Remember Me, Dear Child
by Jeff Brown

Dear child,

   Remember...

   How, as a child, the Barbie dolls and stuffed animals were your best friends? They were your playmates when no one was around. They were the ones you talked to when your parents punished you. They were the ones you threw across the room when you were mad at one the kids from school. How many times did you have to glue Barbie's arm back on and then wrap it with a band aid to hold it in place until the glue dried? How many times did you have to sew an ear back on a stuffed dog or replace an eye with a coat button?

   Remember...

   All the sleepless nights when the lightening would flash and the thunder would clap? You would count to five, hoping and praying you would reach six before the thunder roared it's anger into the night. You would hold that floppy old rabbit with the bent ears, it's one eye staring out at the dark night. You would hold that floppy old rabbit you called Mr. Floppitty close to your breast and ask him to protect you against the raging storms. The same Mr. Floppitty would protect you when the wind was calm and the night was quiet, and you swore up and down to your mom and dad that you heard something in your closet or under your bed. You would whisper softly to the demons of the night that Mr. Floppitty would kill them if they tried to harm you. In some childish way your whispers and Mr. Floppity's ragged fake fur made you more secure under the layers of blankets you had over your head. Did you really think Mr. Floppitty could save you? Or that your menacing whisper would scare the monsters under your bed? Can you remember back that far?

   Remember...

   The first day of school? It was sunny and warm and too damn early to get out of bed. Getting dressed in the new clothes your mom bought was the only real fun on that eventful day. You watched from the window of Mrs. Griemold's class room as your mom got into her car and drove off, leaving you in the care of a strange woman.

   And, she was indeed strange.

   AShe's about like Grandmother, your mom had said about the fossil known as Mrs. Griemold. But, she wasn't like Grandmother. She was nothing like Grandmother. Grandmother wasn't as old...or as round. Grandmother was much nicer, and her voice was softer. Mrs. Griemold had curly white hair that looked like it could have been a wig. Her skin was like leather and was rough to the touch. Her eyes were such a brown color that they looked black. She had a wart on the right side of her nose that looked like something was trying to grow there. And, something did--a long silver hair. Her voice was a haggard moan that sounded like someone scraping his or her hands along a chalkboard.

   Just the sight of Mrs. Griemold made your stomach churn and fear well up in your heart. She didn't like you. You didn't like her. It was a match made somewhere other than in heaven. She was rude, mean, and she looked at you with those black coal eyes. She scared you.

   Remember her? She was nothing like Grandmother.

   Remember...

   How you went home that day, ran up to your room and cried? You prayed to a god you weren't sure even existed. You prayed to be taken out of that awful class. But, that didn't happen. Did it? No. No, it didn't happen. Instead of being moved from the class, something else happened. Something...far better happened. Or, so you thought.

   Do you remember what it was?

   Do you remember...

   Going to school the next day, quietly walking into the room and sitting in your seat? The bell rang and all your classmates were there. They were sitting in their seats-quietly. Even, after just one day in Mrs. Griemold's class, all of you knew it would not be good if she came in and heard any one talking. No, it would not be good at all.

   The door opened slowly. You steadied yourself against the fear of the witch in teacher's clothing. Instead of Mrs. Griemold walking through the door, Principal Miness did. He announced the sad news of Mrs. Griemold's death the previous night. They said it was an accident. That she fell down in the bathtub and split her skull. It was simple enough for the police to say what it was.

   But, you knew better. You knew it was no accident. You knew.

   Do you remember?

   You left that day with a cat-ate-the-canary-grin on your face. You were as happy as you had ever been to that date. Why? Why was that?

   Do you remember why?

   Or, does it escape you at which god you prayed to on the night before?

   Did you forget your real prayer? Did you forget your real request? It was the thing deep down in the black pit that was your heart, even at such a young age, that you secretly hoped for. It was Mrs. Griemold's death you really wanted. Your wish was granted, dear child, and she slipped and fell, shattering the back of her head against the porcelain tub. But, it wasn't the shattered skull that killed her. It was when she slid into the bath water and drowned in a mixture of soap, water and her own blood.

   And you smiled.

   Oh, lest you not remember what happened to Mrs. Griemold. Dear child. Lest you not forget you got your wish that day-your prayer was answered.

   You must never forget.

   I won't. No, I'll never forget. And you won't either.

   I guess I should sign off for now. Until we meet again (and we will meet again, dear child).

   Remember me,

  Your former teacher,

   Edna Griemold

 ©2004 Jeff Brown