Judgment

“Turd-grader! Turd-grader! Turd-grader!”

I heard an evil mob of fourth graders proclaim these hateful remarks through the open window across the empty room from my desk. I looked outside and on the leaf-strewn lawn sat Lydia with her dress scrunched up about her waist. She wore streaks of red paint across her face and there was a feather stuck sideways into her loose ponytail. On that afternoon, among the many identities Lydia liked to assume, the red October sun embraced the lovely Pocahontas. She was testing the microscope she enthusiastically exhibited to the class during show and tell -examining the blades of grass or maybe burning ants as they emerged from their colonies. I considered going outside and defending Lydia, but she didn’t seem to mind the insults and I figured that since she was also an occasional bully, maybe a taste of her own medicine would do some good.

“Turd-grader! Turd-grader!” I heard repeated through the open window. “You’re such a stupid turd-grader!”

I should have ended the harassment, however I couldn’t help but finish grading Laura Bedford’s spelling test –the last one before I could go home.

“Dyke Dybivike! You’re such a stupid turd-grader!”

Suddenly a shrill scream pierced my ears. I stood from my desk and walked to the window where I could see Caitlin Dickson shrieking as Lydia, kneeling on the dirty ground, twisted a fistful of her hair with wide windmill swings of her arm. Caitlin’s friends were watching nervously from the margins.

“Lydia! Lydia Ewing Dybivik! What in Christ’s name are you doing!” I yelled out the window. “Let go of poor Caitlin’s hair right now!”

Lydia looked at me with wide guilty eyes but proceeded to increase the velocity of her whirling arm. I opened the door and strode across the lawn towards the two girls. Lydia’s face was red, scrunched up, and tears were trailing past her fat cheeks like rivers falling past obstructing boulders. I didn't feel bad for her. She belonged to the Dybiviks -what a pathetic family of Atheists and Jews. I feel somewhat consoled by the fact that true retribution will surely come under the decree and vengeance of the Holy Father. I stood tall before her and she dropped Caitlin’s hair.

“Please come with me Lydia”

We walked briskly to Principal Herbert and I explained that Lydia had been causing trouble again. Then, I hurried back to my desk, wrote a stern letter to Lydia’s parents, and inspected Laura Bedford’s last scribbled word: Judgment, J-U-D-G-M-E-N-T.