.

But when I handed it to her

she looked me straight in the eye

and said, "You didn't make this."

I was stunned.

"Yes I did. I made it for my sister.

My mom helped me with the straps."

Mrs. Scott's face was expressionless.

She repeated her position,

"You didn't make this."

And she handed it back to me.

End of conversation.

End of story.

I was beside myself.

I felt sick to my stomach.

I could not believe what happened.

And then I realized...

Mrs. Scott couldn't either.

That moment taught me

a lesson of a lifetime

about what it means

to earn and to lose

another person's trust.

— John Warinner