Try the Feeling

I had returned to class, having completed part B of my plan. Calmly taking my seat and continuing with the lesson we were engaged in. When the lunch break came, as it did, each day (lucky that) part C of the mission was conducted. The class were dismissed by Mr Walsh, when he was ready, and we made our way out to the playground. I quickly located the teacher on duty. Actually I went and stood outside the staff room, pouncing on her as soon as she left to start her duty, over-seeing the children eating lunch. I recall her jumping slightly as she closed the door to the staff room and I leapt to my feet, from the seat outside to office, to ask permission to go to the store. Permission was given. I left the school grounds by the side gate and made my way down the side street to the store.

The acquired money sat in my pocket. My pocket was burning. I know it was my guilty conscience burning. But it was definitely a feeling that my pocket was burning. I had my hand holding it tightly. Do remember that feeling? (Let’s say, when it was ‘your’ money), and you had to walk somewhere to buy something. You became the most paranoid child as you needed to check you still had the money every few steps. Pushing your hand into your pocket to touch the money. Then, pulling your hand out again to walk confidently towards your destination, before realising, that, as you had pulled your hand out, you may have pulled out the money. Then you quickly push your hand back into your pocket to check the money is still there. And this could go on and on for the whole trip, until, walking into where you were to make your purchase, you reached into your pocket and… the money was gone. Or at least you thought it was. What usually occurred was the temperature of money had reached the temperature of your body, so you didn’t feel it. That didn’t stop that momentary panic as you started checking your other pockets and looking around in alarm. Then you found it again.

I however felt the money was burning a hole in my pocket and my conscience. I knew I had stolen the money, but I really wanted to teach the two, ‘E’ & ‘K’ (and their followers) a lesson. I entered the store and there before me was a wonderful array behind the glass cabinet. One half a cooler, holding the cream filled buns, the pastries, the classic vanilla slice (part pastry, part custard with icing on top) and my favourite the matchstick. Two puff pastry rectangles filled with fresh cream and jam. The other display had shelves of sandwiches, plain cakes and some confectionery. On top was a pie warmer. Displaying the range of pies on offer. Mince, beef, potatoe-topped and pea. Then, curry (never quite understood curry pies myself), mushroom, and bacon. And several made up of combinations of any of these as options.

 (Continued tomorrow)