Farce Accusation

My stomach had been growling and moaning all day. I was in 4th grade, squirming while Mrs. Lamann droned on about multiplication and division. The desks were arranged in clusters of six—two by three, turned sideways to the chalkboard.

I was in the back of the room at the furthest corner desk. My tummy was gurgling and burbling. I was writhing in my chair, feeling self-conscious and hoping that no one could hear the thunder that was raging inside my lower intestines. Storms are always worst near the equator. And this was a Category Five….

The girl sitting to my left, Diane, was one chair closer to the front of the room than me. She had long, straight blonde hair with a pink bow in it. She also wore big, rounded glasses and had silver braces that made her mouth look like a bear trap.

She was a total future Karen. The kind of kid who snitched if you cut in line. Curmudgeonly at the ripe age of nine. She acted like an “Edith” or an “Agatha,” not a “Diane.” “Diane” was a real estate agent. Or a stockbroker.

I couldn’t quell the dripping sweat. Nor ignore the literal gut-wrenching pain: a gnome was slicing its way out of my belly. I couldn’t keep from shaking. I was on the verge of an eruption that could not be contained. Worse than Vesuvius. No matter how hard I clenched down there. It felt like I had a litter of chocolate labs to deliver.

I could barely breathe. I certainly couldn’t think. Hold, I reminded myself repeatedly, like a soldier on the vanguard. Hold!

I could do nothing but squeeze my cheeks. But that only increased the pressure—and fast. I was a two-liter of Pepsi. With Mentos inside me. It was T-minus five seconds until I launched into the ceiling.

Houston… we have a problem.

I couldn’t fight it any longer. The threshold was crossed.

Singularity.

I exploded.

Loudly.

A literal tilt of the earth’s axis.

I think the poles shifted. Glaciers melted.

The room shook. Mrs. Lamann cut off her explanation of long division.

There was an uncomfortable pause. Someone gasped. Another cried. Hammond Cheese, the classroom hamster, froze in his wheel.

The whole class eyed my desk cluster. I felt caught red-handed and beyond embarrassed, but instead of calling me out, Mrs. Lamann scowled and burst out, “Diane!”

I leaned back in my chair like I had Matrix-dodged a bullet. I have never felt more guilty.

Not ever.

I have genuine shame…. To this day.

“No… what?” Diane was incredulous. “It obviously wasn’t me,” she sounded horrified. I slumped further under my desk like the wisest nine-year-old coward to have ever graced the Brandywine School District.

Diane skipped school the next day. And the next.

She was never seen again.

I can only assume she turned to a life of crime.

One fart. One false accusation. That’s all it takes. To ruin a life.

Truly sad. She could’ve become president.