Forgiveness

The principal said Miss Blank was the teacher in the room next to mine; now did I remember the incident?

Bewildered, I said no. I'd seen the woman from time to time of course, but had never spoken to her or been spoken to by her.

The principal was disapointed in me. I was left to think over my sins for an hour. With nothing to do but stare at the clock for all that time, I did get a good grasp of exactly how long an hour can be (and incidentally at what speed to count Mississippis to keep time with the second hand). But when the principal returned I still had no idea why I was being punished.

He lectured, he scolded, he shamed. I was expected to admit my crime and apologize, and I think I would have done if I'd known what to admit to. But what could I possibly have done to Miss Blank?

At last he told me that I had said "Damn you," to Miss Blank: did I regret it? Would I apologize? Denying the incident was not an option. I could apologize or I could sit there for another hour staring at the clock.

Burning with resentment, I chose enforced idleness. This time at least I had a clue to the mystery. Mentally reviewing Friday, I finally found the forbidden words, but they'd been said to the departing back of a boy who had been tormenting me, and surely Miss Blank had been nowhere nearby. One didn't say words like that in front of a teacher.

If for some mad reason Miss Blank had been concealed somewhere near enough to hear me say those words, why had she not revealed herself? Why had she not taken me to task on the spot? And why in the world had she imagined I said them to her in her concealment?

I never will know what really happened. When the principal returned for the second time I told him what I'd remembered, and he told me that Miss Blank had heard me say the words to her. I argued, I asked why I would curse a woman I'd never met, I explained the circumstances again, all to no avail. I was to apologize to Miss Blank or spend more hours watching the clock. In the end, I apologized.

And for the next twenty-five years that little injustice festered in the back of my mind. I had a collection of them, large and small, leaking their slow poison all over my emotions; until finally, as I was approaching adulthood in my mid-thirties, I realized they were a burden I was no longer willing to carry.

If I had forgiven that woman the day I apologized to her, I'd have been free of the incident on the spot. Instead I had elected to carry the humiliation with me. She had doubtless forgotten the whole thing in an hour, but I had lived with it for twenty-five needless years.

Now I remember it, but I do not suffer for it, because I have forgiven it. And the moral of the story is, you must forgive others for your sake, not theirs. Resentment is a prison of one's own making. Forgiveness is the key to freedom.

Copyright © 1992 by Melisa Michaels. Reproduction and distribution specifically prohibited. All rights reserved. Melisa Michaels is the author of the science fiction novels Skirmish, First Battle, Last War, Pirate Prince, Floater Factor, and Far Harbor, the fantasy novels Cold Iron and Sister to the Rain, and the mystery novel Through the Eyes of the Dead.