"Okay, I need to have the fart conversation with you," I announced after several proudly laid, smelly noisy farts by some of the boys in the class. One of them was hunching over his chair, imitating taking an actual shit.
"At some point, probably soon, you are going to start thinking the girls around you that you have known your whole life are kind of cute...."
"That's already happening" a little ginger boy growled lowly.
"This is a small community. You are going to be around these same girls probably until twelfth grade. When the time comes that you want to ask one of them to walk around the square, go to Chick Fil-A, whatever, the last thing you want to flash through their mind is an image of you, hunched over a chair pretending it is a toilet or remembering the noisy farts you let out in fifth grade. Ladies, am I right?"
The girls nodded emphatically.
"Okay. Chicos, what has been seen cannot be unseen and females have long memories. Please think about that before you proudly let out a noisy fart that burns our noses off or replicate a fart by putting your hand in your arm pit, which is gross and unsanitary".
It was dusk. I sat at my kitchen table with my distressed neighbor. The man that she had just had an altercation with was standing outside of our fence peering through it, about four feet from the window. Fucking creeper, and the second time in a matter of weeks. I grabbed another beer.
The small, quiet fourth grader raised her hand.
"The skin is peeling off of my scalp....I think that is why I feel weak"
"Whaaa, what's happening?"
She repeated herself. I could feel a little bit of throw up climbing my throat. What is wrong with ordinary scrapes and bruises?
The bell rang to end the school day, the last before our first week long vacation. Kids were tearing out of the building as if they were on fire. Disneyland, beaches and Europe awaited them. I smiled. I couldn't wait to hear the tales the little motherfuckers would bring back with them.
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