Page 4 of Beautiful Small Things

“OK,” I shrug. I don’t think it will be that big of a deal.

“Marcus, this is a very big deal.”

Uh oh.

“The whole class had to evacuate for the day because of the smell. Two children were gagging.”

Hilarious. She’s overreacting. It’s not that serious.

“We take this very seriously. You disrupted almost an entire day of learning with your shenanigans. Now go sit in the office until we can reach your parents.”

Shenanigans. I like that word.

“I’m really sorry, Mrs. Smiley. I didn’t mean to cause such a big problem,” I say contritely, showing her my sweetest sad face. “I just wanted to make people laugh.”

Sighing, she reaches out and ruffles my hair. “I know you didn’t mean any harm, Marcus. I’m sure you won’t get into much trouble.”

See, no big deal. I’m hungry.

I walk to the office and sit in the chair, my legs not reaching the floor as I kick them back and forth. My mother sits next to me with a scowl on her face that surely means I’m going to hear it later at home.

I listen to the headmaster explain why bringing the fart spray to school was not funny and internally disagree, wholeheartedly. It was awesome.

After the lecture, I promise to never, ever do anything like that again (more like, never get caught again), get a little slap on the wrist, and happily march out, knowing my little prank was well worth it.

The next day I recounted this story to Iris. I glance up to see her staring at me with her mouth agape.

“Are you kidding me?” she laughs. “You manipulated that poor, elderly teacher into feeling sorry for you?”

“First, she wasn’t that old,” I say, holding up a finger. “Second,” I add another finger, “I don’t like that word. ‘Manipulated.’ It’s so aggressive and negative,” I joke. “I prefer the word ‘finessed.’

“Oh, for the love of all that is holy,” Iris says incredulously. “You’re a real piece of work.”

“Thank you,” I reply, tipping my coffee toward her.

“So you were always a rule-breaker?” she asks, gnawing on her pencil.

I consider her question before answering. “No. I’ve always been a rule-pusher.”

“The difference being?” She inquires.

“I like to push boundaries. A lot of rules are arbitrary, inconsistent, and ridiculous. I don’t mind challenging those.”

“Which rules do you respect?” she asks. There is no judgment in her tone. Only curiosity.

“The major ones. I won’t lie, steal or cheat. I never set out to hurt anyone; although, sometimes that’s inevitable.”

She purses her lips together and nods, indicating my answer is acceptable.

“So you got into a lot of trouble when you were little?”

“A bit,” I admit. “I’ve always had that streak inside of me. The one that likes to push the envelope. I would do silly things when I was younger, especially to make Callan laugh.”

“Yes,” Iris says. “How did Uncle Callan fit into your mischievous ways?”

I smile as I think about Callan as a child. He was a moody little shit, even back then.

“Well, he laughed at the fart spray debacle,” I muse. “Iris, you have to understand, your uncle had a tough go of things. He spent most of his time watching his older brother fight a horrible disease. It was hard on him.”