I usually wake up earlier than this, I thought to myself.
I quickly got up and looked at the clock, and, just as I feared, I was late for school.
I was going to take a quick shower, but it would take too long, so I packed my bag as fast as I could and put on some school clothes. I felt kind of irritated because my plan from yesterday was to wake up earlier today so I could complete my spelling homework. But with the time already being 7:54, I was doomed. By 7:56, I started to panic because I hadn't even cleaned my shoes, and the only uniform I had was from yesterday.
At this point, nothing was going the way I wanted, and I already knew I was going to be late.
I didn't live very far from school -- not far at all -- so I usually tried to get to school not too late. Because I walked to my school, it was up to me how late I got there.
Around 7:58, I was about ready to go, but I kept getting that weird feeling of forgetting something -- like that feeling you get when you don’t wear the sweater you usually wear every day.
So, I reluctantly started my walk to school, or more like run because I was already 10 minutes late for class, and I didn't want to waste any more time.
I picked up speed, and, before I knew it, I was sprinting to school. I looked like such an idiot! While regular people were peacefully walking down the street, some sweaty four-foot, big-headed kid was running down the sidewalk and occasionally bumping into people. Sadly, that kid was me, but I didn't care because I had never been late to school, and lateness to me was like not being there for your team during a game.
I never liked coming to school really early either, but being late was the scariest thing to me (apart from actually going to school). I had seen other kids walk into class late, and they always had a sad and scared look on their faces. I mean, who wouldn't?
This was my third-grade year, and this time I was going to a new school called Telesis Primary School. I hated the school and everything about it, but what I hated the most was my teacher whom I'll call Mr. Mean. He was a tall, skinny, muscular guy, and to me he was the creepiest feature on this earth. I hadn't yet experienced first-hand that suspenseful feeling of walking into class late, knowing you just interrupted the whole classroom and getting weird looks from the teacher.
It was already 8:24, and I was still sprinting. By this time, all I could do was hope that the teacher hadn't started a major lesson and that everyone was still goofing around, giving me enough time to sneak into the class without being noticed.
I picked up my speed and ran even faster. I was getting closer! I could see the parking lot from where I was.
Two minutes later I was in front of the student gate, which was unfortunately closed, which meant I had to go to the tardy line. Luckily for me, not many people were there, and as a matter of fact I was the only one there followed soon by two sisters behind me.
I thought I would feel better when I got to school, but I felt worse and started to get nervous. I kept thinking of the wrong things. I kept thinking of how embarrassing it would be as I walked into the class toward my seat, with everyone staring at me -- literally everyone: the girl you liked, the nerd in front, the guy with the cool shoes -- and what gave me the most concern, because he always had this really broad and masculine look that made him look angry all the time, was the stare of Mr. Mean.
Mr. Mean -- even his name scared me. He didn't chit-chat with the rest of the teachers after school. He had no kids, and he dressed so differently from everyone else. It was 8:32 am, now, and I started to get frustrated. The guy at the tardy line took almost five minutes to write out the bloody tardy slip; nonetheless, he got it done, and I was finally on my way to class.
I was very nervous because everything was quiet, and I could tell they had already started class. I hid my anxiety by pretending I was looking for something in my backpack as I walked in. Then I swiftly squeezed my way through to my desk and sat down.
It was so embarrassing. All the kids were staring at me, and I tripped over a girl’s backpack. The little staring ritual was over when Mr. Mean said “Open your notebook and follow along with the class."
I quickly replied with an "Uh, okay," as I nervously brought out my notebook with my shaky, sweaty hands.
I was getting my pencils out of my backpack when that weird feeling of forgetting something came upon me again. I sat there for awhile trying to figure out what it was, until I finally remembered; I had forgotten to use the bathroom after I woke up because I was too much in a hurry.
Ten minutes later, at around 8:50, I really started to feel it.
I wanted to ask the teacher, but I was too shy and scared of Mr. Mean, and talking to people wasn't easy for me. I had always been the kid who would try to hide when the teacher needed volunteers, so I simply didn't ask him. I tried to wait it out a little until about seven minutes later when I had no choice. I was either to face my fear and ask the teacher or wait until recess at 9:30, which I knew was not about to happen.
Well, I went for it and asked the monster -- I mean teacher, but the answer I received was about to put a big blow to my self esteem.
I raised my hand and said “May I go use the restroom, teacher?" and with no thought or hesitation, Mr. Mean replied “No” and continued with “You are supposed to use the toilet before you come to school or during breaks; you cannot take time out of your education because you chose not to use the toilet earlier."
I felt so sad and angry that I would have cried if it weren't for the fact that I was too much in shock after just being deprived of my basic personal necessity. I stopped everything I was doing and just sat there, staring at the board. The pain felt fatal, and holding it any longer would have probably killed me. At least that’s what I thought.
The craziest thing was that no one noticed what was going on. I was sweating heavily, gripping the desk really hard, and even trembling a little, but everyone just continued to do their work and didn't even bother to look at me. Then I noticed little tears dropping from my face, or they might have been sweat, as it was really hard to tell at the moment.
My stomach started to ache, but not just like any other stomach pain. It was a pain I could feel all the way through my stomach, like a spear going straight through, or as if I had just gotten punched a million times.
Now it had gotten to the point where it was unbearable, so I started to think of random things I could do to end the crisis, I thought of making a quick dash out of the room to the bathroom, which would mean not following Mr. Mean's rules, and I came up with other ideas. I had all these crazy notions flowing through my head, and all I had to do was choose one.
I tried to get out of my seat, but with all these mixed emotions and pain on my mind, I felt kind of glued to the chair. So, like an idiot, I just sat there and hoped for sort of miracle to happen.
Then, suddenly, I let go. My legs started to feel warm, and an odor started to build up. I could hear drops of urine splashing on the floor. That continued for about a minute. I was in my own little world. My legs were completely soaked, and I got scared again. What I was truly feeling was not physical but more of a mental trance. I was shaking even more than before and was cloaked with embarrassment. I felt so ashamed -- like a coward who left his army and fled from the battlefield, or a magician who has just been exposed to be a fraud -- but most of all I was scared, and more than I had ever been.
All the kids around me jumped out of their seat in surprise. They all started screaming and were moving away from me. "Eww, nasty!" they said, and “Disgusting! Gross, he’s peeing on the floor!"
These were the only words that I could hear around me during my little incident, so I put my head down and just kept staring at the desk, too scared to look up. I could almost look through the desk and see a pool of pee filled with fear and hatred towards me.
Then, all of a sudden: “Buzz, buzz." It was time for recess.
All the kids ran out of the room, keeping their distance from me and my creation. Mr. Mean, with no emotion, told me to go to the bathroom and clean myself. He said also that he was going to call my dad and have me taken home.
I got up in the slowest and most obscure manner and walked to the bathroom. On my way there, my legs were shaking. I kept thinking of how I should have just stayed at home, or how I could have just held it until recess. I tried to cry, but couldn't, because all my sadness and embarrassment had now turned into anger…..towards myself.
