During the course of discussion at lunch today, I became aware that I've been harboring a grudge against the co-editor of my high school yearbook for the past 25 years. Not just a grudge, but a hateful, vindictive, nasty bitterness that I didn't even know existed until this person's name was brought up.
Now that this grudge has been let loose, I realize that the power of my animosity could probably set buildings on fire and cause tidal waves in small countries.
I might feel better if I look her up, call her and tell her she's a bitch, but she's probably running a crack house somewhere and those places usually don't have listed numbers.
I wonder what the statute of limitations is on high school slights. Not that this was just a slight, mind you. It was more than that. It was downright evil. But still. 25 years this has been in some hidden compartment in my soul and it's been unleashed and I'm not sure what to do with it except harness the force of my hatred and power the electricity for the house with it.
Alright. This is what happened.
We were co-editors of the yearbook. During our senior year, a very good friend of mine died in a car accident. The girl in quesiton was not friendly with him AT ALL. He was a popular guy that I knew from the neighborhood (we went to a private school, so we all came from different towns). It so happens that two other classmates died during our senior year, and we decided to dedicate pages to them, as had been done in the past in similar circumstances. The teacher in charge of the yearbook committee asked me to write a poem for Mike. I did.
T. took it upon herself to take my poem out and put in one that she wrote. For a guy she knew only well enough to nod at in the hallway. I was furious. She told me that her poem was far superior to mine (it was a gacky poem not even worthy of cheap greeting card) and deserved center stage (her words). She threw my poem out. I found it crumbled in the garbage can in the classroom. When I told her I was a little upset about that, she told me to get over it, that I would never be as good a writer as her. She THEN edited something I wrote on the "what happened in the news the year we graduated" page, where I called someone's death untimely. She insisted there was no such word and I was an idiot. I told her "at least I'm not the kind of IDIOT that thinks abortions are a form of birth control," and stormed out of the room. We never spoke again.
Oh god, that sounds so freaking petty. I know. To carry that around for 25 years is ridiculous.