mrs-roboto's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Some Background and The Lock Story High school - weird times. It's taken me days to even formulate this entry because revisiting those times is just painful. The school my parents choose for me to attend would not have been my first choice had I the opportunity to provide any input on the matter. For one thing, it was an all girl institution and I was a pretty hormonal teen with a preference for boys. Then there was the fact that it was run by Catholic nuns, all of whom had this complex about "sinning" and eternal damnation was a regular promise they made to me. But the worst part by far was the way the students in this school treated one another. I know, I know. Children are cruel and they can be so mean to each other but honestly, this went beyond your tradition teasing and taunting. It was far more of The Chocolate War mentality at my alma mater. I would go so far as to say that the faculty actually encouraged the students to lean heavily on one another, to criticize each other in non constructive ways, and to break down into cliques. To back up this point, I will site one of the privileges gifted to the senior students. Senior students were allowed to lay claim to lunch tables by hanging a sign above said table indicating who could sit at that table. If a student was sitting at the table who and was not listed on the cliques sign, they would be told to leave the table. Now everybody pays the same amount of tuition at this facility (unless of course you were on a scholarship as I was) so everyone should be able to sit where ever they choose but that was not the case. You were encouraged to "mark your territory" and if a stranger tried to enter that space, it was acceptable to resort to violence to rid your space of them. Of this, I was guilty too. You see, I hung with a relative small and tight group. There were perhaps six or seven of us. I tended to see us as a fringe population. We wore black, listened to the Jesus and Mary Chain, talked about how great it was going to be to leave this place, and smoked Parliaments till our throats were horse. Senior year we acquired a "crew" table and placed our sign above it. It was at the rear of the cafeteria, under a window, and near the Coke machine. To the left of us sat a group of gals who really dug hair metal. They were a quiet group who never bothered me. On the right sat a group of rich, preppies. As you might have figured, these chicks got on my last nerve. There must have been thirty of them, one more self absorbed than the next. I hated they way they tied the laces on their stupid boat shoes (they were the little loopy knots at the end of each lace that bugged the hell out of me). I hated the dorky friendship bracelets they wore on their wrists. I hated the BMW's they drove but you know what I disliked the most? Their snide, "I'm better than you are because my parents have a ton of money and buy me whatever I want" attitudes. One particular day I was approached by a preppie girl named Holly. She felt that my friends and I should hand our table over to them because they were "really popular" and needed lots more room for their asses. I told Holly what she could do with her ass as there was no way I was moving. One thing led to another and a brawl erupted. That is, if you can classify Holly hiding under the table as I repeated tried to kick her in the ribs as a brawl. I had spent four years cultivating a reputation as completely nuts and there was no way this girl (who by the way was much bigger than me) was going to spar with me and risk life an limb. She was staying under the table till Sister Marie hauled me off. I narrowly escaped expulsion - lucky me. Okay, now onto the lock story. Back to my freshman year and it's gym class time. Everyone is changing in the locker room and some of us are a little more self conscious about our bodies than others. My friend Ronnie had a particularly hard time with this scenario. She was all knees and elbows and not at all developed which caused her great embarrassment. She'd do this weird pull-the-shirt-over-the-head-and-put-the-shorts-on-under-the-skirt maneuver that allowed none of her to skin to ever be shown. It was really quite a feat to observe but then one day another student took notice of Ronnie's contortions and began to taunt her. I don't remember exactly what Kim said anymore (although I remember her first and last name perfectly) but I vaguely recall some reference to Ronnie possible having a penis that she was hiding. Whatever it was that this stupid girl said, it made Ronnie cry. Ronnie was one of those defenseless people who'd never hurt anyone for any reason. She also suffered from undiagnosed mental illness and on some level I think everyone in our class knew that. She needed constant reassurances and was afraid to go anywhere alone. She often thought people were staring at her or talking about her. Really, her whole situation was quite sad and picking on her was as challenging shooting fish in a barrel. So that day I cut class. I waited in the locker room, holding my breath, behind the swinging door that the students used to enter when returning from the gym. When Kim rounded the corner I took a silver padlock and with all the force my 5'2" body could muster I smacked her upside the head with it. She went down hard but there was no blood, just a lump. I told her to never acknowledge Ronnie again and for the next four years, she didn't. The added benefit, she stayed away from me as well and was too petrified to rat me out to any of the nuns. It seems super loser-like to even be talking about high school here. I feel like the old, overweight, balding guy, who's still reliving that touchdown he made for his high school football team the year before he got the prom queen pregnant and had to take a job at the towns cardboard box factory to support them. I almost never think about those times now. They seem so far way. I don't even know who the girl with the lock in her hand is anymore, the one who called every other person a poseur. When I think of her she doesn't seem like a part of me but I'm sure she is. Perhaps her desire to throw down was replaced with a snarky wit. Perhaps her resentment melted away when she allowed herself not to worry about the opinions of others. Perhaps, she took her anger and used it to create a life better than any she could have imagined fourteen years ago. Perhaps. 1:29 p.m. - 2003-01-10 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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