Abhaysimha Makeeba was a boy who knew all about not fitting in. He had transferred here to this school because. His family had moved for his dad's job. His mum got a transfer to a new hospital.where she worked as a nurse. "Hey, we are so lucky Absim, we both have a new day and a new start," she'd said on his first day of school in her usual. optimistic way. He loved his mum's cheeriness and always hoped it would settle over him at breakfast like a protective mantle. Like some Superhero's cloak that would bat the wicked taunts and jibes right off him. But it never did, it didn't even last beyond the end of their street. As soon as he turned the corner out of sight he'd be set upon by the local bullies. He wasn't stupid, he knew he was the new boy in town and an easy target.
He was small and ugly, stupid and slow. He couldn't expect to compete in their world, so he never even tried. No sooner did he have her power wrapped round him like a shield, than he lost it again with the first blow, be it verbal or physical. It was a hard life for him. He missed his old friends, his old neighbourhood that he knew like the back of his hand, and his old life. This life sucked..BIG TIME.
It's not that his old life back in his previous city was particularly that great. It too had it's wealth of problems, but it was a familiar uncomfortable fit. He knew the places to hide, the shortcuts; who to avoid and what not to do or say. Here, no matter how he Tried to adapt or what he brought forward from his old way of life, it just didn't seem to work. But little Abhaysimha Makeeba was one thing they hadn't expected....he was fast! "Oy boy, gimme your money or you is gonna pay big time brother," said one. "Yeah bro, we ain't messin' with ya," says another with cocky confidence as he smacks the books out of his hands. "Give it or we break your little girly backpack and ya face boy," screams another right in his car. He trembles and freezes, his body in lockdown in anticipation of the ensuing violence. He couldn't go home, he knew that. There Was one thing certain in this life, everybody hates a nark. If you are tainted with snitching you're worse than beat up..you're socially dead. He'd had that before and it seemed a universal truth to him. So he endured. He suffered and he tried to anticipate and avoid. And that's when he found it, his latent skill. It wasn't in his brain or his fist, but in his ability to run. He shoved the oldest boy away just as he lunged for his pack, dodged the grabs of the other two and took off! "Man, he's like a mini Usain Bolt. Look at him go...he is on fire bro.. " said the one with rich kids sneakers and his I-phone in his hand.
"Yeah brother for sure, we ain't never catching him," said the other. And the eldest just looked on amused to say, "No mind man, we get him at school. He can't run forever, we knows where he is."To which all three laughed.
Abhaysimha hated school for threereasons mainly. The fact the kids couldn't remember his name and kept referring to him as "that". The way there were few escape routes and places he could run, or corners to hide away in like his last school. And finally that in the lessons he loved the most the teachers seemed to just give up on him even though he was doing his very best to learn. Those three things made his school life hell. "What's that sayin' last period?" laughed two girls as he passed them in the corridor. He had his eyes down and shoulders hunched over in a non- threatening posture. He never made eye contact if he could help it.
"That's gonna cop it later. I heard he's for it when Parker Jones gets him," he heard another couple behind him whisper. It was all too much. He just didn't fit in round these guys so he steered clear.He kept to himself where he could in classes, at break times and lunch periods; at home time he was always the first one to race out the door. If he could, then he knew he'd be safe. "Weren't nobody gonna catch him! " he said to himself smiling
But they did catch him. They skipped last period and were waiting in surprise for him. As he tore out the school across the playing field, they caught him by the goalposts on the other side. Cornered him into the net so he had no place to run, and beat him senseless. Not like amateur kids. They didn't kick and punch him in the face, but in the side and his ribs, his legs and worst of all in the back of his head. They stole what little money he had left after lunch, and his best pens. They also stole his dad's watch. The one he used as a spare that he'd borrowed so he could time his speed. It had a stopwatch feature and he didn't like to carry his phone in case it got stolen. Soo he carried that instead and they took it. That was probably the worst thing they did. He could live with the bruises and name calling, the threats and the pain. He'd get beyond it, live through it and get himself back. But there was no getting that watch back. And that night, little Makeeba Jr allowed himself the rare luxury of crying himself to sleep. And whilst he did so, he was thinking. He was really thinking deep, trying to formulate a plan to get his dad's watch back and make his pitiful life easier. It was a hard plan to think about, a lot to achieve. And he took a long time to fall asleep.
That morning after he had a hot shower his aches seemed less, the pain duller. He couldn't let anyone see the yellow bruising and the swelling He hid them under baggy clothes and a deflective attitude. But when his momma made breakfast for him that day, he felt more up lifted by her enthusiasm.
"Oh Absim my beautiful boy," how he hated het calling him beautiful not handsome, but it hardly seemed to matter as he felt ugly inside and out. "Today will be a good day for you and me. The sun is shining his finest and we are good people you and I my love. We will achieve good things today. I feel it," and with this she kissed his cheek like she did when he was a baby. He wiped it off in a futile attempt at independency and being a man. A little man, with no friends and a bad day ahead at school.
To be continued.
