Marshmallow  − September, 1993

I hate marshmallows. I know this, and yet it doesn't seem to stop me from jamming the disgusting thing into my mouth. I chew it mournfully, but I know where it's going to end up, and by God it's not going to be where it was intended.

I look around for my teacher and see that she's preoccupied with another student at her desk.

Perfect, I think as the yellow blob goes from my mouth to the underside of my table. Problem solved.

Throughout the day my thoughts as well as my eyes keep drifting to the drying mass under the table. Reading time is almost painful as I sit on the floor with my peers, trying vainly to pay attention. Salvation comes at break when I hear my teacher's voice drift from the direction of my table.

"Wha... Who did this? This is gross." She pulls the marshmallow from the bottom of the table with a paper towel. She shows it to the class before dropping it into the trashcan.  I sink behind a bookshelf. "This is where we put our garbage, not under the table."

I still don't know why I didn't just throw it away.

Comments:

sjetha (April 3, 2007. 10:31am)

It is our experiences that make us the people we are.
Do you think that your life would be different if you had thrown it in the trash?
The answer, most probably, is yes.