I think I can. I know I can. I will.
So the other day the Little Man and I are driving somewhere talking about what is different from when I was in school to now and I mentioned that we had a smoking area. It seems weird to me now and it certainly seemed weird to him - it is a totally foreign concept to him that there would be an area designated for smoking ON school property. I love that.
The smoking area was always the part of the school where the bad asses hung out. The guys with the long hair and the jean jackets or mack jackets (we call them Salmo dinner jackets around these parts). My husband! In grade eight my locker was in the last little stretch of hallway before the smoking area door and I can remember him sauntering out there with his hat barely on his head, kind of floating. He was in grade 10 and did not even know I existed.
And then came Scary Kerry. She was in grade nine. She was old, bigger, and most definitely scarier than me. She found me and told me that I would be dealing with her or Debbie. I was terrified. For real. I see her walking down the street now - 24 years later - and I still think (and sometimes say) there is Scary Kerry. It occurs to me now that I don't know why she wanted us to fight so badly that she was willing to fight me (or beat me up) to get me to fight. Anyway, I made the only choice I felt I could and out to the smoking area I went. Tail between my legs, hoping for the best expecting the absolute worst. I do not remember much about the fight - I am sure it was ridiculous.
Of course like all school yard fights it was broken up and we were haled into the office. We got detention - I think we had to wash desk or some such thing. My Dad? He said she had it coming.