Halloween triggers a memory for me. It starts with the word HALLOWEEN written in large block letters, underlined and centered on the top of my writing tablet in grade school. Mrs. Olson, my teacher, had asked everyone in the class to write a poem about Halloween.

Mrs. Olson was a small and “hard” woman, probably embittered by life events that she had never successfully reconciled. There was a cruelty to her. She was a “mean teacher.” Mrs. Olson rarely smiled in class and when she did, she had a air of contempt and superiority.

I had never written a poem. I froze. I had my first experience with “writer’s block.” I could not think of a word to say beyond the title. Even the title was not particularly inspired but it was the best I could do at the time. I sat in a state of panic, trying to think of what to say, knowing that the 10 minutes allotted for writing the poem were quickly evaporating.

“Time is up,” Mrs. Olson said. “Gary, come up front and read your poem to the class.” I felt terror as I heard my name called. I pretended not to hear her and stared down at the blank lines on my paper. I hoped she might simply pass by me and ask someone else instead. She repeated her request again, more harshly, and I flushed with shame and embarrassment because now everyone was looking at me.

“Karen, read Gary’s poem for him if he is not going to do it,” I heard Mrs. Olson say. Karen was a bully in training. She was Mrs. Olson’s protégé, if you get what I mean. Mrs. Olson had obviously had been watching the class closely and had noticed that I had not written anything. She decided I should be punished for it and who better to enlist in her aid than Karen.

I looked up to see Karen approach my desk with a look of glee on her face. She snatched my tablet from me and strode to the front of the room. She turned with a triumphant look on her face and in a loud voice, read “Halloween.”

The rest of the poem, of course, never came, and the class quickly got it and started to giggle. Mrs. Olson thanked Karen for her help and smiled that chilling smile. Karen beamed. Luckily the story does not end there.

Karen liked to quietly pick her nose in class. After mining a bugger from her nostrils she rolled it between her fingers into a compact little pellet and flicked it through the air toward the rest of the class, not really caring who it hit, just feeling the satisfaction that it would probably hit someone.

A bugger hit my desk during silent reading, a time when we were to read to ourselves and later be questioned, or interrogated, by Mrs. Olson as a learning experience in reading comprehension. Understanding what you read for Mrs. Olson was important for survival. I think reading comprehension was pretty high in her classes.

The bugger rolled across my book and stopped right at the end of the sentence I was reading, replacing the period. “Pause when you come to a period,” Mrs. Olson had instructed us. I came to a screeching halt at the sight of the bugger.

I was disgusted at seeing what had just been attached to the mucous membrane inside Karen’s nose. It was probably still warm. I wanted to quickly lift my book and dump it on to the floor so that there was no chance of touching it. I sat quietly instead; knowing that any sudden movement during silent reading would incite the wrath of Mrs. Olson for disturbing the reading comprehension of the other students.

I tried to continue reading, but the harder I tried to ignore the bugger, the larger it seemed to grow in size. I felt like I had to look around it to see the words on the page.

“Close your books,” Mrs. Olson said in a tone of voice that left no doubt about what we were expected to do. I had no choice but to quickly and firmly close my book along with the rest of the class, knowing that a bugger was now flattened like an autumn leaf between pages 20 and 21 of my reader. It probably was not until the next school year, that another student was surprised to find those pages missing.

In my distress, I forgot what I had read. I was immediately relieved when Mrs. Olson called upon another boy in class, a friend of mine, who was inclined to daydreaming during class, instead of doing his work.

The penalty for poor reading comprehension in this instance was for Lester to be placed in the “penalty box.” It was in the kneehole of Mrs. Olson’s desk while she was sitting at it, teaching the rest of the class. Being that close in proximity to Mrs. Olson would have terrified most of us so much we would never have dreamed again, day or night.

It was an act of dominance and intimidation by Mrs. Olson, to completely contain Lester by her physical presence. Or so she thought. As a daydreamer, Lester spent little time thinking about or fearing Mrs. Olson.

He also had an older brother who mischievously encouraged him in the use of certain words and gestures, without fully clarifying their meaning.

As Mrs. Olson continued to assess the reading comprehension of students, Lester sat under her desk, not feeling the least bit dominated or intimidated. Meanwhile, Mrs. Olson sat back at the end of her interrogation with her smile of superiority that once again, she had scared reading comprehension into her students.

She said something like, “You see what you can do when you apply effort,” The class could see that Lester was applying effort to sliding his hand and arm out from under the front of Mrs. Olson’s desk. When he had reached out as far as he could, he extended his middle finger in the direction of Mrs. Olson.

There was nervous tittering in the class because most of us had at least heard of “giving someone the finger.” Fortunately for Lester, Mrs. Olson’s desk was higher than the length of his arm. She did not know the reason for the nervous tittering. She continued to smile, thinking nervousness, not to mention blatant fear, was a good quality to instill in her students.

Karen was uncharacteristically silent and clearly stunned at being upstaged by the likes of Lester, who had so easily trumped her rather mundane bugger flicking. The rest of the class bonded in that moment, feeling at one with Lester, in giving Mrs. Olson the finger.