Big Girls Don’t Cry

The court system sentenced me to community service and I chose the public library, which was awesome because I could smoke pot in the fiction section.  The library of my hometown was huge and looking back, it appears that our town preferred non fiction because absolutely no one was ever in the fiction section. Considering it was on the third floor with an open view of the entire library, I could see anyone coming from a mile away.  Including Mrs. Parsons, the only female I’ve ever punched in the face.

I remember the day like it was yesterday.  It was two months into my service and I had the routine down pat.  Up in 300’s, there was a overhead vent that sucked in all the smoke.  There was no way anyone could smell what I was doing and the best part was my view.  I could see everyone.  In walks Mrs. Parsons (an obvious fake name to protect the guilty).

Mrs. Parsons was a teacher from my middle school-years that a few of my friends had.  There were stories about her having freak-outs on the students but never anything violent.  I recognized her from a distance.  She looked like Ray Finkel and always wore a purple blazer.  At the time she was in her early 40’s and yet she had a young daughter that couldn’t have been older than 8.  And from my vantage point, her daughter was suffered from a wicked case of BMS (Bitch of a Mother Syndrome).

Mrs. Parson’s would come in every afternoon after school to tutor her daughter.  I used to think it was strange how loud she would get in the library considering she was a teacher and should know better.  But everyday, her daughter would get something wrong and Mrs. Parson’s would publicly humiliate her.  You could see it boiling up from a distance… her daughter would make a mistake, Parsons would shake her head and try to explain the correct answer, her daughter would then repeat the mistake and Mrs. Parsons would stand up erratically, calling her 8 year an idiot or in one case she used the word ‘slow’ in front of the entire library.  It became a daily spectacle to see the obvious abuse yet no one did anything.  I used to sit up there and watch the librarians whispering to each other how awful the situation was yet doing nothing about it.

It was a Monday and I was unusually high.  I was upstairs enjoying the end of my blunt and as every other day went, Parsons was tutoring her daughter.  On this day in particular, her daughter finally broke down.  She started to sob loud enough to call attention to herself.  Does Parsons give her daughter any compassion?  Absolutely not.  “Stop crying you big baby!”  “Big girls don’t cry.  If you’re gonna cry, I should put you back in diapers.”  As she said this, she spanked her daughter with force.  That was all I could take.

I remember walking towards her but couldn’t make out what she was saying because I was so angry I only heard humming.  It appears I didn’t think my plan through because by the time I got in front of Parsons, my mind went blank and I didn’t know what to say.  I think she said something to me about minding my own business, but the moment she opened her mouth, I punched her so hard in the face that she went down hard and started crying herself.  Looks like big girls do cry when if you punch them in the face.  Needless to say, I got into a fuck-load of trouble but she had it coming. 

This story is a less complicated version of the events that happened that day.  Pieces were removed and simplified, but the fact remains that I knocked that bitch out.