Blame

Being accused of something you didn't do is terrifying. It shouldn't be, I know. But the fact of having a finger aimed in your direction, even falsely, is still enough to make me falter. I'm not sure why, especially because I am confident in my innocence. But even when a blatantly honest response is met with skepticism, there's that morsel in me that still screams alarm. I know I did nothing. I know it can be proved that I did nothing. But the finger is still pointing. It may be aimed at the person behind you. It may be aimed incorrectly. Fact is the finger is pointing, and you're under the gun.

It's times like these that I wish I were in the movies. Then I'd be able to uncover some kind of evil plot to bring down my school, or some corruption that only I could bring down. But instead, it's just me with a finger bearing down on me for something I didn't do. There's no heroism in a situation like this, only waiting for the hand to finally see your side and point elsewhere. Until then, all I can focus on is this digit in front of my face.

When the digit finally leaves, and there is no longer a finger looming in your face, it becomes much easier to examine the situation. You're no longer under the pressure of blame, and so more options become possibilities. You can see where the suspicion came from, and you can see what went through the hand's mind. You understand that roles are simply being followed, and that a lack of education at the beginning of the line can lead to this.

Instead of fear and anger, a feeling of all being OK settles down in you.