Mrs Swede and the Table
How I hurt an innocent teacher
Her name was Mrs Swede. Yep just like the root vegetable. Her hair was tightly curled with a dull white shade, like the ash you’d find in an 80’s perspex ashtray. Her skin had a nicotine-like pigment found on the walls of a sixty-a-day smoker. She loved a bit of knitwear, often white to go with the hair. Her frame was small and thin. She reminded me of a poodle. Mrs Swede, with a voice the tone of a 6110 would make a point of finding me at the start of every lesson and insisting on me moving in front of her.
This was her attempt to control. As if manoeuvring a hyperkinetic 12-year-old boy high on aerosols was enough to suddenly make him sit down in silence and pay attention.
This would be the last occasion I was to ever set foot in her classroom.
It was another day of academic monotony. The bustle of the corridors was full of energetic kids moving from one classroom to another. Preparing themselves for yet more pointless education. I think it was mid-morning. The only way I can remember is that I was actually in school and I wasn’t completely stoned. By the afternoon I was always in a numb haze, the afternoons would drift by in a blur so to be able to recall these events makes me think it was around 11 a.m.
Nothing unusual had happened, I was the same kid. Steaming into the classroom full throttle with fully undiagnosed ADHD. I was high, I was loud, and I was on my way to the back of the classroom when the Swede chirped up ordering me to once again move to the front of the class and sit in front of her. I tried the usual arguments but it wasn’t making a difference.
Reluctantly I walked towards her desk to see a free space where the usual desk was missing. Again I argued that It would be easier to sit at the back. The Swede was prepared though and jumped onto my very words before I could finish. She ordered me to move the exam desk from the front corner and to place it bang in front of her so all I could see would be her canine-like face.
So there I was. Grabbing the light square desk, and picking it up above my head to move it. I manoeuvred around facing the rest of the class. There was only one way I could go. I had to walk behind Swedechin before putting the desk down and beginning yet another exhilarating lesson on sedimentary rock. But it didn’t get far.
To this day I can’t explain why. I have no answers. I have no excuses. The moment I was stood right behind my nemesis I had a vision. Her head was just about level with the corner of the desk. What would happen, if with a sudden jolt, the desk dug into the back of her head? Would she scream? Would she screech? Would she bellow in pain? All these curiosities chased through my frantic brain without me paying actually paying attention to what my arms were actually doing.
It happened so quickly. I had no time. It was impossible to put the breaks on now. As I was still wondering what noise would escape her mouth I connected with her cylindrical head. The blunt corner collided with the back of her head, she cried out in pain at first and then blind rage. The classroom equally shrieked in shock and gasped in surprise.
I tried to mask my intention but my weak apologies fueled her fury. I reckon the whole school heard her screeching shouts commanding me to get out of her classroom. She marched me out into the corridor and left me as she hurried to the deputy head’s office.
Well, that escalated quickly. I was still wondering what happened. Why didn’t I stop myself? How did I manage to convince myself it was a good idea?
Needless to say, I couldn’t defend myself when the deputy head questioned me. I was given my marching orders out of the school and told to wait for a phone call at home.
Once I was allowed back into school I was moved into another classroom. I never spoke to Mrs. Swede ever again. I just felt her piercing glare come at me whenever I was near her. If looks could kill I’m sure she would have killed me a thousand times over.
LEE M HUSH
