Oh, the memories...

I was rather startled to meet that old school mate again this morning. It was in no way a positive surprise, like finding your long lost car key in your dog's droppings would be. No, it was more like the feeling you have just before you get the chance to analyse what your stomach has done to your breakfast. As you might be guessing now, I didn't really appreciate his presence. Hey, good guess! He used to be a real jerk and he somehow managed to maintain his very unpleasant state of mind over the past 5 years. The reason for my surprise was not really his inert character, it was more the fact that he was in no way supposed to be where I was this morning. I have moved several times since I had left that hicktown and I've taken only minor interest in what has been happening with it or its citizens. Specially not in that particular person and I think so did he.

So, I took a nice walk in the not so nice weather to the local bakery. The shortest way there led me across the railway station (a very small one, there are two directions you can choose: Either you go to a thriving city or you don't. Also, the station was once the scene of a ghastly accident, which some people still claim to be an "unghastly" crime, but that's another story). And there I met him. Stupidly, he noticed me first, so I didn't have the chance to avoid him. We were going through some painful small talk, just the usual stuff, when I suddenly remembered that lesson in phys.-ed, which made me burst out in laughter.

We were playing football (no, the real football. I refuse to use the "s" word) in the hall. As usual I was the goalkeeper, for I was good at it and not because, as it happens very often, being the small, fat boy who no one wants to play with. Then, all of a sudden, he was in front of me, attacking, and no defendants around, just him and me. I ran out to intercept the ball coming from high above. He ran forward to do a header. Very unfortunately for him, he came first.

Usually it's a good thing to be first on the ball, but not in this case. I can't really say how it exactly happened, but he must have rammed his head down towards my rapidly ascending head. The next thing I remember is me, lying about 3 meters next to ground zero, where a, for sports halls, unusually large amount of blood was covering the floor. Eventually I found out, that all this blood used to flow through my opponents veins, but obviousely it decided upon impact to take a look what being outside of his body was like. I think I was unconcious for longer than I thought at first, because he was just being carried out and everybody else seemed to be standing somewhere outstandingly different from where they stood just before I passed out. I guess I had been gone for at least 30 seconds. After answering all the Are-you-all-right questions coming from my immediate vicinity with a yes, I began to feel better and better. Not only because my body was recovering from the vast tremor (or the fact that most bystanders thought this carnage to be very entertaining and free time producing), but also because of my malicious joy of knowing to have unvoluntarily kicked some serious ass without the ill-effect of having to bear a punishment from a higher level of jurisdiction. Now, that's basically not a very nice thing to do, but in the end it actually was (and still is) funny, since he was an idiot and really needed it.
A lot of people seemed to agree on this point and were quite happy with the result of the event, which was a broken nose (not mine, obviousely).

What I got of my early sunday morning trip were four buns and two croissants for breakfast, a pair of wet sneakers, and an old schoolmates heartfelt hatred towards me.
What a nice day, isn't it?

Cheers
Tim