A Tuesday

TW: References to abuse and mental health

That was the day when I found out the limits of my own rage.

I had exhausted my tears. It was a little shameful, I will admit. But if I hadn’t bolted for the restrooms as soon as the bell had rung for the morning break, found the farthest toilet from the door, and cried silently into my own shirt, I am sure I would have popped like a balloon. There would be fragments of me everywhere, and everyone would look at each other in a moment of confusion before laughing it off and going their own way.

The tears seemed endless; the more I wiped my eyes on my sleeve, the more they kept pouring. So did the questions. Why? Why? Why must this happen to me? What did I do wrong?

It had been that kind of day to begin with.

I had overslept that morning, the morning when my father would come home after night shift. I should have remembered, but in the end, I was woken up by a kick to my backside that shook me out of my sleep, and having to endure the endless barrage of curses and swears while making sure I had everything packed and ready. When I finally pushed my bicycle out of my house, it felt like a massive foot having relented its pressure on my chest. But disaster soon after that, when I heard a loud pop under me, about a kilometre from the front gates of my school, and I had to fight to remain in skid, and not fly off into the garbage pile that lined the road. The back wheel tire sat lifeless, and I was looking around helplessly, before deciding to push it the rest of the way.

Perhaps I should have simply given up. Perhaps I should have left it there and walked literally anywhere. But I pushed it to school, and that’s when I saw them.

I saw her first, and for a brief instant, I felt a hope. For the briefest of moments, I wondered if the day could be salvaged. She’s here after all. I liked the way she did her pigtails, and the ribbons she wears. Its all I see from my spot two rows behind her. Sometimes, she would tie her hair in a ponytail, and I hated it. But today, she wore them in pigtails, just how I like it. Maybe I can catch up to her. She knows I’m her classmate, and maybe today’s the day I talk to her. I started to jog to her to catch up when I froze.

She was walking with someone.

Not just any someone. Him.

Why him? HIM? Of all people? The voice banged like a drum in my mind, a throbbing headache adding to my troubles, but I sniffled into my shirt, before I got up and walked out of the toilet. A band of jeering boys greeted my out of the toilet, amused by the embarrassing thing I had to do.

“Plumbing troubles?” someone asked, and the group guffawed in unison.

“Must have been a good dinner” someone else, and snickers.

“Wait” another one, scratching his chin in mock thought, “so it was you who was stinking up the classroom all morning?”

This elicited the biggest cheer among the group, with everyone either pinching their nose, or fanning their hands in front of them, groaning, eliciting amused glances from passers by. All I could do was laugh it off. But my mind was elsewhere. My gaze was pinned to him. He stood there with a couple of girls surrounding him, talking excitedly to them.

WHY HIM? The question almost fell out of me in a rageful scream. Him, who never spoke with the rest of the boys in a tone other than condescension. Him, with his fake accent that made him sound like a 40 year old. Him, who became class prefect by kissing the teacher’s ass. Him, who took my spot in the cricket team even though he could barely drive the ball.

Him.

Him.

HIM!!

The bell rang me out of my reverie and the group had come up with newer jokes that I had to laugh off. They walked ahead, loudly mocking me, even as they entered the classroom, and I had to take my seat in silence. I looked up and glanced at her pigtails from behind and grief engulfed me one more time. Maybe I should tell someone that I was feeling sick and leave. Maybe my father will understand when I show up at home in the middle of the day. Maybe its best that I am not here today. But almost immediately a silence fell, as the teacher entered the class with a book in her hands, and class was beginning.

“Last chance to get out before diarrhea strikes again, crappypants” someone whispered from behind me and I heard silent snickers and a voice whisper “crappypants”.

That’s when I saw it.

She had her hand up, the fingertips of all her fingers touching, waving in short motions, with a coy smile on her face, and across the room I saw Him, waving his fingers at her. He stuck his tongue out at her abruptly, and she smiled in return, balling up her fist in a mock threat.

I felt something snap within myself.

I leaned to the guy on my left and whispered, “A little birdie told me something very interesting today..”

The boy near me glanced at the teacher before turning to me and raising his head slightly. What?.

I said nothing but simply wore a knowing smile on my face. I continued to scribble in my notebook as the boy next to me kept staring at me in intervals, switching his gaze between the blackboard in the classroom and me. Good I thought to myself, let it build.

When the boy finally could not take it anymore, he turned to me fully with expectant eyes, “What? What is it?”

“Something very juicy” I whispered, my eyes fixed on the front of the classroom. “I shouldn’t even be talking about it.”

I had his attention fully now. There’s nothing more tantalizing to a teenager than something that they should not be privy to. He was looking with curious eyes, his elbows nudging into my ribs. “Go on then, tell me.”

“I don’t know. Like I said, I shouldn’t even be talking about it.”

“Is it someone we know?”

“Maybe” it was not difficult to make my eyes twinkle in that moment.

“Come on then, tell me. Please please?”

“But what if you told someone else?”

“Who would I tell?” he was holding my left arm lightly now, almost hanging on to it. “Please tell me, I swear I won’t tell anyone.”

I looked at him feigning concern and made a show of relenting. “Fine” I sighed, “but swear to me that you won’t tell anyone that I told you this. I’ll be in a mountain of trouble if you do.”

“I swear” he looked sincere, as he took my hand and placed his palm on mine. “My lips are sealed. Mother-promise.” I was almost moved. He really did swear on his own mother without prompting. “Tell me, please.”

“Someone…and someone…like each other.” I whispered, and almost immediately mimed a zipper being closed across my mouth.

The boy next to me stared at me, his jaw nearly falling to the floor, before turning back to the front of the classroom as the teacher started talking.

“You’re joking” he finally breathed as she turned to write something on the board. I merely rolled my eyes at him from the corner of my eyes. Fine, don’t believe me. I said nothing. The spark has been lit, and too much fanning could smother it.

After a long moment, during which I can guarantee his brain was turning in his head furiously, he leaned to me and asked, “Who?”

I said nothing, but instead, I stared directly at her. She had one of her pigtails in her hand, twisting it, deep in thought. I could sense the boy next to me grow excited, but I ignored it. Instead, I turned my head and looked at him, before bending my head down to my notebook. For anyone else watching from outside, it was a pretty innocuous action. Just a boy turning his head around in class. Perhaps he was thinking. Perhaps he heard something and turned to look.

But the boy next to me had caught on perfectly. His eyes were wide and his mouth made a little ‘O’ as he cycled between staring at me, and the other two. When he finally was able to process it, he turned back to me, “How?”

The image of seeing them that morning popped into my head. Walking side by side, laughing at some joke.. Her reaching out and slapping Him, on the shoulder. Him, extending a pack of biscuits to her, and her accepting it. The indecency of the whole scene, I could not stand to bear it. Why would you do that? Why would she do that? How long did she feel this way about him? What about me? Am I fool to have pined after her all this while? Girls ARE liars after all. Fuck her, and fuck HIM ten ways to hell.

I merely shrugged in response to the question. “Apparently they eat lunch together, share food. Someone even saw them holding hands when they leave school. They take the East Gate, and its pretty deserted there. Easy to hold hands without anyone noticing it, you know..”

“Who told you?”

Not the question I wanted to encourage. I wore a look of annoyance that I flashed at him briefly before muttering under my breath, “Why do you need to know that?”

“No its just… I don’t know…” he stuttered withering. “Seems like a mea-“

“I knew I shouldn’t have said anything” I muttered over him. “And to you most of all! Why do I even bother?”

The boy next to me looked like he had been whipped across the face. He mumbled an apology and turned away, but I didn’t care. The fuse had been lit. I couldn’t help but smile to myself in private.

The news spread at a frightening pace. Before the lunch bell rang, the entire Seventh standard was abuzz with the news of the new lovebirds. Some boys would shout HIS name loudly as she passed by them, prompting her to quicken her pace. When afternoon break rolled around, I found her sitting with two other girls from my class, crying into a handkerchief. Before the last period, HE was summoned to the Principal’s office. Apparently, HIS parents have been called too.

When I pushed my bike to my house, I had a sickly sweet sensation laying heavy inside me. I felt a morbid glee at what had happened in school. Serves you right I thought to myself as the cycle groaned beside me, serves you and your boyfriend right, you lying indecent wretch. My father stood at the doorway, staring at a group of boys who were playing marbles in the middle of the street. I walked in past him without a word and I felt the pressure build on my chest; the foot was back on. My father’s barrage of curses began almost like clockwork, and all the glee I had felt was forgotten. He saw the blown tyre on the cycle and his hand flashed out of nowhere slapping me hard on the back of my head. “Good for nothing piece of wastrel” he called out as I kept walking in, trying to bite down the shame I felt. “Can’t look after your own bike. Such a waste of space. Why couldn’t you have driven straight into a truck and save us all the trouble?” It was another Tuesday night.