The Crime

The Crime

When is an action a crime?

A car is speeding down the Interstate, swerving in and out of flowing traffic. The sirens roar to life as he passes the officer’s duck blind. Soon, the errant driver is caught and issued an order to appear in court. He appears and admits guilt thereby avoiding a hefty fine in favor of a slap on the wrist. The very next week, the same driver is caught speeding on the interstate again. He is hauled to jail while lawyers feverently work to free him. The judge, however, has a different idea. He looks the offender straight in the eyes and, without the benefit of a jury trial, sentences him to life in prison.

When does a crime warrant extreme punishment?

It was a laid back time in my class. The yearly multiple-choice tests were over for the day, and I was letting the children work in pairs to build long paper chains…for no particular reason. The goal was to build the longest paper chain possible out of a single sheet of paper. Just a little simple competition to pass the day away in my moldy old trailer classroom. Buddy, my student with Turret’s Syndrome, was working with Sammy. After working for a half hour, they were ready to measure their paper chain. It was deftly constructed with fat loops and braid-like precision, but not very long; however, when they stretched the chain out over the measuring sticks, it suddenly snapped. According to the rules, the chain could only be measured using the largest connected piece. With such a short segment left, the boys were most certainly defeated. Buddy immediately blamed Sammy for the accident. He was incensed. He shouted at Sammy and harangued him. Sammy, normally oblivious to everything, took Buddy’s rants squarely on the chin without an aggressive reply. Embarrassed, Buddy taped his chain on the board and labeled it as being 90 centimeters. Already, it was obvious that Buddy and Sammy would not have the longest chain. Sammy went back to staring at his desktop while Buddy continued to fume.

Two minutes later I passed by the two boys and smelled a familiar noxious odor, and a chorus of giggles accompanied the smell. This horrid smell wasn’t humorous to my nose. In fact, I have been putting up with stray scents the entire school year. I had pretty much narrowed the offensive party down to either Buddy or Sammy, but I could never secure absolute proof. There were times when I felt like an odor hostage in my classroom. In my weekly letters to parents, I asked for their help in curtailing the malodorous offenses. But the leaks continued. I considered a private gas mask. I coined the phrase, “Someone needs to do a better job controlling their bodily gases” when speaking to my smelly class.

Immediately, I zeroed in on the smell. It was either Buddy or Sammy. Sammy perked up from his desk and said while chuckling, “Buddy gassed me in the face.”

“What?” I intoned.

“Buddy came up and gassed me in the face because I broke the chain.”

“He did! I heard him! And he said, ‘Breathe that!’” Another child chirped in.

So I called Buddy to a conference on the deck of my portable trailer. I asked what he had just done to Sammy. Buddy then launched into a fairy tale. He said that he was cutting paper with Susan when he turned his back to Sammy and accidentally slipped a “stinky.” I asked him if he said anything to Sammy, but Buddy told me that he just said “Sorry” so quietly that no one probably heard him. I thanked Buddy and assured him that I was just at the beginning of my investigation.

I called Sammy out to the deck and asked him what happened. In his slow drawl, he told me that Buddy came up to him and said, “90 cm.” Then he passed gas with a rippling sound. Then he said, “Have a breath of fresh air!” Susan backed up this story when I called her out onto the deck. I felt like Colombo cracking a big case. Now armed with all the appropriate testimony, I was ready to confront the little stinker. I was ready to present evidence that would force him to admit to the crime. This was a defining moment of my teaching year. Months of breathing stinking air were about to become public knowledge. My classes’ horrible little secret was about to be unleashed.

I invited Buddy back onto the deck. I asked him his story again, and he proceeded to tell me the “Slip a Stinky” story again. But before he got too far into it, I broke in and said, “I don’t think you are telling me the whole truth. I want the whole truth from the beginning!” Colombo would be proud.

“I was cutting, and I slipped a stinky.”

“I don’t care about the stinky. Just tell me what you said after the stinky. What EXACTLY did you say….”?

“Well, nothing really…”

“Do I have to send you to the principal or are you going to tell me the truth, the whole truth?”

“I didn’t do nothing!”

“Well, I’ve got several people who say that you did say something, and I would like for you to tell me exactly what you said!”

It came without warning. I didn’t know how close I was getting. I knew that I could crack this kid. I knew he had a breaking point, but I wasn’t sure exactly how far I’d have to go.

“ALL RIGHT!!! All RIGHT!!!! I CONFESS!!! I DID IT! I DID IT!” He shouted.

“What did you do exactly?”

“I went to Sammy and a let a stinky in his face and said something to him.”

“What did you say?…come on…”

“Well…I said, ‘90 cm Have a breath of that!”

Secretly jubilant in victory, I calmly thanked Buddy for telling the truth and sent him back to the classroom. Finally, after a year of living in a stinky hell, I now knew who my little stinker was for sure. I sent Buddy to visit with the Assistant Principal anyway because I felt that no one should have to suffer the indignation that Sammy suffered, and no class should be held hostage to a stinker for an entire year. I watched Buddy as he clutched the note that contained the official charges that I sent with him to his new judge. He slowly marched down the sidewalk, nervously biting his fingers as he walked. Then, when he got within sight of the main school building, Buddy launched into his familiar Turret’s hop. Hop Hop Hop Twirl Hop Hop Hop Twirl Hop Hop Hop Twirl. I lost sight of him when he passed into the main school building.

Buddy returned a few minutes later. He was breathing easier and publicly announced that he was glad he told the truth. The Assistant Principal had squeezed the whole story out of him again and registered her disgust. She threatened him with a phone call home if she ever heard of him releasing stinkys again.

I don’t know if the smell will ever leave my nose from this year. I suppose I shall always be able to identify the children from this class. Maybe my little stinker will realize that he can’t go on forever treating people like that. Their noses eventually forced them stop harboring him, hiding him, and giggling with him; instead, they turned on him, like jackals.

Buddy learned when an action becomes a crime.

5/02/00

I wrote this piece back when I was teaching third grade. Although I enjoy this story, I really don't think I told this tale very well. I've fixed some of the more confusing passages, but I think I have a long way to go on this story. Some day soon, I need to tell the story of when I was attacked by a student and threatened with death by a parent. Ah yes, after 24 years in the classroom, I do have some warzone tales.