Dear Olive

I hurried to my next class with a granola bar shoved in my mouth. Breakfast wasn’t generally my thing and by 10:00 am I was normally starving. So I had a mouth full of crunchy fiber when someone called my name in the hall.

I waved my arm up in acknowledgment. I recognized the voice as Principle Flick. There was no way of getting away from her once you were in her sights.

It was better to surrender and confess your crimes. I had no idea what I’d supposedly done. My guess was that Mrs. Hale tattled on me for being late to her English class.

It wouldn’t be the first time she threw me under the bus and backed that bitch up. Call me egotistical, but I was pretty sure it was because I refused to flirt with her. There had been an awkward moment that September when she stroked my arm and offered to help me with my English homework.

I was 15 and very confused by her offer. I had always been on the low end of average in the appearance department. A strong 6 on a scale of 1 through 10.

It seemed like the captain of the football team was a far more likely candidate. With bulging muscles and spectacular looks, why not go after him or one of the older boys? Then it occurred to me that they were changed.

People who changed didn’t get in trouble. They didn’t seem to make bad decisions. Mrs. Hale was not a changed woman (Obviously) and she needed a young man that wasn’t either.

That young man was not me. I gave a firm, “Thanks, but no thanks,” and walked quickly away. After a long summer with Olive, I was not even a little tempted to fall into my teachers arms.

Principle Flick was a lot less cougar and a lot more hard ass. She was a strict unforgiving woman who probably used a bible as a pillow at night. Rules were rules and everyone was to follow them.

So, it unnerved me to see Principle Flick in the hall with tears in her eyes. She was clutching a big box of tissues like a life preserver and her lips were turned down even deeper than her usual frown. She gently took my hand with her free one and led me toward her office.

If I had known what was coming, I wouldn’t have gone with her.
I wouldn’t have followed her into her cramped dingy office and taken a seat.

I wouldn’t have found the keys hiding behind the pizza in my Nan’s freezer or gone to school that day.

Little actions affect everything. Things that don’t seem to matter at the time all wind together to create a bigger picture. Sometimes the end result is beautiful and sometimes it’s a fucking nightmare.