I had never felt anything like it before. It felt like rocks were sitting deep in my stomach and every step I took, jostled and moved them around. They were making me nauseous. It was guilt. I was ten.
I got home from school that day, and I went up to my room. My stuffed lobster, Pitchy, was on the bed and I hugged him. I hoped that would make me feel better, but it didn't. I wanted to get the rocks out if my belly, so I sadly whispered my secret into Pinchy's ear, or at least where I thought his ear was. It helped a little, but not very much.
That night at dinner I sat at the table not wanting to eat anything. After a few minutes, Mom asked, "What's wrong? You love meatloaf."
"I just don't feel good," I lied. It was because my stomach was full of rocks.
"Even if you don't feel well, you still need to eat."
I didn't respond.
"You know," Dad started, "if you don't eat dinner, you can't stay up tonight and watch Are You Afraid of the Dark with your brother and sister."
"That's ok," I said.
I didn't eat, and as a punishment my parents made me sit at the table alone with a full plate. I sat there, angry and sad, but mostly confused. I cried, and I felt hot, salty tears roll down my cheeks and saw them splash into my mashed potatoes and gravy. I sat at the table for two hours, well past my brother and sister watching TV. At 9:00 my parents realized I wasn't just being stubborn with my uneaten food, something else was wrong. They both told me to go to bed, so I went upstairs to my room. I was still sobbing, still upset, but I didn't tell anyone what was wrong.
"Just get some sleep," Mom said soothingly when she came to tuck me in. She looked sad too. "Whatever is bothering you, you will feel better in the morning."
I woke up the next morning, and I didn't feel better. I went downstairs and poured a bowl of Fruit Loops and sat at the kitchen table. I stared at the cereal, still not hungry. Mom was drinking her coffee and reading the newspaper.
"Mom," I said, holding back tears, "what do you do if you did something bad?" I asked.
"You tell the truth," she replied, not looking up from her newspaper.
"Even if you will get in trouble?" I asked.
"Even if you will get in trouble," she said smiling.
"Ok," I said.
"Why? Is something wrong?"
"I just don't want to get into trouble."
"You might," she said, "but telling the truth will make you feel better."
I ate my cereal and looked out the window, trying to figure out what to say next. Mom didn't ask any more questions. She just read the newspaper and drank her stinky, black coffee as my Fruit Loops got soggier and soggier.
When I got to school, I stood outside Ms. DuBois' classroom. I didn't think she liked me very much, but I still thought she was a nice teacher. I went into her room, and she was sitting at her front table, talking with Ms. Burns, a mean teacher.
"Troy?" She said surprised, "You aren't supposed to come in here until 8:00."
"I know," I said.
It didn't feel like rocks in my stomach anymore. It felt like bees. My skin felt hot and cold. I was scared, but I didn't want to feel guilty anymore.
"I just," I started to cry again, but I didn't know why, "I have to tell you something."
Both Ms. DuBois and Ms. Burns were staring at me, confused. I was usually a happy child, and I played well with the other boys and girls in my class. I wasn't disruptive, but she did say I asked too many questions sometimes. Also, I wasn't good at reading. Maybe that is why she didn't like me.
"On yesterday's spelling test, I cheated." I just blurted it out. Even though I was scared, I felt better.
The teachers looked at each other.
"Ok," Ms. DuBois said calmly, slowly turning back towards me, "thank you for being honest."
We stood there for a minute. I thought she was going to call Mom. I thought I was going to the principal's office. I thought I was going to get kicked out of school and be the homeless train person from the book Mom would read to me before bed.
"How many words did you copy?" She asked.
"One," I said.
"What word?" Ms. Burns asked.
"Clergyman."
"That was a hard one," Ms. DuBois replied smiling. She waited a few more seconds and finally said, "Go outside and have fun with your friends."
"Am I in trouble?" I asked.
"I think you have already put yourself through enough, Troy." She said.
I wiped my snot and tears onto my sleeve, and I quickly went outside. I thought she was going to change her mind, and I would get kicked out of school, but she didn't. After that, she acted differently toward me. I think she liked me more.
Every night, I would sit in bed and over and over again, I would spell to Pinchy, "C-L-E-R-G-Y-M-A-N." Even when I didn't sleep with Pinchy anymore, I would still fall asleep spelling that word out loud. When I got brave enough to fall asleep in silence, I still wouldn't cheat out of fear of feeling the rocks in my stomach again.