"The Pee Story"

 

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 I know that living in the past is unhealthy, but visiting once in a while, is alright as long as, the memory you're recalling is a pleasant, or hilarious one for the person reliving the experience. A fact I know all too well, because I've tried to wash the bad memories away myself but, like a girl treating a severe case of dandruff with an ineffective bottle of shampoo, I can't eliminate all the residue aka bad memories which still remain. Memories like my eighth grade bully, Antonio Ignatieff; who locked me in Mrs. OConner's classroom as a joke, to satisfy his own amusement; with the intention of trapping, a young and gullible girl in the classroom forever at least, that was the original plan germinating; in his big, fat, head; for a girl who was just trying, to return a game she had borrowed, earlier that day. At the end of the day though, my bully's plot, was foiled and I left at 3:15 with a school bus driver named, Sonya. Now that I’ve successfully drawn, a happy conclusion to my first story; a tale I never planned, to tell. I think, it's time to flip the coin, and tell a tale stuffed with humour; a story that makes me laugh every time, I think of it, and also inspired the current title, of my next story. My second story begins on the last rung, of the elementary school ladder; the rung all students have to conquer, to achieve the next level, of academic success known as, "the eighth grade."  Conquering this eighth grade gauntlet, alongside me was my best friend: Jenny Conroy, her pudgy, wasp of a boyfriend David Fernett; who I, jokingly called "Tarzan" because he was so protective, of Jenny; and the nickname I gave him, always made her laugh, every time I said it.  In addition to "Tarzan" aka David Fernett we also had our own version of "Speedy Gonzales" in the form of a little Chinese dynamo named Julie Chung, Natalie, Bradley Gordon and Tarun Chander. Rounding out, these troops was our kind, but firm British teacher Mrs. Simpson who had long, blonde hair; which flowed down her back stopping, at her butt. In her class we were taught Geography, Journal Writing, Mathematics, and Comprehension along with many other things; to numerous to mention. On this particular Friday however, I was working on my journal as I always did; when I happen to look over and see, David aka Tarzan doing the "three-fingered pee, pee, dance" and squirming, in his wheelchair for a few seconds; staring at him myself, I chuckled a bit inside; as I watched him rock, back, and forth elevating, himself a few meters from his seat as he massaged his crotch over, and over again; praying to god, the little dance he had fashioned, only seconds ago in his brain would one: buy him an extended amount, of time for a successful bathroom trip, two: prevent the re-creation of Niagara Falls in his pants; or the third, and final option prolonged bladder discomfort, due to his ineffective "pee dance". Despite his desperate pleas, missing god's ear the "little dance" he had invented, and taken such, pride in was only a temporary solution, for his expanding bladder that could no longer, tolerate his constant rocking, and the gentle massage technique he'd administered, to his crotch beneath his desk;  which, seemed to intensify as the pee fought to escape. Garnering the attention, of his concerned girlfriend who asked:

Jenny: David, are you Ok? The look of concern, written all over her face as she momentarily ceased, her typing.

David: Yessss...Jen, he said, trying to mimic normal speech, while hiding his stammer which had developed, as a result of bladder strain.

Jenny: You don't look like you're fine? She said, taking into account his unusual behaviour; like his flushed face, that now resembled the colour of a juicy, ripe, tomato.


 David: Yessss...I'm Fine! he said, Slightly, snapping at her the way a mother wolf would, when correcting her cub.

 

Jenny: Ok! But, why are you yelling at me? I'm only concerned about you! She said,  matching his tone, with every word she spoke; her blue eyes blazing, as she responded. Which, as a partial observer to their conversation thrilled me to death; but we had bigger issues to deal with, so I interjected:

 Shauna: Look Jen, Tarzan here obviously, needs to go to the bathroom; he's been massaging his crotch, elevating himself, and squirming in his chair for over an hour. Do you really want to be responsible  for the re-creation of Niagara Falls in you're boyfriend's pants? I asked finally, unburdening myself, as I gazed at David as, the cartoon lightbulb appeared over his head.


Jenny:Nnnnooo.....She said, responding to my question with a single worded answer; accompanied by suppressed laughter as a result, of the joke that I made seconds earlier which thankfully, only penetrated the  ears of my best friend and not, the ears of the entire class.

Shauna: I'll be the angel here, and tell Mrs. Simpson that David's gone to the bathroom once, Romeo here has left the classroom. I said, to David as  he backed away from his desk, left hand on his crotch, and right hand on his wheel; he manoeuvred around Jenny and  I with masterful precision, avoiding all the obstacles which, lay in his path as, he headed towards, the half opened classroom door; holding our collective breaths, Jenny and I watched David as he made his way through, a sea of wheelchairs and crutches; silently, cheering him on as he traversed every obstacles like a male ballet dancer pirouetting, around the room on wheels instead, of legs; performing, a move that would've been difficult for anyone else but him. Having successfully negotiated, all the obstacles without disturbing, a single object Jenny and I turned towards each other our eyes locked, on one another creating a nonverbal, and invisible thread between us which said, "Tarzan almost Victorious! Talking to teacher next! Ok!" nodding her head in agreement, she sent me another nonverbal message that said, "He's not out yet!”. She said, with pleading eyes, that couldn't reach mine because I was so focused, on lowering my keyboard to my desk that I completely ignored Jenny's last message resulting, in the following event. After explaining David's plight, to Mrs Simpson she agreed to help him by using the only method, she knew "The Catapult!".  A move that is pretty, self-explanatory for people in wheelchairs and in the end, provided David with immense joy and relief.




 

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