Alone
on the worn, warm wall of the school, there was a boy. Like a smooth pebble in the
mid-day sun, his dark coat shining. He wore cleaned,
ironed trousers and old well kept old shoes. Under the light blue sea, he watched
the children playing happily; he watched them play this and that while he
slowly sank into the wall, trapped in his own mind.
A
flash of words shattered his inner silence; “Oi, poo face,” came a threatening yell,
“pass the ball over now” it was Reece Ist and his friends over on the field; they were
separated from each him by a strong green fence, so close that the force of their laughter pierced him like bullets, but
he stood firm and didn’t let that show.
“Say the magic word,” the boy replied in his strong but soft
voice; it was a new phrase that he learned and thought it would make the
situation less tense; there was only so far he could be stretched before he finally
broke.
This, however, did not have the effect he had expected. Reece
went into a rage; throwing unnecessary and empty threats, pretending that the
brown boy was inferior in every way.
The boy, on the other hand, stood unfazed.
Towering a foot higher than the people in front of him, and being
at least far smarter, he had nothing to fear from them. Already, in his mind's
eye, he even saw how he would go about taking them down if they decided to come
for him.
Lifting the ball from the hard ground beneath his feet, he held it right above a thorn bush. The boys instantly fell silent;
for effect, the brown boy listened to the silence of the children and the
rustling of the leaves and the crumbling, empty bag that wandered over the rocky,
black sea that was the tarmac.
It was fun to watch, the shock on their faces, as the boy quietly
repeated what he had said before.
But like the phrase goes these words were falling on deaf ears…
Sometimes he wondered how minuscule their brains would have
to be for them to be naive; they continued their insults so just like the idiom
about the penny, for their ignorance, the ball dropped…
Fear
had driven him to his solitary position, but
he wasn’t the one afraid. His dark skin frightened the other white children. Covering
himself up was not a way of hiding, but a way to show them that he didn’t mean
any harm. Each day monotone as the last, he watched them go by; their narrow
minds unable to appreciate anything different from themselves. Despair drilled into
his brain like the bell that controlled his school. Yet, he still felt happy because he knew they would come after him, these people took their football seriously, and when they
came he would be ready to face them. Finally,
he would have something fun to do…