Open on a kitchen. Jack, Mimi, Mike, and Madeline are
sitting around the kitchen table, having dinner.
Jack: So, kids, how was school today?
Mike: Well, Dad, I---
Jack: I wasn’t talking to you.
Madeline: Dad, my teacher, Mr. March, is real funny.
Jack: Probably not as funny as the Globe and Mail’s Your
Morning Smile.
Madeline: No, I didn’t mean ha-ha funny, I meant funny
strange.
Mimi: How is your teacher strange, ma petite.
Madeline: See, he always makes kids stay after school, every
day. And it’s always girls.
Jack: What kinds of things does he make the girls stay after
school for?
Madeline: Sometimes it’s for help with homework or for
acting up in class, but its always for exercises.
Mimi: Exercises?
Madeline: Yeah. He makes some of the girls that have to stay
after school do exercises, and the girls that have to stay back for other stuff
have to stand in the cloakroom with their faces turned away from Mr. March’s
desk.
Jack: That does sound rather odd. Still, if your teacher
says you need to do exercises, then you need your exercise. Got that, buddy
sport?
Madeline: Got it, Dad. Hey, it’ll probably help me be big
and strong when I grow up.
…
25 years later.
Shift to psychiatrist’s office. The psychiatrist is sitting
at her desk. Madeline is sitting on the couch.
Madeline: And so this teacher sexually abused me and a
couple other girls every day we were in his class, and, I’m wondering, do you
think the fact my first sexual experiences were inappropriate and violated my
very innocence could have something to do with the fact that I’m a lesbian?
Psychiatrist: No, I don’t think so.
Madeline: Oh, thank goodness.
Psychiatrist: After all, if that were the case, all sexual
abuse victims would be homosexual.
Madeline: That makes sense.
Psychiatrist: It’s just like I told that veteran I had on
the couch this morning. Some of your buddies have come back from the war just
fine, gone back to their lives, got jobs and everything, so don’t go complainin
to me about no PTSD, buster.
No comments:
Post a Comment