Terry Pluto - The Girl in Red (prose) (2024)

As I think of The Girl In Red, I hear those lyrics from Don McLean’s “American Pie.” | Getty Images

Memories of The Girl In Red

& the soundtrack of ‘American Pie’

by Terry Pluto‘s Faith & You

Updated: Apr. 08, 2024, 2:46 a.m.|

Published: Mar. 17, 2024, 5:01 a.m.

CLEVELAND, Ohio – I think about her once or twice a year. It happens when I see a certain little girl dressed in red.

This girl … the girl in my memory … has chocolate skin, pretty braids and red ribbons in her hair. She is wearing a cute red dress – the kind kids wore to school once upon a time.

I see her walk. It’s more of a bounce. It’s an act of joy, punctuated with an innocent smile. She is young, maybe in the fourth grade.

“A long, long time ago …”

“A long, long time ago, I can still remember

how that music used to make me smile… "

I wish I could remember this story as clearly as I do those lyrics.

A LONG, LONG TIME AGO

It was the early 1970s. I was just starting college. “American Pie” was a constant as I drove to school and work in my blue Dodge Dart. It blared out of my 8-track tape player – one of the worst contraptions invented as it constantly chewed up the tape inside.

But it was a long, long time ago…

I had a part time job as a tutor at John Raper Elementary in Hough. The Hough Riots were in 1966. Several years later, you could still see a few burned-out buildings, some rubble where there once was a house.

I drove by looking for the school. The spot on East 85th is an empty lot. Like The Girl In Red, the school is long gone.

She was in the fourth grade, one of the smallest kids in the class. I was there to help the students learn the multiplication tables. My pay was something like two bucks an hour, a few hours three days a week. I lived on Red Barn cheeseburgers and pizza from the Rascal House near Cleveland State.

Once upon a time, there was a special girl student who Terry Pluto remembers from almost 50 years ago. Illustration By JoAnne Coughlin Walsh / Advance Local JoAnne Coughlin Walsh, Advance Local

WHAT WAS HER NAME?

I wish I could remember her name, but I can’t. To me, she always is The Girl In Red even though I’m sure she wore other colors.

Unlike most of my students, she was excited to have a tutor. Her math was weak but her work ethic was strong. I was told she had moved around a lot. She was intelligent, but “lost time” living in different places, according to one of her teachers.

I had her for a few months, and she was the highlight of my tutoring day. Always dressed neatly – matching shoes, socks and dress. Her hair was immaculately braided with a ribbon, her smile was ever present.

One day, she asked me, “Do you live in a nice house?”

I never thought about it much. At that point, my family owned a split-level in Northfield. I was living at home, commuting to college and my various part-time jobs. Before I answered, I thought about the places I drove past each time I went to Hough.

“Yes,” I said. “I live in a nice house.”

I waited for her to say something else, but she didn’t. She sort of looked at something over my shoulder. I thought of asking her if she lived in a nice house, but wisely kept my mouth shut.

THE BRICK THROWERS

One day I was tutoring a little boy. Suddenly, a brick banged against the classroom window, glass shattering. The little boy ran to the window, me right behind him. We saw a couple of kids in the parking lot, looking up and laughing.

“They used to go here,” said the boy. “They bad.”

I was always thankful The Girl In Red wasn’t in the room with me that day. But I thought about the brick and the broken window right after she asked me about the house.

The little boy and I returned to working on the multiplication tables. What is there to say about any of it? For some of these kids, it seemed like so often someone was throwing a brick right in the middle of something good happening.

WHAT WE REMEMBER

I tell this story peering into the rearview mirror of memory of nearly a half-century ago. I’m not sure what is actually factual, at least the small details and conversations. Is it how I want to remember it, or did it actually happen as I remember?

“February made me shiver with every paper I’d deliver …

“Bad news on the doorstep, I couldn’t take one more step … ”

There they are, more lyrics from “American Pie.”

In my memory, it happened in February. Even though the school was a few miles from Lake Erie, the winter wind whipped and puffs of white came out of my mouth while I walked into the school.

I saw The Girl In Red at the other end of the hall. She was going out the door. She was with an older woman, The Girl In Red hanging on to the lady’s hand.

I walked into the classroom and asked the teacher about her.

“You won’t be seeing her again,” she said.

“What happened?” I asked.

The teacher explained the lady was from “the welfare department.” It was probably Child Protective Services.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“I told you,” said the teacher. “She won’t be with us anymore.”

The teacher went silent. She gave me the look she gave her students, the stare that could silence a classroom. This woman didn’t babysit, she taught. She kept order. Her kids learned the basics. She was about 50. At that point, it seemed – just for a second – like she might cry.

“I can’t say any more,” she said.

We were talking in the hallway. She turned and walked into the classroom. I followed her.

“I met a girl who sang the blues and

asked her for some happy news …

“But she just smiled and turned away.”

More lines from “American Pie.”

I always wished I had heard some happy news about The Girl In Red. Never heard a word. Never think about her, until I see a little girl in red with braids and a smile.