Child Meets Devil

I threw up. Only problem with that, not a splatter of it got on her, not that she was the real target of the vomit, but it would have been a giggle, later. I can speak about her now, she's probably dead. Either dead, or 120, which come to think of it, sort of describes her looks way back then. I was in the 2nd grade and she was the Queen of Mean. Not my daily teacher, thank the angels. Just around me enough times to cause me to shake in my sandals.

Mrs. Snodgrass, better known as "Mrs. SNOTgrass" and I, a small girl of 7, who was working on a large hate for this pencil-thin, more wicked than a witch WOMAN. Actually, I was scared to death of her. And, when I get scared (even now), mad gurgles right up out of my throat, as at that very moment. Vomit spewed in all directions and I'll kiss your toe if I'm lying, not a drop of the goo landed on the Snot. She was right THERE! It had to be the devil's magic.

The splatter had that metallic, rotten smell of spoiled milk, with little cottony globs all over the shiny lunchroom floor. Immediately kids started gaggin' and you just knew vomit was multiplying in dozens of tiny tummies around the tables. Kids always throw up in groups.

Screeches of "Oooo" and "yuckkkkk" and the rhythmic "bla, bla, bla" formed a musical chorus of gagging right behind me and I jumped forward, over the vomit just in the nick of time. I was nothing, if not fast. Now, at least, you could not tell my vomit from the vomit of Tommy, Carol, Susie, Gretchen, Chris, well, you get the picture. I tried to stand 6 foot tall, adopting a "who, me?" pose, but shrunk quickly when the firm ankles of Tall Snot came into my short view. The woman didn't even gag. Every kid in the lunchroom was sniveling and screaming in agony from the smell of my regurgitated fluids and this woman acted like she was taking in the aroma of roses in springtime. She loved it. She would.

Taking her time, her body bent forward from the waist, with legs remaining straight as wood sticks. I swear I heard her bones crack as she stuck her ugly pointed nose scarcely an inch from my mouth. "Oh, vomit, wherefore art thou?" I thought. Even at 7, I sought revenge on this fearsome image of a she-devil in my face. She was all powerful; she was the Goddess of Hell's Kingdom and she was comin' after me.

Her 3 foot long index finger moved in slow motion as it pointed its nasty, knife-like nail right at my nose. I wanted to bite her. Me. The girl who was thought of as 2nd grade's "shy, sweet thang."

I didn't bite her, and had not breathed even a breath since throwing up 45 seconds ago. I did, however, gag right in her face and I think the smell of that sour breath gave her pause. I pray so.

The Devil Speaks

Her skinny nails on the end of skinny fingers flew up as they ever so gracefully circled my nose and pointed to the vomit on the floor slightly to her left as she screamed "M A R EEEEE S U E!!! DO you SEE what you have DONE??? Just WHAT is the reason for THIS!!!" Her hands found their home on her protruding, sharp hipbones and even they looked miserable.

I would offer them no comfort; I was committed to keeping them far away from my body. I tensed, ready to take to the sky the split second they wiggled in my direction.

I could not speak, my voice lost in smothering vomit that found its place in a frozen throat. The gagging continued behind me. Soon, there would be a river of stinky "throw-up" heading towards my feet and I did NOT want to step in that slippery pool. I began to shiver.

"The m-m-milk was spoiled. I TOLD you the MILK was SPOILED." I shouted, embarassed, mad. I stomped my right foot. Childish, I know, but then that's what I was. A child, standing in the tall shadow of hell's finest.

"WEEEE do NOT serve spoiled milk at this school!!" Her owl-like screech echoed down the halls of time, and I hear it now. "You did that on purpose!" she spoke with the sound of a snake's hiss while her big right foot beat a rocky rhythm on the floor.

Her body moved in my direction and I bolted. Splashing right through fresh throw up from Billy-Bobby-Timmy-Sally-Mary, I ran from the vomit-filled lunchroom and crashed through the bathroom door so hard that the door banged into the wall and cracked the tile.

I didn't know how to cuss, having not yet heard the words, but I'm sure now my choice for the moment would have been the sometimes-still-present-in my-life, and ever popular "shit!"

I hope that will not be my dying word, but the last time I had a car wreck did not prove that to be the case, though I yet live. If I had passed on, as I feared I might at the crashing moment, I would be looking into the eyes of God now, still trying to explain how nicely that word fits when you're knee deep in, well....yeah.

Girls flooded into the bathroom both giggling and gagging. I did not meet their eyes and some appeared to be so upset at the splatters on their pretty clothes that they had not focused on whose vomit it was nor where it had begun. Way back then, I proved that I can keep my mouth shut when it's important.

Thinking quickly, I said innocently, "Boy, Mrs. Snodgrass can really throw up, huh? I guess she drank some spoiled milk."

They nodded and gagged. We giggled, too, just because that's what 7 year old girls do.

Exhausted, I washed my face and the bottoms of my sandals, and sneaked a peak between my toes for wayward white goop.

Tears formed in the corners of my eyes and I thought that was a good thing, considering I was going to have to call home so I could get rid of this smell. I could say I was sick, because someone threw up in the lunchroom. I peered at my face, and discovered by squinting, I could make the tears fall out into a trickle down my cheeks. Hang on to that skill, if you can, and I have.

Carefully checking the hall for Tall Snot, I made a dash to the principal's office. "Make a pal out of the princi-pal" I chanted, crazily. It was my rhyme for remembering how to spell the word.

The secretary took one look at me and dialed my parent's number. What I wondered, was how did she know it? Adults are so powerful.

Mom To The Rescue

I have fond memories of what followed. My mom had not yet lost her eyesight, and oh, those were the days. She, on her lazy day, could make Harper Valley PTA sound like a tea party. Of course, the song hadn't been written yet, but I would think of mom when I heard it years later.

Not that mom was a tart or anything. Oh, no. It's just she, well, made people sort of melt when she exerted her personality. She was hot, in more ways than one.

In those early childhood days, I could barely stand milk. In the lunchroom, it was all that was offered. Or, should I say, it was placed firmly on your tray. When Mrs. Snod-the-Snot was on duty, you drank the dang milk, or faced her wrath. That particular day, the milk smelled funny. I just couldn't drink it and she became livid, screaming "Drink it, drink it NOW!" while she stood close, sucking the life out of my little lungs with hell's fury.

So, I drank it. What was a timid 7 year-old "sweet thang" to do? The rest is history, but the best part I haven't yet told.

That night, mom came to tuck me in and coaxed the horrid truth right out of me. I felt so safe and the fear of Snodgrass came out like a flood. I fear Mom didn't sleep a wink, but I was out like the proverbial light. The next day I had company on the way to school. Mom, dressed to the nines in her tight, hour-glass, figure- hugging, buttoned to the neck suit, walked in a jazzy rhythm through the front door, through the office, straight to the waiting principal. How did he know to be there by the door, and why was he looking like he was about to throw up?

His greeting of "Now, Mrs. Bond, it's so good to see you won't you come in" was too late. She was already sitting in the chair in front of his desk.

I stood by her side and listened to the voice of heaven say "Is Mrs. Snodgrass available?" Sweet, sweet.

"Uh, actually no, no she isn't. She's, uh, quite sick today."

"Uh-huh. That's too bad. I was so looking forward to seeing just what a teacher who made a room full of children throw their lunch up... looked like."

"Oh, now, uh, Mrs. Bond, I can assure you, that just will not happen again. No, it surely won't. You see, uh, it took several hours to clean that mess up, you just can't imagine the smell. So many kids...." his voice trailed off in a soft muttering way.

Mom smiled, and I'm pretty sure sugar hit the floor.

The principal smiled.

"Well, sir. You can just imagine a mother's shock at seeing vomit all over her child and then to hear that some T E A C H E R, a trusted adult that has P O W E R over her child, FORCED her to drink tainted milk. T A I N T E D. I was shocked." Mom put her gloved right hand on the principal's desktop and leaned towards him. "I'm equally sure that you'll do everything in your power to make sure Marisue has no reason to fear this T E A C H E R again. No child, should ever fear this teacher, again!" Mom tilted her head slightly to the right, nodded, and then titled her head to the left and grew still.

Silence filled my ears. The principal cleared his throat and said with a touch of conviction, finally, "No, Mrs. Snodgrass no longer has lunch duty."

"Very wise, sir, very wise. I expected no less from the school's authority. No less."

Mom stood and turned slowly, but I'm sure she had no clue as to the effect she had on him, took my hand and said over her shoulder "I'm making fudge and divinity again for the holidays. I'll make sure you get a nice package." She was FAMOUS for fudge and divinity.

"Oh, Mrs. Bond why, yes, yes. That would be just perfect, we all look forward to that fudge, now, yes, we surely do."

Now, I think "What a weasil." But, then, it was the magic of Mom.

I didn't know what the big deal was, frankly. Mom could just walk in a room and get things accomplished that I only dreamed about. My dad said it was the power of dynamite. He seemed pretty attached to that dynamite, as I remember.

The school year went pretty smoothly after that day. No one remembered who threw up first, Mrs. Snot kept her distance, and I never forgot the day my mom hip-swung and clicked her way down the hall to save me from any further escapades with the She-Devil.

 Don't drink the milk.