childhood

the tears came out of fucking nowhere, man.

we were sitting, enjoying a quiet sunday, a calm breeze. we were talking in semi-hushed tones, careful not to disrupt the intensely easy-going vibe. we were talking about.. oh, this. that. a bit of everything, a whole lot of nothing...

how did we lead into it? i can't remember. but i remember how the anecdote started. playfully waving my fist in the air, i decried Sean P---. "if i had minions, i would get them to do some serious damage to Sean P---." Sean went to grade school with me. ah yes, grade school: purveyor of all my happiest memories. (she stifles a shudder)

my friend laughed gently, wondering what Sean had done to me. first i gave the short answer, "oh you know, the standard grade school semi-torture..." and then i decided to flesh it out with an exemplary anecdote. i guess i'd never told this story before, not out loud.
anyway.

i was in grade 2. i had just gotten these death-locks, these bear-traps-in-training on my molars. the idea was these silver bands wrapped around my molars (top and bottom, one each side) and had a wee jagged bit (not unlike a thumbtack) that jutted out into the cheek, onto which you would hook elastic bands that would then straighten out the jaw. (as a side note, i love my semi-straight smile, but come on: orthodontists are sadistic fuckers.) anyway to be fair, the metal hooks that jutted out were not that big, but in a little girl's mouth, they were giant enough to wreak some serious havoc. anyone who's bitten their tongue or the inside of their cheek while chewing might be able to extrapolate...

to try to allieviate the damage being done by these metal rods that were incessantly tearing into my cheeks, i'd been given a box of wax strips. the idea was i would roll up a wad of wax, stick it onto the metal rod and round out the protrusion.

the bell rang, and i remember running across the field to get in lign. somewhere near the end of the field, Sean was waiting for me and with deadly precision, stuck out a leg and tripped me. did i say tripped? somehow that word doesn't do it justice. i caught air, man. as he laughed and jogged off to get in lign, i felt the air soar through my hair, felt my chubby little body land hard and fast, heard my little box of wax fly from my pocket and shatter on the ground, and watched in horror as the wax flew in all directions.

when i said caught air, my friend winced sympathetically for me. i kept on, but didn't make it to the end of the sentence. somewhere before the landing, i had to stop myself: "holy shit, i'm going to start crying, this is ridiculous." valiantly i breathed deep and plunged forth. my voice cracked. i tried a few more words, but tears came instead.

wow. i was blown away. here i thought i was telling my friend a silly little story of childhood malice. instead i found myself crying, remembering a pathetic little girl, pathetically wiping the dirt and grass off those fucking pieces of wax, terrified by the gruelling alternative of not having that fucking wax.

i was hoping in retelling it i could be a little stronger over something so small, so long ago. but jesus fuck, i am crying right now as i type.

Sean P---, know that there is someone in this world who will never forgive you.