Love Sucks

“Wow, Mom! How did you do it!” I cried, full of genuine admiration and respect. “Years of diligence and sacrifice, my dear,” she answered with a sly smile. As usual.

Not all the “Aunties” in nursery school were evil. Maybe they liked children. They might have had their own kids. However, they were in an unlucky position; they were the first representatives of the regime that every child met. A child, who was born and was supposed to remain free and equal in rights. But some of them were evil. Genuine monsters.

“Boys are weird,” I told my older brother, my conclusion from more than one week of observation of two of my schoolmates. I felt as important as the scientist Jane Goodall. “Why do you think so?” David asked curiously. “They do stupid things and they fight right in front of my eyes! Little Georgie stuffed a teaspoon in his ear last night, and little Martin went into the classroom with his tights on his head, because Auntie ordered us to put our tights on!” I developed the idea. “Well, they like you. I’m sure,” my brother laughed. “And what am I supposed to do with that?” I retorted, sure that this was definitely not my problem. “You should pick one of them. That ends the competition,” he advised. “To pick?! What for?” I widened my eyes.

There were a few survival strategies in the nursery school. I could fly away into the land of my thoughts and dreams. I didn’t need Aunt’s attention, and I ignored her for as long as possible. Some children tried to be good girls or good boys. Obey the orders. They could read every Aunt’s mood, and they tried to comply. Little Georgie was a good boy. He knew he was obliged to make the teacher happy with exemplary behaviour. He was bringing her presents. He literally wanted to be loved.

Some children made allies with others, so they were never told on to the Auntie “who did it”. Some boys were lone wolves; they fought alone and unseen. Deeply dangerous creatures.

The ones I admired the most were heroes. They did what they wanted. Not even secretly, but with open transparency. They didn’t care about the teacher’s revenge; they endured punishments with stoic coolness, or arrogant smiles. They never made their Aunts happy by crying. That kind of hero was little Martin.

The terrible morning started as usual, nothing to indicate the disaster that was rolling toward Martin like an avalanche. During the morning snack, he only bit a sausage into the shape of a penis, which was rewarded by giggling around the table. Right after that, he was dragged by the Aunt to the corner of the room to “think about himself” and for “his shame to be watched by other children”. He stood there self-confidently as usual, and he was smiling at me behind the teacher’s back. I didn’t understand clearly why it’s legal to wear or to use a penis, but not to portray it. I returned to Martin a secret smile, which made him the happiest son of the working class.

After the snacks was drawing, my favourite lesson. Georgie and Martin were sitting right in front of me on the other side of the table, so I could see their drawings easily. They continued in their contest; even though they had drawn cars, in the margin of the picture they made small messages for me. Martin drew a tiny little heart with a red pencil; the same red he had used for the body of his dream car. I blushed.

Then Georgie drew something, but he covered it with his hand and he wouldn’t show us. Martin tried to pull his hand away, and when he wasn’t successful, he lost his temper and bit Georgie on his hand. Good-boy Georgie started to scream loudly, and when the Aunt ran, he told on him.

Martin was dragged to the corner again. But the teacher took it to a higher level. She grabbed her purse and started frenetically rummaging in it. “Where are my dental pliers?” she yelled, “When I find them, you will see, you nasty boy! I will pull all your teeth, so you can’t bite anymore!”

Poor Martin cracked into pieces. He cried helplessly in the corner. I wanted to hug him, but I knew we were not allowed to leave our places without asking, and what was worse, Martin would lose the rest of his dignity by being hugged by a girl.

Even though Aunt-Witch had probably forgotten her dental pliers at home, so she left Martin’s teeth in their places, that day she broke his pride, and my heart too. I was sure that incident was my fault. A clear consequence of loving me. I decided then I didn’t want to be loved anymore. I chose the years of diligence and sacrifice.

In the margin of Georgie’s picture, there was a tiny red heart too. Love sucks.