Flash Fiction – Square Peg, Round Hole

This was my very first attempt at flash fiction, EVER! I wrote this as part of Writer’s HQ Flash Face Off and I’m really pleased with how it turned out. It was cathartic to write, and I hope you enjoy it!

Square Peg, Round Hole

The crush of the classroom, chairs scraping across parquet floors and your face lost in the crowd. I take you every day, passing you into the arms of strangers. You always cry and they always tell me, ‘She’s fine once you’ve left.’

Am I the problem?

Your brother goes in without ‘fuss’. He works hard so they’ll let him play on the computer.

I think it all goes wrong when he moves up a class and his new teacher changes the rules. Or should I say, banishes computer time completely.

No. That’s not it.

It’s when the teacher takes you from me, her arm firm around your neck, your chin jutting out above the crack of her elbow. Your face, crumpled up as you scream for me and I stand there, frozen on the asphalt, watching on as you’re carried away.

Am I the problem now?

I go home and research home education. I trained as a teacher once, then quit to become a writer. I have some skills.

I can teach you to follow your dreams, at least.

I collect you from school. It’s a Friday afternoon and I’m relieved. You come running out, your face still puffy from tears. Your brother joins us, bloodshot eyes and a bundle of books tucked under his arm.

We scurry home together like three little mice. We burst through the door and the relief is palpable.

We’re safe now.

Over the weekend we bake cakes, read books, tell stories. You play boardgames, chess and Minecraft. We take the dog to the park and I record videos of you both rolling down the hill on your sides, laughing as the grass tickles your noses. I send them to your Nan.

Monday comes. You’re wearing matching uniforms. Little cardboard cut outs. Are you a square or a round peg? What shape is the hole? Whatever the combination, neither of you fit.

You’re ready to go but my legs won’t move. The dog whines at the signs of a walk.

I tell you both to change. There will be no school today. You get changed and I type a letter.  My hands shake, knowing I’m making a decision that will shape you.

Then I remember, I won’t stop you from crying. I won’t banish you from the computer or push you to your limits. And I certainly won’t wrap my arm around your neck, crushing your throat, as I convince myself it’s the only way.

Because… I am not the problem.

We walk out the door into the blinding sunshine. The letter is tucked safely in my pocket. We approach the school and I think my heart may burst with fear. I’m not one to question authority.

I hand the letter over. The teacher accepts. I feel something shift.

We say goodbye and walk away. We keep walking in unison until we come to the common. The horses are gathered in a meeting under the chestnut tree. We hold hands, the three amigos, skipping across the vast green.

This is your classroom now.