I was eleven. I really didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. Mostly I just wanted to get through the day there at a new school in a country that looked a lot different in the winter than it did when we came to visit on summer holidays. For one thing, the canals were frozen. And everything was frozen. And the sky was gray every single day. My fingers were swollen because they were not used to being in such cold as someone said my blood had to thicken. That can’t be right. How does it thicken?
So I stood in the doorway of the army barrack looking into the ad hoc schoolroom. It was all windows all around like a fishbowl but then only half as half the wall down was that barrack panel wood. It wasn’t pretty to be honest. Not on that dreary February first day of school. Everything was so strange. At first. But ….i grew to love that place. That is where I became. Became self aware
My first homeroom teacher there was a Canadian father of kids our age. His kids were not in our class and perhaps not at our school. There were other schools around for international people. The English school for English students was near. We always saw them in their uniforms in their own orange tour buses. But English students were also at our school among so many other countries. There was a lengthy discussion over where to place us and at first we were here.
His name wasn’t actually Sargeant.if I used his real name it would expose his nationality and put it in a negative light. It wouldn’t be fair as my best friend at that school was also from where he was from.
Let's just say maybe he grew up faster than other boys. And he was a bully. He lead the boys around in that class like a dictator. I guess he was good looking he was the rugby star player in boys gym class so the boys worshipped him but he loved himself too much and he was lewd and offensive. I hated him. I was terrified of him.
Thst first day it began with him. What an asshole he was to me.
I don’t know why our homeroom teacher —let’s call him Mr. Crabshaw(that’s not his name)never noticed how horrible Sargent was, but he ruined sixth grade for me living in fear of him.
I started mid year. Why? Let’s just say all brilliant decisions made for us were made by our brilliant parents for their brilliant personal reasons. But it was hard enough to move mid year as an eleven year old and then have to learn a lot of new things and start out behind everyone. And a closet dyslexic. So lost. But I got a lot of attention. From boys. A lot. More than I ever knew or ever wanted —and it freaked me out. I didn’t understand what the big fuss was but, anyway, that’s another story
Sargent freaked me out. I had to walk past Sargent’s desk to reach Mr. Crabshaw and introduce myself as he had his back turned and his head inside a filing cabinet
when —the first assault happened
First day. First experience. I walk past Sargent’s desk towards Mr. Crabshaw and what happens? I am grabbed between my legs! This strange and freakish boy puts his hand right on there where my legs meet; the girl genitalia. My first day.
I almost cried on the spot.
I fell.
Bookbag, pens, paper, everything fell onto the floor and —I could still feel the cruel grab of his hand where it was befire I fell down by sheer shock of his action
Caroline showed up.
Caroline was the popular girl in my class. She never missed anything. She was to the left. She kicked back her chair and came over, gathering my things and pulling ne to my feet—and then she kicked Sargent in the crotch and actually got him
Mr. Crabshaw didn’t notice. When he turned around he only saw Caroline showing me to the vacant desk beside her where she was putting my disheveled belongings.
“Oh here she is!” Mr.Crabshawsaid noticing me
Caroline whispered to me,
“he tries that on all the girls, I’ll show you how to kick later—he’ll never get away with that again.”
(Well—he did. Unfortunately.)
So, it was soon after when our principal showed up and said class dismissed which after what was to me a trauma all I wanted was to get as far away from Sargent as I possibly could.
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