She used to wait for times when I'd be alone. There was one hallway that people rarely went in our school, because that was where Mrs. Stevens had her special class for the behavioural kids. I used to cut through there sometimes at lunch because it was a shorter way to the playground. She'd find me, grab me and slam me into a wall, usually into a radiator, so I'd be off balance. She'd get angry because I didn't ever come over to play. She'd slam me into the wall another couple of times, then she'd start to choke me and she wouldn't let go until I promised to go over to her house.
But the worst part was her breath. She used to put her nose almost right up to mine while she was talking and breathe in my face. She had a breath that could kill a horse. I could stand being beaten up but her bad breath was enough to break me. I'd give in every time just to get her to stop breathing on me, though I never ever went over to play.
But I knew that the worst was always yet to come, because as soon as I consented to a playdate, she would smile and her tone would become disgustingly saccarine. And before releasing me, she'd give me a big sloppy wet kiss.
I would feel really dirty for the rest of the day.
I wouldn't bother telling any of the teachers because I knew that because she had a disability, she could do no wrong, and wasn't really responsible for anything that she did. And besides, who wants to admit that they get beaten up regularly by a retard?
And none of this I remembered until I saw her on the street. Kind of makes you wonder if I've blocked anything else out over the years, eh?
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