I think one of the other kids brought their dog there on a walk and got it to do its business there. But, of course, rumours went around that I did it. You can imagine what that did to my reputation. Was it a girl who did that, or was it a boy? I don’t know, but it was a girl who first noticed and very loudly started shouting about it.
Oh god.
That reminds me of one thing from elementary school which I didn’t mention yet.
Sometime in 5th or 6th grade, after the bullies had started ambushing me at the school entrance and chasing me on my way home, a boy from my class with whom I had often sat together in class showed me an alternative way out (not out of any particular kindness).
He had a habit of going through the school's back door, which made the trip home just a bit shorter (he lived close to me). Before then, I hadn't known that this door was open. For me, that was a real discovery and a breather, because it allowed me to finally sidestep the ambush, and at least go home in peace for a while.
But then, one day, something happened.
I went home through the back door, as usual. I think I was alone that time. What was different is that next to a school window, something like 50 kids were gathered, all looking at something. This had never happened before; normally, nobody would be present on that grassy field behind the school.
As I noticed the crowd, somebody turned and noticed me… and shouted my name. They seemed angry, perhaps.
Then the kids began running toward me.
I did not wait to find out what it was about. I had had plenty of experience, so I knew to recognize a hunt on me as it’s beginning. And this sure looked like a hunt.
So, I ran. Didn’t matter where; just… away from the kids.
The kids, many of them from my class, they kept shouting. Not just boys; there were many girls there, too. Now very clearly angry; furious, even. And this time, they kept chasing me. They did. not. stop.
In hindsight, that was unusual. But in such a situation, I had no time or ability to think; only run, as fast as I could, as far as I could. And since I wasn’t athletic, they managed to keep up with me. Several times they almost caught me, including when I once tried to hide inside a building’s entrance hallways.
But somehow, they didn’t actually manage to catch me and subdue me.
I kept running, and they kept chasing me. All across my hometown, including in areas I had never been to, but which I ran to in order to flee.
I cried for much of that time, not understanding why they were doing this. And they sure didn’t seem to be in an explanatory mood; they were furious the entire time. And I had absolutely no idea why.
When I could no longer run, I walked. And some of them still walked after me, with dogged determination.
I think it was only after about 2 hours that the last of them finally gave up, and I came back home, traumatized. Only to have my mom borderline shout at me for being so hugely late, and interrogating me why.
But… I wouldn’t tell her. How could I? What would I even say?
Later, I found out the reason for the whole chase.
See, there had been a birds’ nest with a couple of eggs on one of the windowsills in the school’s back yard. And the kids had gathered there, because the eggs had been broken that day. The kids didn’t know how, but they suspected someone did it.
I vaguely remember, or at least I think I do, that the boy from my class with whom I went towards home with, had shown me the birds’ eggs once or twice before this thing happened. But when it did, I hadn’t known it was over the eggs being broken… nor did it occur to me in all my panic and flight reflex.
As I had exited the school, the kids had called out to me. I don’t know if they already suspected me at that point; quite likely, if someone among them knew I used the back entrance regularly.
When I panicked and fled after they came at me, to them it was proof enough that I was guilty, that I must have smashed the eggs. And they were very angry at me for it, so they wouldn’t let me go and chased me across town.
Now, what were the consequences of that in the days that followed? Were there any?
I wouldn’t know to tell you, for the simple reason that I don’t remember that. It’s a hole in my memory. But I don’t think it’s because of any particular awfulness that followed; if it was more traumatic than usual, I probably would have remembered that period after.
But I guess that I was such a pariah at that point that it didn’t matter much either way. Or the kids had somehow decided that it wasn’t me after all, and didn’t bother me further over the broken eggs. I don’t know.
So yeah. I guess I can kind of relate to your episode with the turd and being blamed for it.
I’ll respond to the rest of what you said in my next message here.