Haunted School

© 2008 Stan Spire


It sits there, empty. Abandoned.

For years it was a thriving educational factory, carving down rough round pegs to fit into the same precise square hole. But birth rates drop, population shifts, and so the elementary school is now closed.

On the occasions when I pass by in a car, I briefly envision the old days with kids running around, playing games, friendly with each other. Except for the bullies picking on me.

I’m pinned to the ground, some redneck asshole showing how he’s the alpha male of the pack.

Where were the teachers? Who knows? This was years before school shootings made the public aware of how bullying could drive a victim to retaliate violently. Being bullied was just part of growing up. A rite of passage.

I have no good memories when I see that silent school. It wouldn’t bother me a bit if it was bulldozed, razed to dust and carted away.

Out of sight, out of mind. Buried history.

I’m still a rough, round peg.

And I don’t tolerate bullies.