I traipsed through the door, thinking of how I would spend my summer break and as I opened the door to a stall I made the mistake of glancing into the toilette bowl. Instantly I was stricken with surprise and disgust.
What I saw was offensive enough, but furthermore I insist you must also have this image in your mind. An unraveled, off white condom floats lazily, discoloring the water around it with pigmented streaks of blood along it's sides and coagulated fluids within.
I stumble backwards while my arms turn in wide circles, a windmill like motion to move me away from the scene as quickly as possible. I collide with a sink and press my back to the wall and then catch the sight of a younger student just now entering the restroom.
This student is shorter than myself, younger, and riddled with confusion concerning my dramatic display. I would quickly have explained that I was obviously not the weird one here, and warned "There is a horrible bleeding contraceptive device in that toilette!" However there was a clear reason why I could not (a reason beyond my vocabulary not quite being at this level yet).
My parents had made it very clear to me that older students cannot simply tell younger students about these things. It is the duty of sexual education to explain or even name these devices. Clearly, I had to at least ensure this student was of the appropriate age, lest I do the irreversible damage of uttering the word 'condom' to this child.
"How old are you?" I asked, not yet peeling away from the wall.
The student answers "Twelve" with suspicious eyes locked on me, trying to understand the link between whatever I had been doing and my curiosity for ages.
I nod, knowing I was probably in the clear, "Ah, then you've had sex ed..." It was supposed to be the subtle lead in to my next statement which would have been a completely innocent explanation as to how I saw a gruesome contraceptive in the stall I vacated and I had no choice but to dramatically explode across the room.
Instead the awkward words hang in the air during a long and stagnant silence. The tension would be comparable to awkward pick up scenes that I would not experience for many years to come. The student breaks from the scene first, turning into a stall and closing the door on me.
Though I had failed to use the restroom as I intended, I turn and wash my hands in order to make sure the student wouldn't think I was weird for not practicing proper hygiene, and I promptly left. I never crossed paths with that child again, which is likely for the best. I imagine if we met one another at a reunion or some such I would half way try to bring up the situation and explain it until the pure awkward tension ruins my chances at redemption forever.
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