My tattoo scab is falling off in massive chunks. Lookin' good, kids. YAY!

2000: I was a Grade 11 student at Brigidine. I was a fully-blown bastard, and while I wasn't doing anything spectacular, I was doing everything my parents didn't want me doing, so I was happy. I was truant, crazy and invincible, spending my time writing near the State Library or doing evil Catholic girl deeds. I didn't study for exams because I didn't care anymore. I always had a spare change of clothes in my bag, a head full of stupid ideas, and a backup story for every possible situation where I could get sprung.

Brigidine was located on the top of a tiny hill that felt like a mountain when our bags were laden with books. A trek each morning, we walked loudly and animatedly past our sister school, Holy Family. A co-ed primary school founded by the Brigidine sisters, Holy Family students were as cute as buttons. At lunchtime, you could look down from the Grade 12 area and see the children play on the playgym, or playing handball. Cute kids with rich but adoring parents.

So it was a massive deal when there was a bolded and framed memo in our school newsletter to report any sightings of an elderly male in suspicious clothing who had a nasty habit of flashing students. A possible paedophile, we were told to be vigilant but calm if we came accross this guy. No squealing or shrieking, we were to alert the nearest teacher if we were ever confronted. I believed he flashed a couple students in the Foley Field area, where I used to eat lunch with Tina and the rest of our group, The Fellas.

Parents at Brigidine and Holy Family alike were overly cautious to this sudden threat. Teenaged girls started walking in bigger groups, and children stopped walking home alone when it started to get dark, preferring to be picked up by their parents. You couldn't blame everyone for their heightened caution, this guy was a repeat offender, but extremely adept at disappearing as soon as someone spotted him.

A few weeks passed, and the freaky old man was a distant memory. Exam season was fast approaching, and while I had resolved to slow down on the truancy, I didn't do a thing about it. I didn't care anymore whether I got good grades or not, I would rock up to the exam, finish it, then let fate take over -- I was never going to appease my parents, so why bother trying?

For some reason, there was one exam that I didn't want to fail, and it's a shame I can't remember what it was. Whatever it was, I had to stave it off so I could give myself a chance to cram. If I didn't, the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse would've busted some fury on my arse via my mum's fists. Panic and guilt took permanent residence on my back, and I was getting desperate.

After a lot of freaking out, I had formulated the PERFECT plan. In hindsight, it may be one of my most evil plots, EVER. While I feel absolutely disgusted with myself now, it seemed like a wonderful distraction, praying that SOMEHOW, my exam would be rescheduled.

In third period, the class before whatever exam it was (I'm pretty sure it was either Legal Studies, English, Math, Speech & Drama or Study of Religion), I excused myself to go to the bathroom. Making sure there was nobody using the pool or general tuckshop area, I crept into the Multi-Purpose Centre and dialed 000 on the student payphone. I said the paedophile was back, and he was going through Brigidine student bags closest to Holy Family. I also mentioned he had a big black bag and was VERY delicate with it. An anonymous tip, the woman on the other end of the phone thanked me and asked me to notify our Principal immediately, and I promised I would. I ran into the bathroom, washed my hands, and slid back into class.

About five minutes before the end of class, a message was blasted over the PA. All students to report to the MPC, all teachers to report with their student roll call lists. Like a fire drill, we all lugged ourselves into formation, confirmed our attendance, and waited for an explanation.

Apparently, the paedophile was back. This time, though, it was SERIOUS. Students were asked to make sure to check all their belongings were in order after assembly, and if anything was suspicious, to vacate the general area and notify a teacher. Seriously though, what would a teacher be able to do? Word crept through the crowd that he may also be carrying a fucking BOMB. Some students were freaking out that they couldn't afford to miss this time as they had exams next, and some were relieved that they got a break. I sat silently, deciding my best course of action was to shut the fuck up and look at my shoes, in case someone could see the guilt in my eyes.

We were allowed to finally go back to our next class with no more than ten minutes left. My exam had to be rescheduled, but I wanted to know how long I'd stalled for. Getting sweaty-palmed and nervous, a tiny part of me was hoping for a complete cancellation, but that wasn't going to happen. A few students thought I was rattled about the paedophile, I guess they thought I was weird enough as it was and this had struck a chord somehow. Maybe I was related to a bomb or something equally stupid and vacuous.

My stay of execution was a grand total of one week. Thankful for the reprieve, I'm sure I studied my arse off, though I don't remember if I passed my exam. The paedophile never came back, everyone remained cautious about weird strangers, and I hadn't told a soul about what I'd done. It was one of those things you know deep in your gut was totally wrong and could never be misconstrued as a knee-jerk reaction or a silly joke gone wrong. I feel even more awful about it now because I have such strong convictions when it comes to paedophilia. Knowing that I was ready, willing, and CAPABLE of doing this, wow. It's totally beneath who I am now, and absolutely horrendous if this old man wasn't a paedophile at all and he was caught. BUT. He WAS a flasher at the very least, so I don't feel bad in that respect.

I rang Tina today and asked if she remembered that day, to clarify dates and to ultimately confess. She said she remembered, it was one of those occurences you don't forget too easily. I sheepishly told her my story and she laughed and gasped and laughed some more. I know I'm going to hell for the sum of all my dastardly deeds, but this may have been the clincher.

I'm a horrible, despicable person. I bet this equates to a plaque on my bunk in hellfiah.