They say you never forget your first love, your first heartbreak… and apparently, your first full-blown betrayal.
I was in fourth grade. A young, innocent, giggly version of myself – sitting in the very back of the classroom with another poor soul whose only mistake that day was sitting next to me. Our desks were set up in pairs, two rows going straight back, and I was in the back corner seat of chaos.
Now, I’d like to say what happened next was a tragic accident. That I had no warning. That my digestive system surprised me. But the truth? I took a chance. I gambled. I let out what I thought was going to be a silent, innocent little puff of nothing. A whisper in the wind. A phantom fart, if you will.
It was silent alright. But oh, it was deadly.
At first, I kept it cute. Sat there, stone-faced, pretending to pay attention to whatever lesson we were being taught – probably long division or how to properly write a cursive Z. But soon… the air shifted. Literally. I heard it before I saw it – the shuffle of chairs, the whispers, the “Ewww, do you smell that??”
People started turning around. Looking for the source. Their little fourth grade noses twitching in horror.
And that’s when I did it.
I turned to the boy sitting next to me – the one who did absolutely nothing wrong except exist – and I gave him the nod. The slow, disappointed, disgusted nod. As if to say, “Wow… you nasty.”
I fully threw him under the bus. No words, just vibes. The whole class turned on him like he was a war criminal. And I just sat there, quietly surviving in my own methane mist, watching my classmate take the fall for a crime I committed.
To this day, I don’t think I’ve ever apologized to that kid. If you’re out there and somehow ever read this: I’m sorry. It was me. I was the farter in the back row.
But in my defense… it was either you or me.
Love, Loops