Prologue: The Playground

Have you ever gotten your foot stuck in wet cement? At first, you chuckle about it, and then you realize you're stuck. The harder you try to escape, the harder it is to get up. It clumps around your shoe and fits like a mold around your leg. And once people notice, no one can look away; it is pretty humiliating. As they avidly watch you struggle to escape, you refuse every urge in your body to call out for help. Well, I wasn’t stuck in wet cement, but my problem was every bit as humiliating, as I was now known as the Playground Pooper.

It was my fifth day of middle school. The sun was shining, and I was in a playful mood. When recess started, I was usually the first one out, as it was my only escape from prison; school isn’t prison, but it certainly felt like one. I was the average athletic kid: I was decent at most sports, but not the best. My mom called me “Jack of all trades” when I was younger, and I thought it was really cool. Until I found out the attached second phrase: “Master of none.” I always believed that nickname carried me whenever I played sports, but little did I know it was just an unfunny joke to mess with my small head.

The one thing I would admit to is that everyone believed I was smart, whether it was teachers or just fellow students. I was always smart. Whether it was my vocab or just the way I projected myself, they all saw confidence in me. Even if I tried to hide the fact that I was smart, people still knew, because intelligence was a target. In third grade, I memorized my times table a week before my class, and I was mocked for even knowing six times six. But this was all little kid bullying. I had no clue how harsh and cruel middle school bullying could possibly be. 

On that fifth day of middle school, I had just finished lunch and was ecstatic to go outside. However, the tuna sandwich my mom packed for me was just not sitting well with me. I walked up to throw away the plastic bag that held my sandwich, and I felt the creamy tuna mush in my hand. It was gross and slimy. I looked inside the garbage can, expecting to throw up, but nothing came out. So instead of using my intelligent brain, I ran outside for recess.

My school didn’t have the biggest playground, but it was all a kid could need for a 20-minute escape from learning. There were monkey bars adjacent to a climbing set, followed by a tumbling slide, and finally the swings. I loved the swings as a kid, but as a 6th grader, it is not cool to be riding the swings. Especially when weird Gerald was pushing. He would wait underneath the swings or hide somewhere, eating his boogers, and when you sat down on the swings, he would jump up and push you. He would rub his slimy hands on your back and push until your shirt bled green. I could not tell if his orange hair, freckled skin, and circular glasses scared me most, or if it was his slimy hands. Either way, even if my young, carefree self wished to, I would never ride the swings. 

As I walked to the playset, I felt the tuna sandwich pushing its way deep into my stomach. I felt so sick. I wished someone would rip my stomach out then and there. But being smart, I kept going towards the playground. I walked past the nerds studying the worms, the jocks juggling soccer balls, and especially the girls gossiping about who was cute and who was not. All I cared about was not throwing up and giving those girls a reason not to like me. I kept walking, but the tuna sandwich kept calling. I looked for a porta-potty, but there were none. 

I farted so loud, I swear I heard the playset shake. I looked around nervously to see if anyone paid any attention, but no one had. Not yet. I felt more coming and took to hiding. I noticed there was a crouching spot underneath the playset, and I quickly took cover. I looked to see if anyone could see me, waiting until I believed I was in the clear. Although relieved, I was scared. What if someone saw me?

”Hi, Tim.”

It was Gerald, hiding under the playset. I forgot to look for Gerald. He was looking down on me, pretty interested in my situation. 

I looked up and calmly said, “Hi, Gerald, we’re friends, right? You don’t have to tell anyone.”  I hoped he would just shrug and leave. I looked up and saw he was picking his nose. He took his finger out of his nose, and he moved his hand close to my face. He dragged it down ever so slightly. I just said to myself, don’t scream, don’t you dare scream. 

“AHHHH!” I lost it. Gerald knew it, I knew it, and I just fell for a trap. Everyone came over to see what was going on, and I couldn’t move. Everyone was about to see. Especially Linda, who was a kind girl with brown hair and blue eyes. Any 6th-grade boy would hope that she’d pay the slightest attention to them. But my hopes and dreams were crushed as she was the first to come over. 

Even though I saw a lot of disgusted faces, the worst of all was Linda’s. It broke my heart to see her look at me like this. I tried holding back the tears, but the embarrassment I faced simply got the best of me. I was crying because my life was over. I wondered what could come from this. First of all, I would be humiliated all through middle school, even by my teachers.  When I got to high school, I wouldn’t be allowed in any clubs because no one wanted to hang out with Stinky Timmy.  When I applied for colleges, they’d all reject me because they do not carry diapers on campus, and when I apply for jobs, they will reject me because I can’t even clean my own toilet.  Finally, I will get one job; one horrible, humiliating job filled with suffering. The janitor of this very middle school, tasked to clean up this very playground.

I don’t worry about how everyone will know about one simple mistake from middle school.  All I know is that this mistake is the end of my life. Through the expanding crowd of people, I notice our outside supervisor, Mr. Green, walking quickly over to break up the crowd surrounding me.  He’s a nice, charming teacher, but I knew even he couldn’t save me from something like this. I would just have to hope. 

“Everyone back up…” he rasps. I realized this could blow over, as not everyone knows my name. I will just have plastic surgery and completely change my face, so no one will know who did this. I breathe calmly until I realize Mr. Green is still speaking:  “Let Timmy get up.” 

I wrapped my head around my knees.  Now my life was completely over. Whether it was Stinky Timmy or the Playground Pooper, everybody, just everybody knew what happened on this fateful day. Little did I know, this was my last good day of 6th grade.