I must have been nine years old when I experienced a taste of purgatory. That’s when I went to grade school with Madeline, a girl who I thought might have been a little "witch" in another lifetime. She could have been a lovely child if only she learned to smile. Unfortunately, she came to school looking perpetually unhappy with a scowl that became an appendage to her young face. Many times she looked like she was ready to pounce and in the mood to bully somebody.
As it turned out, the fellow kid whose life she wanted to make miserable happened to be me. In those days, I was forced to confront fear every day of that school year because Madeline dowsed the joy that every child had a right to. I can’t remember the number of times when I wished that the school year would be over soon so that I wouldn’t have to see her every day. When that didn't happen quick enough, I found myself regularly visiting the life-size statue of the Blessed Mother in the garden to pray for help. You see, Madeline’s favorite pastime was to tell me how rotten I had made her feel. So much so that she told her mother about it and that Madeline’s mom was coming to school to have a word with me. My parents seldom had a reason to scold me. Therefore, the idea of a complete stranger reprimanding me was a total shock to my system.
I didn’t know why that made me feel so afraid when I knew in my heart that I never did anything wrong to Madeline! Just the same, the Catholic girl in me felt guilty and many times, I would cringe in fear and desperation at the sight of that miserable girl. Looking back, I think that she was unhappy since birth. That’s the only reason that comes to my mind now. She had an older sister named Catherine who studied at the same school. Catherine was like a burst of sunshine while Madeline was like the night that never saw the light of day! Catherine was always cheerful and delightful. Madeline was never nice and always grumpy.
One day I got invited to their house because it was Catherine’s birthday. Catherine flunked a grade and had to sit in the same class which Madeline and I shared. The three of us became classmates that year. Catherine liked me a lot and wanted me to be at her party. Their father was an architect and his work showed in their lovely home. I have to say that admiring the house was probably the only thing that kept me entertained. I didn’t want to go to the party for the obvious reason, but my mother made me go. Madeline was nice to me on that occasion, perhaps because her family was watching. But as soon as I came home, the floodgates broke and I couldn't control the flow of tears. My mother asked me what was wrong, but I couldn’t tell her that she made me go to the birthday party where the "witch" was in attendance! She never knew about the bad Madeline because I didn't tell anyone at home what I was going through at school.
It was my chance to let all the bottled up feeling of fear go, but I didn’t have the courage to make Madeline look bad. It felt really good to have that long overdue cry because afterwards Madeline’s bullying lost its weight on my shoulders. At the party I met her mother who was very nice. After that day I knew that even if Madeline’s mom came to school to talk to me, or even scold me, I had nothing to worry about. Many years later whenever I got the chance, I mulled over Madeline's pathetic behavior and came to the conclusion that she might have suffered from a low self-esteem. Her older sister Catherine was pretty and had a wonderful personality. Madeline obviously felt threatened by it and her only way to feel good was to have some kind of power over someone else. That empowered her to make my life miserable.
Bullying me might have made her feel good about herself, even gave her moments to shine. If that was the case, my days as a scared little girl in grade school were not in vain after all. In a way, Madeline’s awful treatment of me had prepared me for the worse things in life. I might not have grown into a strong person if she didn’t provide the ammunition for me to dodge life’s bullets at the earliest opportunity.
The "witch" in grade school may have made life for nine-year old me a living purgatory, but I have to admit that Madeline contributed to making the kind of human being I am today. What can I say… thank you, Madeline! I hope that she is still around and remembers me. If she does, hopefully, she has good memories of the little girl who could have been her loyal friend… if only she gave that girl a chance.
