There is no salt to hold on to. A true fragment never lies. I remember the first time I escaped. It was the lunch hour, grade three. I was wearing shoes somewhere I wasn't supposed to--on the carpet by the principal's office. The three lunch ladies caught me--I was reprimanded--I do believe I had an audience of compatriots. I must save face! The lunch ladies were walking away, chatting. My body buzzed with bravado, and my middle finger christened the air just as the middle lady turned around.
Holy shit Jesus Christ I'm sorry so sorry sorry--No I don't think so young man I'm sending you to the Principal's Office--No please please please please don't I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'll never do it again I was just trying to untie my shoe--I don't think so that was your middle finger I saw--No. Please. I'll never do it. Again. I'm sorry.
That was...that? She let me off. I'll never forget her face though--pure understanding adult compassion with a slice of humour. Thank fuck for that. It would've meant the strap, I'm sure of it....
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