Race To The Pole

"Grab the end of this and run!"

And run I did

I ran out of the sea foam green tiled boys bathroom
The one with the too-short-for-adults urinals
With spitballs all over the walls
Dried and solidified lugies hanging from the high ceilings
Like stalactites in a deep dark cave
A testament to the grossness of the prepubescent male

Down the hall I went
As fast as my silly short legs could take me
Hearing shouts in my wake

"Stop! You can't do that!"
They cried

In vain it would seem
For it seems that I actually could

Not stepping on the light colored tiles
That were scattered in the hall in a pattern
With that odd one in the way
A replacement player
Substituted by an uncaring janitor
With far too many light colored tiles for his own good

The doors were coming up fast
And I daren't let go
Their burgundy painted wood getting nearer
Polished brass push bars barred the way
Begging me to time my escape precisely

And like choreographed ballet
I planted my foot inches from the kick plate
Pushing with all my might with my free hand
Swinging that stern old door wide
Bathing in the spring sunlight

Now to make it to the pole
Just up ahead
With the hounds of authority at my heels
Pouring from the brick facaded Elementary

Ants from a prodded anthill
Bees from a batted at hive

I tagged the flagpole
Grabbing it and spinning around
To face the consequences of my triumph

The long white fluttering finger of toilet paper marking whence I had come

A new fourth grade record
For TP on the run