I got a call today from someone whose name brought you to mind. I nearly vomited. Remembering. Sitting in that office, wanting a partner in taking care of my golden boy. Never having found one at home, I thought the professionals might be on my team. But the professionals who would work with a toad like you were covered in warts themselves. Having only ever had good teachers, I didn't even understand what was going on.
With that call I was pulled into an instant back more than a decade ... closing in on 2. The Oldest my shining golden boy was in your care. Yet when I expressed concern you patronized. When I was incensed at your condescension, you flat out lied. When I proved you wrong, you tried to tell me I didn't understand simple math.
I called the school board. Supposedly there was nothing they could do. More likely, there was nothing they would do when a very young parent complains about a principal who had served so long. Circling the wagons.
The Oldest, my shining golden boy was in your care. You were responsible for his education, his safety, his development. And you sat with your fat gut leaking over your polyester slacks, you licked your lips watching my chest rise and fall as I tried to control my temper. Your snake eyes gleamed behind your bifocals.
You lied when you said the class he was in was better for him. Twenty-one six-year-old boys and four girls in the most colourless holding pen I've seen. One worn out, grey teacher. Better for him how?
If only I'd known, how much deeper things went. If only I'd known that what would start as neglect the first year would turn into things much more sinister. Much more soul breaking.
Other children saw him choked by the choir teacher. Told their mothers. The mothers told me. I called you. One of them called you. You lied. You said the kids made it up together. The teacher lied. The school board sat on their flatulent asses.
The Oldest said he probably deserved it. I hate you most for that. And because he hasn't sung in front of anyone since. And for the other thing ... the one that he only admits when he's nearly passed out drunk. The one I didn't know until he climbed back down from the rafter last year.
Your stacks of lies. Your sneering superiority. The trail of slime with which you coated that school made working together impossible. Made learning impossible. Made The Oldest's safety impossible.
The worst mistake I ever made was leaving The Oldest in that school. Some part of me knew that it wasn't okay. That his light was fading. That some insidious evil slipped out under the door of your inner office and infected every room.
There's a special circle of hell waiting for you and your cronies. Only I hope there is also some special hell on earth here for you ... that you live with every day. Some crushing, burning, slow hell that makes you wish to die. I hope that school, that den of evil burns to the ground. I wouldn't even mind if you were in it.
That'd work for me.
Scintilla Prompt Day 6
Write the letter to the bully, to the cheater, to the aggressor that you always wanted to but couldn't quite. Now tell them why they can't affect you anymore.