| The one where I was a weird kid. Again. |
When I was nine, I transferred from my local wee adorable public grade school to a fancy schmance private school because my mom made me. I loved, loved, LOVED my new school. There were multiple libraries, huge lawns, exciting classes and projects and programs- everything a young nerd could want. I was in geek hog heaven.
That year in science class, we began dissection. The first thing we dissected was a worm, which was kind of weird. The second thing was a sheep's heart, which I thought was the coolest shit ever. I loved looking at the chambers and the valves and understanding how blood went through it. In fact, I liked it SO much, that I decided to take part of the heart home after dissection to show my brother. I was confident he would appreciate it.
As the class neared an end, I stealthily* grabbed a section of the heart and wrapped it in plastic. I tucked it in my bag and scooted out of the room with the rest of my peers.
Science was relatively early in the day, if I remember correctly, and I didn't want to somehow get busted because I would crumble like a cookie ("Freeze, students! Nobody has livestock organs on them, right? RIGHT???" "God, me, it's me, IdoIdoIdoIdo! I'm so sorry!") with the heart in my backpack, so I put it on the top shelf of my locker before lunch.
And ladies and gentlemen, I promptly forgot about it. There it stayed as I went through the rest of my day, and there it remained as I fled school for the weekend. You heard me: I left a heart in my locker on a Friday afternoon.
Did I mention it was a long weekend? School wouldn't resume until Tuesday.
So I was at home, doing something with my mom, and all of a sudden I remembered my heart piece, and how I forgot it. "Oh darn," I said. "I left something in my locker."
"What is it, homework?" asked my mom.
"No."
"Gym uniform?"
"Oh yeah! That too."
"That too? What else? What is the first thing you forgot? Do we need to go back and get it?"
"No, not really. It was just for fun. It's not homework or anything."
"Well, what was it?"
"A piece of a sheep's heart. We dissected it today in science and I wanted to show Ben. I forgot it, but it's no big deal."
There was silence, and then my mom made a sound kind of like this:
hork!
"You left an ORGAN in your LOCKER and you think it's NO BIG DEAL???"
"What? Why are you freaking out? It's NOT a big deal. We didn't even HAVE to bring it home. I was just going to show Ben. It's not like I'm going to get into trouble or anything."
"MEAGAN ELIZABETH. We have to go back and get the heart out of your locker. It's going to smell really, really badly in there on Tuesday. This is so gross."
We basically grew up vegetarians because my mom hated meat so much, specifically the part of carnivorism where you look at meat, touch it, smell it, or have it in your house. So I'm sure the idea of rotting heart in my locker was making her stomach roll. On the other hand, as a person who has been consistently sticky and stain-covered since toddlerhood, I was completely unfazed.
I opened my mouth to argue about the relative grossness of this situation, and to say that I could definitely think of things that were grosser, but I changed my mind when I noticed my mother was nearly dry heaving over the sink.
"I guess we can go to school and throw it away," I offered.
"Oh, you bet your buttons we can!"
You're right, Ma. I'll wager my buttons. At the OTB.
Soon we were all packed in to the car, varying levels of Annoyed at each other. I thought my mother was making a big deal out of NOTHING (it's just a little heart- not even a whole one! a piece of one), my mother thought I was horrifyingly yucky, and my brother was annoyed because nobody had explained to him exactly why we were going back to school on a Friday evening when nobody else was going to be there. "A heart? Like a candy heart? What is going ON?"
We got to school and my mother hustled us all inside, proclaiming loudly from the door that she could already smell it. "But my locker isn't even on this floor!" I protested. "Doesn't matter!" my mom announced. I couldn't doubt her though, because her sense of smell borders on superhuman. It's insane. She really belongs on the K-9 force. Next to her, I'm nose-deaf.
My brother and I led the charge, while my mother brought up the rear. We must have made a bit of noise tromping through the empty halls because just a few minutes later the security guards rounded the corner.
"Evening folks. Just thought we'd check out the noise. Did you forget your homework or something, young lady?"
"Yes," I lied.
"Oh, it wasn't HOMEWORK," said my mom, from her post ten feet away from my offending locker. (It totally didn't even smell yet, you guys. And my brother WAS duly impressed.)
"Mom. Yes. It. WAS." I said, through my teeth, hoping to convince her to allow me the retention of just a whisper of dignity.
"Tell him. Tell him what you left in your locker."
Ah, fuck it, I thought. Embrace your shame! (thus was formed my metanarrative.)
"I LEFT A SHEEP'S HEART IN MY LOCKER."
"Damn, that's nasty," said one of the security guards.
"Where did you get a sheep's heart?" asked the other.
"It was in her lunch box. We eat heart on Fridays," said my brother.
My mom gasped so intensely I'm surprised there was enough oxygen left for the rest of us, particularly for me, as I was doubled over laughing till I teared.
"Benjamin Joseph! Meagan Elizabeth! Why I...I just...you two! Oh my GOODNESS." You could tell my mother was wishing she'd given us more names so that at this moment she could really have that disciplinary edge that comes with using a child's full handle.
The security guards were laughing too, but cautiously. They must have decided that we were either harmless or too weird to be around, because they beat a hasty retreat. I gathered my gym uniform and the heart (which I threw in a dumpster outside), and we headed home.
From this experience, I learned two things:
1) my mom hates organs when they're not inside of living things and
2) my little brother always has my back.
Both lessons have proven invaluable.
Ta ta, tootsies!
*you guys, why do I persist in implying that I have some sort of sneaky grace or the ability to maintain a low profile or anything like that? Clearly, it has been demonstrated time and time again that I have all the stealth of an asthmatic water buffalo. Who am I kidding?Labels: family, help my brain is weird, memories |
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| 8 Comments: |
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"We eat heart on Fridays"
Your brother sounds like good people.
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dunno why parents do that. my mum calling me by my whole name was always a prelude to a long lecture about something I did..
but hearing my name only replaced the complete lack of shame on my face.. by a slightly puzzled yet uninterested look.. because its just wonky when you hear your mom say your full name..
.. when I want to scold my kids I will probably call em zarkon or summin.. atleast that would get their attention..
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U and ur brothr r awsm!
My word verification word is "licsums." Licsums sheeps organses.
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And here I thought no one could keep up with you. Does your brother have a blog too?
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In 5th or 6th grade we dissected a fish and my group had a girl fish who was full of eggs. Someone in my group thought it would be funny to stick a classmate's pencil in the fish eggs so that next time she nibbled on the end of it she'd get a mouth full of gross.
I watched nervously as he dipped the pencil around in the fish and put it back on the unsuspecting classmate's desk. When the dissection was over and she picked up her eggy pencil, I blurted out "No don't!" and ruin the whole plot.
I've never been and never will be badass.
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In my 9th grade Psychology class we dissected sheep brains. A boy in my group threw a chunk at me; I reciprocated. We had a brain fight in the middle of fourth period. I thought that was the coolest shit I'd ever seen.
My teacher was completely horrified, which only added to my amusement.
And, yeah, your brother sounds awesome.
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Meg...this is beyond church laugh, I let out a full-on bellowing laugh at work reading this. Kudos.
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Name: A Lover and a Fighter
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"We eat heart on Fridays"
Your brother sounds like good people.