The Dreadful Mrs. Plum

Fiction by Oliver Cassidy



Thaddeus and I lived in a home for wayward boys. Our schedules were rigid and identical. I didn't like him very much, but I liked him more than anyone else, so... we were friends. Sort of.

Thaddeus was officially listed as "rebellious and violent." He had a penchant for self-destructive behavior. When I met him, he punched himself in the face - made his nose bleed. When I asked him why he did it, he did it again. He was like a bee trapped in a car - confined, lightning-quick, potentially harmful. He'd make you nervous, trust me.

Mrs. Plum was the home's headmistress. She was tall and fat, a huge woman. None of the boys made fun of her though. Her unattractiveness made her easy to talk to and she usually had something sensible to say. None of that positive thinking crap, nothing innocuous. Always real-life stuff. Stuff with substance. She once explained to me that drinking and drugs could be linked to an unconscious depression over materialism. That struck a chord.

Anyway, we were on the ball field one day, and Mrs. Plum walked by, and Thaddeus shouted, "There she is! There she is! The dreadful Mrs. Plum!" Such a weird thing to say, such a weird adjective - "dreadful." Everyone sort of stopped and stared. Something about the word "dreadful." Which she clearly wasn't. So then Mrs. Plum was in a weird position. She'd heard the remark – she’d stopped. Would she just walk away? Would she allow herself to be challenged like that? Defied?

She wouldn’t. She approached. She headed straight for Thaddeus, who faced her squarely. I’ve always wondered what she would’ve said – if she had a trick up her sleeve to save face – but it didn’t happen that way. Thaddeus took something out from his pocket and used it to stab himself in the neck. We later found out it was a sharpened popsicle stick.

As with most stuff like that, there were conflicting accounts. Lots of kids swore they heard Thaddeus shouting over and over, "You blew it! You couldn’t save me!" I don’t remember that. I remember Mrs. Plum running to grab him, and blood spurting from his neck like Kool-Aid pulsing from a punctured can. I remember him resisting her and flailing. I remember the ambulance and the hot paramedic named DOMINGUEZ. Her name was on a nameplate.

I liked that home. I liked Mrs. Plum. I kind of miss the discipline. I definitely miss the organized sports and the scheduled meals. I assume Thaddeus is dead by now. Or maybe not. You never know.

I've since returned to a life of crime. I've always been a cheat and a phony - I enjoy it. It fits me. And because of a creepy weirdo, I'll always remember a decent woman as "dreadful." Funny how your mind works.