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I was dreading my mother's arrival and was expecting to be locked in my room for the rest of my life. When my mother finally arrived – her hair was caught up under a flowery hat that matched the flower print on her fingernails – her outward appearance was one of delicacy. She swaggered into the room with a forced smile creasing her face and offered her hand to the principal.
"Please forgive me," she began, taking her hand back form the overseer of my childhood world. "But I just don't understand what could have come over Suzanne. She is usually the most self-effacing of young women and would never hurt a fly. Surely there has been some mistake."
"No mistake, Mrs. Hubbard. Young little Suzanne here broke the jaw of one of her classmates, a Miss Carrie Mathers. Now I don't know what brought this on, and frankly I don't really care, but Mrs. Mathers has already leaned heavily upon this administration and I would think of it as a personal favor if you made it clear to your daughter that this type of social interaction is highly frowned upon."
"Oh, you can be certain that nothing of this sort ever will happen again." She said, while still stretching her face wide. I could tell by the sugarcoated sweetness of her voice that I was doomed. And certainly, as I looked at her regard, daggers of the utmost loathing pierced my very soul. The extent of her lecture on the ride home was merely the one sentence, but the truths contained within it were paramount to a holy decree. I was then locked in my room without dolls, books, television or visitations from my pets for a week, and worse I had to apologize to Carrie's face. Taking my mother's advice, I saw her in school two days later – after her swollen nose had shrunken enough for her to appear again in public – and with the same sweet smile my mother had used, I apologized.
"Stay away from me, freak!" she had cried through her jaw fixture before telling the teacher that I had hit her again. The teacher saw no new bruises on Carrie, so I got off on a technicality, but for the rest of the term, I could do nothing without the teacher's scrutiny.
I was so miserable during that time that I swore revenge upon Carrie Mathers. I was forced to suffer the ignominy of my punishment and my observation because the bitch had called me a "dumb cow." But her time came. Ten years ago I had a vision that she would pass away from liver damage and called her up. Our conversation was short and to the point.
"Hello?" she had answered.
"Hi, Carrie, this is Suzanne Hubbard. I am a psychic and thought I should just tell you that your bulimia has created such an imbalance within your body that it has become fatal. I give you until eleven o'clock tonight. Good luck!"
Mother would have been proud to hear how much a lady I was.

I volunteer part time at a retirement home where the stench of old milk and urine rules. I often find joy in the company of the elderly because trapped within them lie endless lifetimes of information. Each man or woman who lives there has had ups and downs that supercede my own experiences.