It Still Bothers Me

     There are certain moments in your life that stay with you.  Some of them are huge, life-changing; your wedding day, the birth of your children, the death of a parent.  Some of them are just normal events, things that make up your memories;  your first car, the camping trip when it rained for 5 straight days, the time the dog threw up all day because she ate something nasty.  Then there are those brief, fleeting moments when your decision to act or not  haunts you.
     Grade 13.  I had to write my functions and relations exam (This was the math that involved sine, cosine, tangent, hyperbole).  I floundered the whole semester in this course and  I went into that exam with no more than an 40%, I'm sure.  Since I was expecting to go to university in the fall, I had to pass that course.  Which meant I had to ace the final or at least do really well. 
     I studied my arse off.  There were loads of formulae and I  memorized all of them.  I knew when and where to use each one. There were even a few minor formulae that rarely got used but if you didn't know them, you couldn't solve the rest of the problem.   I knew them all inside out and backwards.  I studied sample exams the teacher had given us;  I did the problems from each chapter again, especially the ones that had given me trouble the first time around, which was pretty much all of them. 
     The night before the exam I got a full night's sleep.  I ate properly in the morning.  I dressed comfortably.  I didn't succumb to  last minute panic.   I had at least 5 pencils, 2 or 3 erasers and a ruler.  I was prepared.
     When the doors of the exam room opened, I took a seat near the front so I wouldn't be distracted by the people sitting in front of me.   I set out all my utensils.  Before I even turned the test paper over, I spent  20 minutes writing out on a piece of foolscap all those formulae even those few minor ones.  Then and only then was I ready to start.  I turned the paper over and dove in. 
     After about 90 minutes,  I lifted my head to take a bit of a break.  All was going well and I was pleased with my progress.  I looked around at the  rest of the poor bastards who were taking the exam and I saw a boy open his tin geometry set and take out a little folded up piece of paper.  I watched him unfold this paper, read it and then write something on his test paper.  He folded the bit of paper up again and retured it to its hiding place.  As he did, he glanced around the room.  And saw me  watching him.  Our eyes met, he shrugged and went back to his test.  I, still watching him, was now confused.  Did I miss the  announcement about bringing crib sheets into the exam?   No, I was  sure we weren't allowed crib sheets.  Then it hit me;  this arsehole was cheating!  Oh. My. God.  He was cheating!!  Cheating! On his Final Exam!  What should I do?  I couldn't do anything at that precise moment because I still had the rest of the exam to finish.  I cleared my mind and went back to the test. 
     At the end of the allotted time, the teacher collected the papers and we filed out.  Only I couldn't move.  I did not know what to do.  Do I tell the teacher supervising the exam who was not the teacher of the course?  Do I tell the teacher of the course?  Do I confront Cheater Boy and make him tell the teacher?  In the end, I left the exam room and said nothing to no one. 
     All these years later, and it's a good 25 years, I immensely regret not saying anything.  I'm annoyed that he got away with cheating on his Grade 13 final math exam.  I'm annoyed at myself for letting him get away with it.  I'm annoyed at myself for still being annoyed about it after all this time because  I'm fairly certain, if he even remembers the episode, he sure as hell is not bothered by it.    I certainly  learned my lesson.  I have not make that same mistake of keeping silent.