Mops and Sawdust

Frogs are gross, especially the inside. The lifeless green being would sit on a tray of black mold that I can still smell in most plastics. Red gushes from everything as the dark eyes stare up, saying, “no, don’t worry. I wasn’t using that, you jerk!”1

It was fifth grade and all the buss in the word was around cutting something open with a dull blade. I was less than thrilled.2

Larry, my lab partner, was not allowed to do the dissecting. Apparently, his tears were spoiling the whole operation. So I sent him to get the supplies: two pins for the arms, two for the legs; the crucifixion of Jesus H. Frog. I felt so Roman. The knife was bent at the tip, which allowed for maximum mistakes.3

We were given a rough idea of which organ looks like what. For a fifth grader, though, rough ideas don’t count for much. We were supposed to find the intestine, squiggly and long. I pulled out a long, disgusting green worm of an organ, showing it off to the class. In my excitement, Mr. Edinburgh was hesitant to tell me that it was just a long strand of skin I ripped off the carcass.
The smell, the sights, the sounds of many oh’s, ah’s, and oh-my-god’s; it seemed to be the highlight of the year (which was proved wrong by sex ed.). It remains a mystery to me how I didn’t faint, but all passing out was reserved for Carl, the boy working two desks away from me.4

“We were lucky,” I overheard Mr. Edinburgh saying to the school nurse, “I was afraid we might’ve had to break out the ol’ mop and sawdust.”5

How repulsive.6

Lunch was not something anyone looked forward to that day. We wanted to be outside, away from all food and fumes. Luckily for me, I always ate cold lunch, which was easier to “finish”. I never ate an entire lunch, which is probably for the best because at the time, healthy and nutritious meals were as disgusting, if not more, than the inside of frogs.7

Unfortunately, the lunch box I carried usually contained some sort of fruit juice. After raising my hand and rushing out the door, I had hopes of finally making it outside before the galosh-loving hot-lunchers. It was my misfortune to trip, crushing my lunch box, thus “wetting myself” with the juice box. I spent half the recess weeping and washing myself in the bathroom.8

When it came time for me to actually join the outsiders, I was confronted. Two masculine, older girls whose mustaches I am still envious of barged in front of me. They were much bigger, much stronger, and had a much larger vocabulary than I did. They cussed up a storm.9

A fury of “A“-words, “S“-words, and what I could only guess would be called “P“-words swarmed my fragile little ears. It mesmerized me tremendously.10

The larger of the girls noticed me dumbfounded by their lingo. She nudged her friend, indicating to her to quiet down. I was younger and I might tell on them.11

“I don’t give a fudge,” only she did not say fudge.12

Now, I knew the consequence for swearing; you got the infamous yellow ticket, and no one was caught singing, “I’ve got the yellow ticket” through the halls. Nevertheless, it was so fresh to hear new words. It was this mentality that lead me to believe everyone wanted to learn my new words.13

And who better to teach them to then Leia, the girl behind me whom I currently crushed after.14

It was close to the end of the day when I was planning to unleash my newfound knowledge. With her entourage of pals, Kathy and Helen surrounding her, my radiant haired beauty sat directly behind my lonesome self. I often found myself turning around just to squint at her; her hair was on fire!15

I would say things to the chuckling chicks that would often make them giggle, but I had found myself falling toward lackluster jokes that were barely strong enough to get an eye roll; but this new material was golden. I could hardly contain myself.16

It seemed Kathy and Helen’s lips were attached to Leia’s ears, for every time I turned around, whispers rang throughout her head. This didn’t determine whether I would be a self-conscious person, but it certainly contributed to the cause.17

“What are y’guys talkin’ ‘bout?” I asked, to which they responded with giggles and more whispers. “Come on, y’guys, what are ya talkin’ ‘bout?”18

More giggles, more laughter, none of it had I deliberately caused. This was strange to me.19

“Stop laughin’!” I joked along, though they didn’t do as I asked. “Fine, fine! Don’t tell me!”20

Now came the moment of truth.21

“Fudge you!”22

Only I did not say fudge. I had finally gotten a response, only it was silence and it came from the entire class.23

“Michael!” Mr. Edinburgh said at his desk. “Come here, please.” 24

Never have three words brought tears to my eyes quicker. I sobbed; bobbing my down turned head as if a fish caught my line. Well, I threw the bait and someone got it. It was unfortunate that it had to be the teacher.25

I returned to my desk, no yellow ticket in hand. Crying smoothed teachers over, at least in Elementary school.26

I kept my head on my desk until the end of class. When the bell rang, I stubbornly sulked out the room, only to be stopped by Kathy and Helen.27

“Leia knows that you like her,” Kathy started.28

“And she doesn’t like you back,” Helen finished.29

“Bye,” they said together and off they went. 30

Soon after, I rode the bus home. Alone I sat, thinking of the devastation I left behind that day. A beautiful day lay outside and I wasted it on being stupid.31

Three blocks from my home was the drop-off point for Melissa Waters, the dark haired beauty whom I had always secretly liked the best. I stared at the water pump building that marked her drop-off when a small tap landed on my shoulder.32

“See you tomorrow, Michael,” Melissa said with a small smile. I became anxious and scooted closer.33

“Bye,” I said, heart pumping. As she walked forward, my legs jutted out of the seat, catching hers. She landed face down, Barbie backpack and all. Skinning her knee, she ran off the bus.34

There I sat with my head down, tears filling up my eyes. Dwayne, the bus driver, stood above me. Shaking his head, he asked what was on my mind all day.35

“Kid, what kind of mess have you started?”36