Forgiving Billy Branson*
Marilyn Robitaille
November 20, 2022
On the first day of school, Billy Branson
Long, tall, thin, and lanky Billy Branson
set the trash can by my desk on fire
With presence of mind, I grabbed him by the collar
Then held him in a chokehold and said calmly,
“Everyone, please exit to the breezeway now.”
Books scattered, desks all akimbo, smoke filtering
Billy’s eyes glazed as he told me that he loved fire.
“I know,” I said, holding him a little tighter.
I could see it in his eyes, smell the smoke taint
I made him pour the water from my vase
As punishment, turning bright, hot to a simmer
We watched as my roses tumbled, water steamed
Flowers for my birthday, just the day before
Some finality set in motion, some unsung ode
To beauty and to truth and to fire, now all in ashes
Thinking to save souls and stamp out ignorance
Newly minted as a teacher, my first day, first class
What was to become of my reputation now
Who shoulders up to so much drama, so much heat
How could I explain that while I checked roll
Read the rules about politeness and hall passes
About gum chewing and bringing books to class
About notebooks of a color blue, and wide-lined paper
Billy Branson thought of white-heat fire and pleasure
Striking matches, inhaling phosphors, fast action
The primal touch of fire-starting, of ignition
The wonder of the elements as flames flashed
Afterwards, when I told this story, I had no ending
I don’t know where they took him for his sins
The week before a pasture and a barn had burned
Just near his house, and now they had their proof
Billy never heard me reading Keats or T.S. Eliot
He never heard my rationale for learning commas
He didn’t hear me read aloud from Great Expectations
The other students never spoke of that day again
The day that Billy Branson could not contain himself
Could not hold himself against the orange fire’s passion
So enraptured by fire that he chose self-immolation
Over school and classmates, over poetry and books
Billy Branson, now that years have passed,
I forgive you, and in the coming days when I retire
I will, I promise, light a candle for you
*This incident actually happened on my first day of teaching high school, but I’ve changed the student’s name.
Marilyn Robitaille is in the process of transitioning from Tarleton State University after a forty-year career teaching English. She founded Romar Press, an independent small press, with plans to focus on memoirs through sponsored creativity retreats and workshops. She most recently collected and edited Wine Poems, a forthcoming collection of poems and related photographs, all extolling the virtues and emotional connections related to wine. She has recently been named Managing Director of the Frazier Conservatory (opening in 2023), a planned private retreat in Stephenville, Texas, that will give special priority to non-profit organizations or events that celebrate the land, revitalization, the arts, and regional culture.
