Page 2 of Tainted Love

The referees are there in an instant as the game is stopped. My view is obstructed, with both teams gathering around him in a circle. The crowd is quiet, holding onto thousands of silent breaths. The players fan out so that he’s barely visible, where a crimson pool of blood is dispersing from under his helmet. I wait for him to move. I wait for him to give me some sign that he’s okay.

I wait for him to look at me, but he never does.

PART ONE

"The Wonder Years"

Chapter 1

“You’ve Got a Friend”

Sascha - Age 5, 1975

Iadjust the straps of my Looney Tunes backpack, jittery with excitement as I join the line of other kids outside the classroom door. Some cling to their parents like remoras attached to their favorite shark, while others stand alone, looking around with teary eyes. I remember watching a show about remoras with Jacques Cousteau on Friday night after the Muppet Show. But unlike Cousteau’s undersea world, the parent sharks here cling onto their remora children right back. Everyone looks terrified.

I wonder if the sad kids will have their parents stay all day. I hope not. This is our chance to be immipendant. No. Imdimemnant. No. That’s still not right. It’s a tricky word. It’s our chance to be alone without our parents, and I’m excited about it.

Last week, I visited this place, met my teacher, and saw my classroom. It’s a nice room with lots of toys and games to play with. We have a separate area from the big kids, with a fenced-in play structure, sandbox, and swings. This way, we won’t get lost or wander off. I look around at other kids who look ready to bolt and understand the need for that fence.

Mom’s fingers wrap around Dad’s arm, and she shifts her weight back and forth. “Do you want us to come inside with you?” she asks again.

I smile at them. “No, Mama. I’m good,” I say confidently. “This is going to be fun.”

I walk toward the line of students, ready for my first day of kindergarten. I’ve been practicing my letters and numbers daily—determined to impress my new teacher, Mrs. Jones.

As I get closer to the line, I see a boy in front of me wearing brown pants and a blue shirt with a big collar. He has a Tarzan backpack on his shoulders, and his hair is all slicked back. He looks like he could be a friendly kid.

He turns and looks at me, then over at my parents, standing a few feet away. “Are those your grandparents?”

I shake my head. “No, that’s my mom and dad.” They wave at me from far away, still trying not to cry. Their smiles look fake, and their eyes glisten in the sun. But I’m not embarrassed or scared because I know they’ll be waiting for me after school.

“Why are they so old?” The boy asks with a mean look and too much judgment behind his words.

“They aren’t old!” I snap. It’s true; the other parents look younger and hipper than mine. That much is obvious. My mom and dad have gray hair and more wrinkles; their clothes are simple and comfortable. But they are not old.

“Your dress is ugly,” he hisses. He’s not nice at all. So, I will have to destroy someone on the first day. It was not in my original plan, but so be it.

I look down at my dress. It’s my favorite. My mom sewed it from a McCall’s pattern kit that I chose. It’s pale yellow with pink and purple flowers and a satin purple belted sash. She brushed my brown, straight hair and put a matching purple barrette on the left side to pull it from my face. I feel like a princess today. I won’t let anyone ruin it.

“At least I can change my dress. You’re stuck with that face!” I snap back at Tarzan Boy. His neck gets red, and I can tell he’s trying to think of an insult to burn me with, but he can’t. It’s not a kind thing to say, and I know that. But if he thinks he can start the school year picking on people, he chose the wrong place to start.

Happy that I’ve won this round, I smile, and he flips back around, refusing to look at me.

“Good morning, Class!” Mrs. Jones says.

“Good morning, Mrs. Jones!” we reply in unison.

“Everyone say your final goodbyes to Mom and Dad. They will be waiting for you in a few short-”

The loud rumble of a car engine cuts off my teacher’s words. We turn toward the noise as a shiny black car screeches to a halt. Dirt scatters into a dusty cloud as the door opens, and loud music makes my feet vibrate on the pavement. It’s like a scene from a television show Dad watches.

Two boys tumble out of the car before it barely comes to a stop, and the driver zooms away like he’s in a race. What kind of parent does that?

The boys who jump out of the car have brown hair that looks like mine, only slightly lighter. One is tall, and the other is my size. The tall one walks towards the school’s front door without looking back.

The smaller boy tiptoes toward us, watching all the other kids bounce and play. He wiggles his feet and looks around like he wants to run away. His lip starts shaking, and I can tell he’s about to cry.

“As I was saying,” Mrs. Jones states, “Say goodbye to your parents. You will see them in a few hours.”