Behind The Name.

Chapter 3- Sandwiches and Slings

The next time I saw Cooper he was surrounded by a group of people I can only assume where 'the popular ones'. I swiftly avoided any of their glances. I feel eyes slowly turn to me and before I knew it I can feel stares from all directions. I look to my shoes. Well at least I don't have toilet roll stuck to my shoe, this time... I grabbed the sandwich from my tray and quickly sped-walked out of the crowded hall and into a corridor. I had no idea where I was so I aimlessly wandered away from that traumatising situation.

Horrible thoughts were rushing through my head. Now did it hit me that I officially have no friends here. I'm the loner. I see the sign for women's toilets and walked straight in. I'm so glad there's a hygienic place to eat my lunch. Sigh. I sit myself on the closed lid in the end cubicle. I hate this, although the creative  graffiti on the doors made for some quality reading. In my old school, I'd like to think I had friends but the truth is, sometimes I confuse pity with friendliness.  I take a bite of the slightly soggy sandwich and whether it was the suspicious lettuce or the nerves, once swallowed, it didn't stay down. I guess being near a toilet has its perks.

I didn't interact with Cooper for the rest of the day. But, since Alfie really needs his curly fries, I walked to the nearest Tesco (after a few wrong roads), I found it and bought the 'oh so important curly fries'. On the way back, I found a cute little café, I was drawn to it. Unfortunately, I used my money on a dubious sandwich at lunch and curly fries so instead I just looked inside and saw a job advert on the door. I decided to just ask, what's the worst thing that could happen? Except of course for major embarrassment and a face as red as a fire engine...not much.

A good 20 minutes later, I came out of said café with a job and a slightly panicked face. Pretty soon I needed to get to Alfie's school to pick him up. I paced myself to the weirdly bright coloured primary school. Standing outside on the playground with the other parents, I watched as streams after streams of children came out of the double doors. But then, of course one of the last ones, Alfie slumps out. His head still down, he stops the people behind him. I jog forwards and hold his hand. "Hey Alf." No reply. I wasn't expecting there to be but, it would be nice.

Once back home I drew him up a dinner timetable and declared tonight as chicken nuggets and chips night. Sitting on the dining room table I await the inviting noise indicating the timer done. And I wait. And wait. And wait. Confused, I walk over to the oven and see the 'on' dial, comfortably off. Damn it.

The rest of the evening is quiet and it's at times like these I wish I had someone, anyone, to talk to. Remembering I have homework, I slump upstairs and drag my bag up the stairs. I sit on my desk and work through some utterly thrilling maths homework. 3D Pythagoras, my favourite. Once finished, I look at my clock. 11:31pm. Assuming Alfie's already unconscious I slip back downstairs, set the alarm and then proceed to the bathroom and then finally to bed.

What I wasn't expecting the next morning was to wake to a scream. Oh Jesus. I stumble out of bed and run down the stairs. Oh, I found Alfie. And the source of the scream. There was Alfie, at the bottom of the stairs lying on the floor clutching his arm.

Lord, you're really testing me.

3 hours and a lot of screaming later, I left the hospital utterly exhausted. Oh, and being followed by a 7 year old in a cast and sling. He'd broken his arm. Wonderful. Whilst at the hospital I had to ring the main office to say how Alfie had broken his arm and I probably wouldn't be in until after lunch. I route around in my bag for any spare change for the bus, well I have 57p. It's worth a try.

It wasn't worth a try. Alfie and I got on and I dropped the various coins into the machine and sped up the stairs away from the driver. I'd barely got up 2 stairs when there was a whistle and a "Come back." I walked back slowly trying to summon tears so he'd let us stay on (hopefully). "You do realise it's £2.40 for both of you..." 

I nod,  "But you see, we weren't expecting to have to go to A&E this morning so I don't have enough money for this bus fare. Sorry." I look down and hope the driver has some sort of heart. 

"Sit down and don't say a word." The middle aged man grumbles. I whisper a barely detectable 'thanks' and Alfie and I sit near the front in silence surrounded by elderly women tutting and shaking their heads. 

I've never wanted death more.