Friday, April 11, 2008

Frère Jacques

It was grade 3 or 4 when I did this. I was playing ice hockey the year it happened. Our teacher told us to bring our skates to school, because she was going to take us skating at Vic Johnston Arena. The morning of the skate I was getting dressed. I have no idea what possessed me to do this, but as I was putting my clothes on I put on a piece of hockey equipment. Then I slipped my pants on over top.

I was checking myself out in the mirror and it looked pretty good. It didn’t look noticeable and I figured I would get away with nobody at school knowing. Then again, I’m sure every girl that has ever stuffed their bra thought the same thing.

I went to school and all morning nobody noticed. That afternoon we went skating. We walked over to the arena. Still nobody was the wiser. When we got to the arena we started to put on our skates. Whereas most girls in our class wore a pair of white figure skates, Neve had brought a pair of hand-me-down hockey skates that belonged to her brother.

We were in the corridor by the canteen, on the other side of the glass from the rink itself, and I was lacing up her skates. The way you tie someone’s skates, if you’ve never done it, is you have them put their skate on your thighs, while the blade of the skate slides between your legs. Then you just pull the laces up, thread the top few eyes and tie it at the top.

After I laced up her first skate I opened my legs and her foot dropped to the floor. When she brought up her second skate for me to tie, she accidentally kicked me between the legs.

“I’m sorry.”

“No problem,” I said. Then I faked a little pain. I tried to downplay it as not to make too big of a deal in the hope that the subject would change quickly.

The problem, however, is that hockey skates have a steel toe to them, to protect against slap shots. When her skate made contact, it made this loud ‘konk’ sound like the sound of metal on plastic. It was so loud it seemed to echo off the walls. I tried my best to lace up her second skate and pretend it never happened.

“What was that sound?”

“What sound?”

When I looked at Neve she got this smile on her face that told me she knew, that I knew, that she knew, that I was hiding something. At that point she tried to gently kick me again with the toe of her skate as I was lacing it up. I grabbed her skate with both hands and held on for dear life as I looked up at her.

“What was that sound?”

“I didn’t hear anything”

We were both smiling at each other. It was obvious I was lying.

“Why is your face turning red?”

“My face is not turning red.”

“Yes it is. What is that?” Then she pointed.

I knew she would never let it go unless I told her. Nobody else from our class was nearby so I reluctantly filled her in. She got a very good laugh at my expense.

“Please promise me you won’t tell anyone.”

“M. You have my word I won’t tell a soul.”

“Thank you Neve.”

Not even two seconds later…

“Can I just tell one person?”

“No”

“Please, just one person.”

“No”

“Come on. I just want to tell Holly.”

“I would rather you take out a full page add in the Toronto Star than tell Holly.”

“Please she won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

“No, Holly won’t tell anyone. She’ll tell everyone. Please don’t.”

A little while later, Neve told Holly. Now I was sweating it.

I am convinced God put Holly Presley on the Earth for the same reason there are mosquitoes in Winnipeg, to get under people’s skin and annoy the hell out of them. That girl lived to push my buttons. When she got something on you she wouldn’t let it go until something new came along that she could bug you about instead. She was never cruel, but she was relentless. She got a rise out of making you squirm.

For the rest of that skate I squirmed.

At the very end of the skate Robert Dykeman found out. Dykeman also played hockey when we were students together. He played for a tiered team called the Terriers. He was a goaltender and he wore goalie skates which were not easy to skate on because they are sharpened a different way.

On the walk back to school he started singing Frère Jacques, which is a French bedtime song. Holly and Neve burst out laughing every time he sang it. Sammy Maltby however, was in the dark.

The arena was about a 45 minute walk from our school. We were halfway back. Dykeman had sung Frère Jacques about a dozen times. Holly and Neve had burst into laughter about a dozen times and Maltby was finally getting curious.

“Why does he keep singing Frère Jacques?”

Dykeman just said, “Oh no reason.”

Then he started singing again, “Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques. Dormez-vous, Dormez-vous. Sonnez les matines, Sonnez les matines, Ding Dang Dong, Ding Dang Dong.”

Neve and Holly kept laughing.

The closer we got to school, the more curious Maltby was getting.

“What’s so funny about that?”

Dykeman for his part kept getting more and more obvious. He kept emphasizing Jacques. Then he started pointing when he said it. Maltby was getting worried the girls were laughing at him. When Dykeman said Jacques and pointed, Maltby checked his zipper to make sure it was done up. That caused more laughter. I was just dying to get back to school and slip out of this thing.

When we finally reached the school grounds Maltby still hadn’t figured it out. Dykeman finally just blurted it out. “For crying out loud, N’s wearing a jock!”

At that point I ran into the school straight to the washroom and slipped it off. I got quite a ribbing over that for some time after.