18 years after escaping her lair, I went back.
I assumed that time heals all wounds, I was wrong. Time made an ass out of me this night.
I took my lad to see the school he may have to go to next term, no biggie. Every parent does this. Some, like me, take them back to the school that they went to when they were their age. I had some misgivings, sure I did, my time there was not the happiest of times. Indeed, given the chance, I would jump at the opportunity to wipe any trace of my time there, spotless mind and all that shit.
Reality and life are not that merciful, as I found the fuck out.
Back in the day, Miss Beelzebub used to teach home economics, how to boil an egg, how to stitch in a patch; that sort of useless horse shit.
Look at her now, 18 years later and head of IT, arguably the most important skill a child will learn in his or her formative years and the twisted hag who butchered my childhood is head of the department, mother of god, head of IT.
As part of the “come to our school, we are the best” all the parents met the heads of departments, one by one, one exaggeration after the other, until the inevitable happened, we met, tormentor to tormented. A flash of recognition in her eyes, a twisted maelstrom in mine.
Time stood still. This was my chance, I was grown-up. It had no power over me now. I could easily say and do what I want, anything. Anything.
The lad. The lad, the wrong word here, the sarcastic, caustic comment there, and potentially he would have 5 years of re-invigorated hatred to endure.
If only I had the guts to… you know what I am going to say, so bollocks to that. Let your imagination run wild. I think this article finishes it self off.
Suffice to say,
Coward. Me and her.
El Humero, the paranoid human.