Hate Notes

by Vi Keeland

She swatted at my chest. “When I was in kindergarten, we learned the Pledge of Allegiance. Since we were just starting to read and a lot of the words were big, the teacher taught it to us one line at a time. I was really proud that I’d memorized it. So one night, I unscrewed the flag my parents had in a flagpole on the porch and stood after dinner to show off how smart I was.” “Go on . . .” She sat up in bed. It was dark, but I could see her hand go to her chest. “I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic for Richard Stamps, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.” I cracked up. “You thought for which it stands was Richard Stamps?” “My parents thought it was amusing, too. It sort of became our little inside joke. Whenever my dad would say to my mom, ‘What was that guy’s name we met at the party the other night?’ my mother would say, ‘Richard Stamps.’ So when my parents surprised me for my seventh birthday with a puppy, his name was obviously meant to be Richard Stamps.” “Obviously.”