I guess it’s just my age, but a lot of memories from elementary school feel like they could be dreams or maybe I stole them from a movie I saw. Like that time in grade 2, I left my desk to hand something in, and came back to find a pair of my underwear sitting by my chair like it was NO BIG DEAL. And NOBODY saw them. I scooped them up and jammed them so deep into the back of my desk that my elbow got caught pulling it out and I sat there, an internal temperature of 450 degrees, and slowly stared at my classmates absolutely weak with relief. They must have been static-clinged in my pant leg and popped out surrounded by a cloak of invisibility, because when you’re little your eyes are always peeled for something to point and laugh at. That’s what you do best when you’re 7: find flaws in your recess partner and wolf down those little peanut butter and cracker snack packs.
I was beyond impressionable when I was little. If you’d told me I’d get sent to the principal’s office for eating lunch, I would have starved to death, because getting in trouble was the most terrifying prospect of my entire life. (Seeing that Nuv actively and always sought out trouble, it will be extremely interesting to see how our kids turn out.)
Even raising my hand and asking to go to the bathroom was an internal struggle of either a) drawing attention to myself, a girl who so shy I might have invented it or b) peeing in my pants, and becoming known as the girl in the “remember when _____ peed her pants?” story, like the poor girl who threw up in the aisle after giving an oral presentation and we all whipped through emotions of “EWWWW! Is she OK? Thank GOD that was not me.”
When I did work up the nerve to scuttle out of class, I always took my sweet time getting back, because those empty hallways were such a novelty. You could hear your footsteps and smell deeper the perma-odor of shammy’s soaked in chalk dust, tuna sandwiches, kid farts and wet shoes.
One day I saw the long hallway stretched out in front of me like I was suddenly an amazon gazelle. I took off with my shitty running gait and sprinted down this hallway and would have arrived back at class right quick, with a sheen on my forehead and a few extra breaths, had it not been for the metal strip on the floor that I caught the lip of one shoe on and absolutely bailed. Taking flight, arms flailing I landed in a long skid that surprised the shit out of me, but I popped up right quick because, remember if I‘d been seen, I was “remember that girl who bailed so hard she aged six months?”
I got up, looked both ways, laughed hard nervously that I had gotten away with it, and then looked down. My little legs, clad in white tights, were now shredded curtains with little bubbles of blood popping up along my knees. MotherFUCKER, where is my MOM and my cabbies and six strawberry froot roll ups to make this better?
Some deep survival instincts kicked in and I hobbled to the bathroom, whipped the tights off, pressed the wounds hard with wet toilet paper and made it back to class practically perfect.
Here is what I looked like circa this bail. If this nerd can survive elementary school, anybody can.
And, if you feel like popping over to review2akill today for some music and comic updates, I would be tickled.