I’m surprised I’m not a vegetarian- true story.

I was six years old- maybe seven.

Either way, I was certain that second grade would be way better than first.

We didn’t go on field trips in first grade.

Second graders got to go on school field trips to the dairy farm. Or maybe it was just a farm farm- I don’t remember.  There are gaping holes in my memory of this day, but here’s what I do remember:

The school bus drove us all the way into the farm, along  a red dirt road (I grew up in Hawaii where the dirt is red). They let us off the bus to chase chickens around for a half hour or so. I was grateful for this, because I was feeling nauseous from the bumpy ride. The hot bus was also starting to smell ridiculously bad, because I am almost certain that Bobby M. peed his pants. He did that a lot.

I also remember petting a goat.

We all sat on pokey piles of hay, and listened to some woman talk about cows. I don’t remember any of what she said, but I do remember the little calf she brought out to say hi to us. It had the biggest, glassy eyes I had ever seen, and super long lashes.

Pretty. I remember thinking it was pretty. I don’t know if it was a boy or girl. But it sure was pretty.

We then all piled back onto the bus to go to a nearby park for lunch. Great, because I was starved.

Apparently, the road that brought us into the middle of the farm is only one lane, so instead of going back down it, we continue on it’s loop through the rest of the farm and toward the back exit of the property.

And this part I remember in slow motion…

We round a bend and I am sitting on the right side of the bus looking out the window. We start to approach a shed of some sort- it’s extremely long and there are no doors, or if there are, they are drawn open.

One of the girls at the front of the bus starts to scream in a high pitched voice, “What is that? What is that? What is that?”

As this is happening, I see our teacher jump up from her seat and start waving a clipboard frantically at the bus driver.

In front of my window were about five or six cows, hanging upside down by one foot, and sliced down the middle. Most of them were just hanging there, I am assuming dead, and swinging back forth a little. But one on the end was spilling things out it’s middle. Red and brown things. And almost black things. And something stringy was hanging from it, and blowing in the wind.

Screaming.

All it takes is one child, and it becomes contagious. One kid after another, right from the front of the bus to the back. It was like some sick, scream chorus in round.

I remember so much screaming. The kind of screams you never forget-  six year old little girl screams.

However, I also remember not screaming.

And some boy in the back, who kept going “Moo, mooooo.”

The teacher was shouting at the driver to “Drive faster!”

The little girl in front was still yelling “What is that? What is that? What IS that?”

It was obvious what they were.

They all still had eyes.

I remember the windows of the bus shaking. Maybe because the dirt road was so bumpy, but probably because some of the kids were pounding on the glass and screaming.

Then, we were past it, and the yellow bus was kicking up red dirt clouds as fast as it could. The teacher told everyone to sit down, and that everything was okay.

She also fanned herself with the clipboard.

In about ten minutes we were all getting out of the bus at the park and gathering under a banyon tree to eat our sack lunches.

I don’t remember talking to any of my friends.

I don’t remember the ride home.

I also don’t remember ever eating my sack lunch.

I didn’t cry that day. I didn’t scream.

I don’t think I even told my parents, which I now find kind of peculiar.

Was I scarred back then? I don’t know.

But I think I might be now.

PS-

Looking back, I really don’t think second grade was all that much better than first.