[Revising]
In a world already hard enough, Alex Baker tries to navigate his way through life, and make a better world for him and his mother. His dreams are innocent, and his path is set in stones. Except, the paths have started colliding, and the...
I had seen him. Everybody had. Some of us had even observed him from our distances. But that was it. He always seemed to be drowning in a whirlpool of fear, so gigantic and dominant, that we worried that it would suck all of us in as well.
What was he so afraid of? Aliya, an acquaintance, and a close relative of one of my friend, had one day fooled around by saying that his scowl was meaningless. I got a sense that she yelled it did not mean anything; it being there in itself was a mistake. He had the most ordinary, or the perfect family. His mother was cheerful, and I had seen her once when she visited our homeroom.
Yet, he was tired. I had thought that he might have heard Aliya talk about him, but turned out none of the students seated at the front knew what she spoke. I still thought it was quite disrespectful.
In the sour of the evening, our class had collected in the sports ground, and I took into a friendly basketball match. I received some pats on my back, before one of our players was injured in the ankle and had to be benched. He was seated and we needed someone to cover up for him, so we asked for volunteers. Nobody stood up. Then they began pin-pointing them out. Disrespectful, again. It was when his name was called, that I startled a fraction. He was indifferent. No one had heard him say 'no', and today was going to be no different.
"Hey, Nova. Wanna play?" That was too casual of a tone to use on him, but from how mute he appeared, I bet they would have hardly cared to think about it.
He stood up, and looked at me to pass him the ball. I did not. I did not wish to stand out to him. Not even in the slightest did I want him to think that I was thinking about him. That he had anyone thinking anything about him.
It was ten minutes after he stepped into the court that he received his first ball. Within the next five minutes, he received more pats than I did. He did not make many shots, but everyone appreciated his mere presence. In fact, two of the balls that had left his hand reached me directly. Next, I was soaring the skies then.
I was not envious of him. If anything, he had earned my pity. We were happy; we were together. But with everything he did, he seemed to be at a war with himself. What he did did not earn him enough to make him happy, but what he failed carried him anguish. It was miserable.
What are you suffering from so? What are you scared of? I had repeated it. If I were to talk, what would I even ask him? What will I do if he decided he would reply?
Perhaps I would say something else then:
What is haunting you?
I returned to the murky alleys at about the same time. My friends had insisted that I invited them to my place someday. "What will we serve them?" I had asked when my mum allowed it. I knew, that I had hurt her. But she said that I could never say anything vile enough to hurt her. I was her child. I merely stated the meek words of truth and reality.
Some of my friends had insisted to let them treat me to lunch. It was nothing fancy, it was sure. But I had refused. I had never witnessed it, but something in me had instilled that such acts, though out of sheer goodwill, created obligations that I myself would not be able to fulfill. How would I ever repay if my delusion tainted our relationship of guilt? I had feared their love for me would curtail if I denied it, but it seemed that I am much indebted to God in this life.
I enjoyed the simple meal mum organized the best. Since the day I was born. When together on a table, that is what our silences had fed each other. It was her belief to secure me a lunch that looked adequate, if then from the school's cafeteria, when I was surrounded by my friends. So we settled on simple meals, and cheap meats at home.
Her pay was adequate. It truly was. My mum worked as a receptionist for one of the best buildings in the city. Someplace I could point out to my friends and show. They would not mind much that too. But it was my long-dead father's debts, and my distant and aloof grandparents' ailments that kept us back.
"I wish to help you." I brought it up one day.
"Just wait for another year. Then, I will not tell you anything," she replied, as if actually devoid of any opinion. Apart from that, my relationship with my mother was the sweetest thing I could ask for. We went for visits on weekends, and aided each other in any sphere possible. She knew my friends by their names and faces, and I knew most of her co-workers from her stories.
Back at school, I saw him again. If we shared classes, I did not see him talk to anyone. Except for our teachers, who loved him dearly. I wondered if he could realize it? But being liked by adults was lame. It did not earn him anything.
During the recess, Nory bought me some lunch. He added onto some money that I promised to return him the next day. He was speaking about something, and it was a thing to not look at the speaker while to you listen to them, so I glared around the room.
By the edge of the room stood he, talking to a girl. It was Nina from the art club. He talked to her passionately, as if trying to gather himself up with every word that he spoke. Now I wanted to ask what shattered him. He spoke less and heard more. Nina was carefree; there was nothing in the world that she could speak off to make him tense up.
It was a high time in the afternoon when I was sent by one of the teachers to the staff room to get some report files. I walked into the tiny room they reserved for teachers, and in the slightest, was astonished at how there was no instructor in here. Keys and reports lied sprawled on the table, and it was not difficult to misplace any of them. It was quiet, and in the corner, near Mr. Peterson's locker, worked Nova, fetching some of the stationaries.
It was a surge of discomfort, sweat beads pooling through my skin, to think that the person I had been looking out for, or staring at for the entirety of the day, was there now. He would never speak; you could never speak to Nova, so it seemed like the perfect opportunity to me. But Nova had never known me. I was no one to reach out to him.
"I watched you all day," I spoke, standing near the center table, pushing my report to the bottom.
Nova did not move, in fact, he did not even stop what he was doing. Then he turned to look who spoke, eyes childlike and curious.
"Who? Me?" He spoke, with the most courteous tone I have ever been faced with. It made my knees quiver as to how I would respond.
"Yes."
He turned again. A fleeting moment swept us by. "I know," he said, but now, with a tone I would never have recognized to be his, after hearing the first words he ever spoke to me. It was not harsh, merely cluttered and stern; in a manner, you would not recognize to be of that curious childlike boy. "I did not notice, but I know."
Now, I was the quiet one.
"I want you to know that you do not need to be wary of it," I said.
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