The day had started well. But it had deteriorated fast. Simon had been given his history presentation in front of the class. As he finished some people were leaving and in the commotion John had bumped into him. It was one of those very unfortunate things where a slight push had caught Simon completely off balance.
As he fell the folder with papers had been slipping out of his grip. He had reach to grab it but it had only propelled the folder further into the air. Meanwhile his feet were tripping over each other which caused his whole body to twist so the folder was flung open and all its contents of papers were scattered high in the air. As Simon landed hard on the floor his glasses came off and slid across the hard vinyl floor, only stopping as the hid the wall. Then there was a brief moment of silence before the whole class room erupted into a roaring laughter. Mr. Johnson had tried hard to compose himself and calm down the class. He grabbed John by the arm and told him to be a bit more careful. But as he caught John’s playful eyes Mr. Johnson could not help snicker himself.
The embarrassment was complete, the pain like the sting of hundreds of little needles all over his body. Simon had run off from school. Now he was sitting in the woods burning matches. It was soothing to see them light up. Setting fire to some dry twigs helped calm his nerves further. Then he remembered that there was an old abandoned car in amongst the threes. He looked in the engine compartment to see if there was anything flammable, took the fuel hose off the carburetor but it was dry. Maybe there was something in the tank. He took a long twig and pocked it into the tank, it came back wet. He put a match to it and it lit up beautifully. Then he put the twig back into tank, even before it reached the bottom the whole thing exploded and Simon was thrown off his feet again.
When he looked up the the whole car was engulfed in flames and the dry bushes and grass was catching too. Simon ran back to his bicycle and drove back to road here was a little grassy hill. From the top of the hill he watched the big plume of thick black smoke rising. Soon the firetrucks came wising by. He did not know how long he was on the hill, but it was quite dark when he finally came home.
There was a police car outside the house. Mother had been crying and dad was very angry. “They called from the school. Where have you been. Someone saw you set fire to a car, is this true?”
In the morning Simon and his dad went to the police station for further questioning. It was late in the afternoon before they could go. When they got home Simon was sent to his room to think about what he had don. He snug out the window and ran down to grandpa. Grandpa was good at listening. “Everybody is angry at me, as if I am not already feeling bad enough.” Grandpa look straight at him, so warm composed and yet with a distinct tint of sadness, Simon had to look away. “Well, I understand that they are all upset, but can’t they just keep it to themselves. Why do they have to keep bringing it up. Why do I have to keep hurting? All the guilt is killing me.”
Grandpa had been bent over his canvas painting, but now he cleaned the brush and dried it in a cloth before putting it down. “Your feelings are some of the best things about you Simon. You care about things. In this world there are so many people who are indifferent. They have stopped feeling anything, be it joy, love or shame. You have don something bad, so I am glad to hear that you feel guilty.” Then he put his arms around Simon.
Simon froze, he was very confused, he had been told that guilt was a bad thin. To most people you just had to mention the word ‘guilt’ and their faces would be filled with disgust. Guilt was something to be avoided. However, the way grandpa talked about it, it was something good, something human. Slowly he let his arms embrace his grandpa. “I did do something bad, I suppose that I have to apologize the?” Grandpa nodded. Simon held his grandpa and cried and it calmed his nerves.
