The Smell I’ll Remember Most From 3rd Grade

I don’t understand why what I wrote today in class got me in trouble. Mrs. Jenkins wrote on the board, “Fall smells like…” and we were supposed to complete the sentence. This is third grade. It’s not a new concept. So, it’s not like I didn’t understand what she was asking me to do. I did. So, I did. “Fall smells like… dementia dog pee.”

I guess Mrs. Jenkins was mad because she wanted to use all our answers in a class poem and mine didn’t have a nice ring to it. That to me sounds like cheating. I mean, just last week, Justin got in trouble for copying down a word from Sydni’s spelling test. What’s the difference? But, does Mrs. Jenkins get in trouble for copying down all our answers? Of course not. Because she’s a grown up. And grown ups never get in trouble.

Annika wrote, “Fall smells like apple crisps.” Her mom is the PTA president. She brings in apple crisps to the teachers every fall. Annika should have written, “Fall smells like suck ups.”

Jordan wrote, “Fall smells like football.” He’s obsessed. It’s all he ever plays at recess. Mrs. Jenkins could have asked, “How does a bear survive the long winter?” and Jordan would have written, “football.”

But, Mrs. Jenkins didn’t even ask me what I meant. Fall smells like dementia dog pee because our dog, Miss Piggy, who is pretty old, even in human years, has dementia. She walks through the house, staring at walls, and yelping at nothing. And she pees. Everywhere. Mom is constantly telling me to go clean it up. Gross. And now it’s Fall and it’s raining, so Miss Piggy never wants to go outside. She doesn’t want to get wet. I think she’s peeing inside just to watch me clean it up.

Mom says I should be nice to Miss Piggy. “She’s getting old,” she says. Getting? She’s already there. She’s 18. She’s twice my age! She’s been a member of this family longer than any of us kids. My mom got Miss Piggy before my oldest sister was born. To me, that just means Miss Piggy’s slacking on her chores. Do something already! If I just laid around all day, staring off into space, and peeing on the floor like she does, I’d be in so much trouble.

Trouble… that’s exactly where I am now. I’m in Principal Decker’s office, waiting for my mom to come get me. Mrs. Jenkins told Mr. Decker that I was being “rude and insufferable,” whatever that means. I mean, I’ve seen kids in my class be much worse. Like the time Charlie pooped his pants in class ON PURPOSE just to get out of taking a reading test. Mrs. Jenkins was all like, “Oh, poor Charlie. Is your tummy okay?” and took him off to the nurse’s office while the rest of us had to sit there breathing in his fumes. But that’s not, “rude and insufferable.”

Oh, here comes Mom. Great. I can’t wait to see what I’m going to get as a punishment this time. It’ll probably be dish duty. All week. I hate doing the dishes. Ugh. Stupid dishes. Stupid writing prompt. 

Wait. Why is mom crying? Dude. It was just a writing prompt. Mom?

Mom looks down at me out of the corner of her eye, rests her hand on my shoulder for a second, and then walks into Principal Decker’s office, without ever stopping to even say hi. Oh man, I’m really going to get it now. This is bad. This is really bad.

After what feels like the longest time ever - longer than when I had to get my tooth pulled last year at Dr. Yang’s - Mom comes out of the principal’s office. She’s wiping her eyes and tells me it’s time to go. Am I getting kicked out for writing about pee? What kind of school is this?

Mom grabs my hand in hers. I want to tell her that’s not cool at school, but then I realize I might not ever come back to this school after what I wrote. So, I don’t say anything. We get to the car and I go to climb into the back seat, but then she opens the front passenger door and now I know I must really be in trouble if she’s gotta keep that close an eye on me. I’m never allowed to sit up front. Airbags and all that.

Mom puts her hand on my arm and then turns her head to look at me. Those tears are still there. I start to apologize - to make my case - but she stops me. She tells me Miss Piggy is gone. My first thought is she ran away, but then I tried to imagine her running anywhere at this age. Her hips don’t really work. She gets lost in the living room. Where could she be? 

Oh. 

But, I just cleaned up her pee this morning! She’d been doing that crying/howling thing again and there was pee all over her blanket and I had the wipe it up and mop the floor and wash her blanket and take her outside. It was so annoying! And now, she’s gone. Miss Piggy won’t be there when I get home. I won’t have to clean up after her anymore. I won’t have to listen to her cry or look into her eyes that look like they’re filled with clouds. Miss Piggy is gone.

Mom reaches over and wipes her thumb on my cheek. I’m crying. Huh. She starts the car. We’re driving home. Through my window, I see the orange and yellow trees as we drive by, dropping orange and yellow leaves. Fall is like that. Summer is dying away. 

At home now, I go to Miss Tiggy’s bed. It’s there. But, she’s not. And even though I just cleaned up her mess this morning, I can still smell it. I can still smell her. I can still smell Fall.