We believe villains are more than just two dimensional evil-doers. They're complex characters who rarely get to share their stories. The concept may seem silly, but empathy is a skill. If we can practice it here, we just might have a shot at understanding the 'villains' in our everyday lives.
13 year old Aggie Trunchbull stood in a concrete circle, her hands and neck where she had cradled the 12 pound shot put ball were covered in ghost white chalkdust. She had just thrown the shotput--her technique perfected by early morning practices each day with her father.
Archibald Trunchbull bent down on the grass and marked the spot where the ball had landed with a great thud to the ground. The force with which she launched the ball would have been an impressive display for a young man in his twenties. The fact that the feat was done by his young teen daughter made the display Extraordinary. He stood up and walked towards Aggie, and pulled a measuring tape from his breast pocket. He handed her an end of the measuring tape.
“Hold this and let's see what we've got.”
Archibald bent down and held the measuring tape tight across the grass like a long yellow snake between his palms. He looked at the number and did a double take.
He jumped up and ran to Aggie, wrapping his arms around his daughter in a big bear hug.
“Aye good girl Aggie! A new personal best for ya! You make your old man proud! Someday you will be an Olympian. You'll place better than your old Dad ever did” he said.
Archibald smiled and put an arm around Aggie and the pair walked across the expansive lawn that was a makeshift shotput javelin and hammerthrow training grounds. They walked towards the well kept home, the nicest home on Giant's Den Drive in Kidderminster, England.
They entered the house and turned to the parlor room with large cathedral ceilings. In grand style, above the fireplace hung a larger than lifesize portrait of her father—with how tall her father is in real life, the portrait was humongous. The picture portrayed a much younger Archibald on the day he received the bronze medal for England in the Olympics. He had a full head of thick brown hair, had bronze medal around his neck, and a serious look which would have made him look severe. However the artist added the smile lines around Archibald's eyes, betraying the jolly good humor he always felt even when he was trying to look serious.
Emily Trunchbull sat on a chair in front of the fireplace, the morning paper in her lap. She daintily sipped tea from a flowery teacup. She woke earlier than both her husband and daughter. In 15 years of marriage, Archibald had never seen her without her hair perfectly set and her makeup exactly perfect. She simply would not allow it. She readied the breakfast, one for Archibald, one for Aggie. No greasy meats for Aggie; only grapefruit and light yogurt for her daughter. Emily's feeble attempt to fight her daughter's thick features.
Aggie saw her mother seated there and couldn't help thinking about an afternoon a few weeks prior. Her mother was seated in the highback salmon velvet chair, her Father was still at work and her mother hadn't known Aggie had arrived home early from school.
“She has the unfortunate build of a man. When she was born a girl, with the face of her father, I was so disappointed. I didn't even want to hold her...”she heard her mother say in a whining voice on the phone.
Her Father's booming voice broke her free from this memory.
“Here comes our future Olympian! She will be the toast of England!” Archibald's voice echoed through the house.
Her mother didn't seem to notice, her head bent skimming the morning news.
Aggie smiled. She loved how happy these practices made her Father but Aggie had a secret. She didn't really want to continue with shot putting. She had something else in mind.
_____________________________________________________________
She ate breakfast in the dining room with her Father. When she was finished she hugged him goodbye as he left for work.
Aggie gathered her school uniform and walked towards the bathroom door.
Her mother stood in front of the bathroom blocking her path. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her lips pursed.
“Agatha, what do you think you are doing? You need to tidy your room and be off to school,” her mother said.
“But Mum. I need to shower. I don't want to be the smelly kid at school!”Aggie said.
“You should have thought of that before making such a mess of your things,” her mother said. Emily then turned and locked the bathroom door and returned the key to her pants pocket.
Aggie wanted to protest but knew it was no use. She rushed quickly about her room tidying up. She made her bed, stacked her books on her bookshelves. Frantically, she kicked the dirty clothes scattered on the floor underneath her bed. She knew her mother would check there and scold her thoroughly when she got home.
Once her mother was satisfied with the state of her room, she unlocked the door. Aggie had only just enough time to change out of her sweaty track clothes into her school uniform. She wore a dark green plaid skirt and matching vest and long navy socks that reached to her knees. She grabbed her toothbrush and toothpaste and put it in her messenger bag and ran out the door towards her school, Crunchum Hall.
Earlier in schoolday
When Aggie entered the school she walked quickly to the loo on the second floor, relieved to find it empty. She went to the supply closet hoping there would be some fresh towels. Behind large jugs of industrial soap and bleach, she found a stack of gray and worn although clean towels. At the basin she began to wet the towels in warm water, wringing them so they were only damp. Carefully, she washed the sweat and chalk from her face and neck and then checking to make sure she was alone washed under her arms and legs.
Then Aggie grabbed her toothbrush and toothpaste. As Aggie brushed her teeth, she looked at herself in the mirror. She had a high large forehead with deep horizontal creases. She had a very strong square chin and her skin was pink from sun exposure. She wore her dishwater brown hair everyday in a tight ponytail. Aggie didn't love the way she looked but she didn't hate herself either. She was stronger than all of her classmates, even the boys. However, sometimes she wondered what it would be like to have a slim ballerina figure to match how gracefully she could turn while throwing a shot put. A face her mother would be proud of.
Just then one of the prettiest girls in school, Melinda Carlisle walked into the bathroom accompanied by her two best friends. Melinda was tall and pretty. Her long blonde hair was perfectly curled like the models in magazines. Her big honey colored eyes and long lashes were accented by dark purple liner. As soon as they saw Aggie, Melinda clutched her hand in a large dramatic motion to her chest. She made a loud, fake shrieking sand ran in mock terror down the hall in the other direction. Her friends followed her giggling.
An advantage to Aggie's size and family name was that no one would dare bother her to her face for fear she would pummel them. However, in the past year, some of her classmates became brave—learning that being beautiful gave them a power in many ways better than being physically strong. They had perfected a passive stream of cruelties. One day, she had found a crude drawing on her maths chair of a nasty troll with a ponytail holding a javelin. Beneath in large letters read “I'm Ugly Aggie.”
Aggie would deal with Melinda.
Music class
Aggie walked up to where Melinda was seated. Aggie was much too quick for Melinda and grabbed her bag and turned it upside down on top of Melinda's head. Papers, folders and books spilled out onto the floor. Melinda stood to grab her things but each book and pen and paper Melinda reached for Aggie kicked out of her reach.
Aggie stood there towering over Melinda and waited for her to say something when they were interrupted by Markus Bogtrotter, Vincent Terry, and Travis Walsh. Markus had stolen one of the senior student's purple choir robes. The robe was much too big for Markus and draped his body more like a tent than a garment. Markus stood on top of Mr. Davies desk, the robe falling nearly to the floor like an elegant cape. Crudely drawn on Markus's face in black ink was a mustache and beard and on his head he wore a paper crown. On his middle finger he wore a ring with a large purple stone. Markus held his hand out and said “I am King Markus. Peasants show your fealty for your king. Kiss my ring.” Vincent and Travis were laughing and knelt in front of the table. Some of the other boys jokingly kissed the ring.
Aggie laughed and threw Melinda's bag on the ground. She turned towards Markus and bent her head in a delicate curtsy, “Your Highness,” Aggie said and took her seat in the back of the music room. She pulled out her music to sight read. She didn't need to practice. She knew the words by heart.
Tucked in her music folder was a special piece of music and a worn brochure Mr. Davies had given her. He had written AUDITIONS April 15 and circled it in black ink. There was a picture of young men and women in choir robes singing on a large stage. Her Royal Majesty's Chamber Singers.
“You have a strong, beautiful voice—you sound just like Judy Garland. This is the audition I know you can do it and once you are accepted every door to a professional career will be opened for you,” Mr. Davies had said a month ago.
Aggie knew her parents wouldn't support her dreams of singing professionally at the expense of her sporting. But she knew that if she earned a spot, her travel and expenses would be paid in full and her parents couldn't argue with that.
Mr. Davies bowtie. “Good morning musicians!” He was a tall skinny man who was sharply dressed in a navy wool suit with a matching navy polkadot bowtie. He had black square rimmed glasses and short red hair. Mr. Davies smiled, unphased by King Markus's display on top of his desk.
“Markus get down and after class today you can clean your feet prints off my desk. You can use Mr. Johanson's supplies, pointing to a pushcart at a corner of the music room.” The cart was filled with large canisters of industrial bleach cleaners, paper towels, wastebin liners and other supplies the janitor had.
After Mr. Davies led the class in a warm up of vocal scales he had an announcement.
“Thank you to everyone who auditioned for the solo. Aggie will be taking the solo in Loch Lomond. Congratulations Aggie. Now, please stand everyone” he said.
Melinda muttered something Aggie could not hear and rolled her eyes.
The class stood, holding their music in front of them. Mr Davies faced the bass section, although many of the boys, being thirteen did not quite have the vocal range to be considered basses. Then the tenors joined in. The next two measures the altos joined followed finally by the sopranos. Near the end of the song everyone was silent and Mr. Davies and the class turned to watch Aggie.
Aggie sang.
“Oh ye'll take the high road and I'll take the lo road an I'll be in Scotland afore ye. But me and my true love will never meet again on the bonnie, bonnie banks o' loch lomond.” Aggie's strong contralto voice filled the chorus room with warmth.
“Right oh! Nice job everyone! Remember to take advantage of the rests! Use them to breathe so you have enough air to comfortably hold each note. And Aggie, Bravo!” Mr Davies beamed. “Your voice has a beautiful intensity well beyond your years. Superb!”
Let's take a five minute break, Aggie can I have a word with you?
Aggie set her waterbottle on her seat and walked to the piano.
“Are you practicing everyday for your audition,” Mr. Davies asked.
“Yes sir, everyday,” she said.
“I have all the faith in you in the world. After school for the rest of the week you can practice with me for a half an hour to prepare,” Mr. Davies said.
Aggie smiled. That would be wonderful. Mr. Davies was her favorite teacher, really the only teacher she liked. The practice time would also keep her out of the house away from her mother.
Everyone returned to their seats. Aggie took a gulp from her water bottle
but something wasn't right.
She dropped the water bottle. The water spilled to the floor and she could smell a strong chemical from the puddle. Her mouth felt like it was burning away like a piece of paper to a flame. Her eyes watered and she bent over and gagged.
Mr. Davies ran from the piano to where she was now crouched on the floor convulsing.
“Vincent, run and tell the Headmaster to call an ambulance,” Mr. Davies yelled.
Aggie bent over on the floor briefly looked up and saw a large Cheshire grin on Melinda's face. “Listen to her choking,” Melinda whispered to her friends.
Aggie looked to Mr. Davies who handed her a glass of water but she couldn't swallow.
“I......CAN”T....DRINK...IT....HURTS...She tried to say. But her voice sounded gravely and the words she tried to speak came out of her mouth like the croak of a toad.
“Now her voice is as ugly as her face,” Melinda said. Several of the boys and girls laughed.
Aggie knew her voice and her dreams would never be the same.