THE DIARY OF A MISFIT

OPERATION QUEEN

[8] What is the measure of deeds? Intent or result? Trust begins with the knowledge that no one was born with all gifts and the realization that dependence is the only way to perfection of all will deemed good or bad. What is then the standard for trust? Principles or Examples.

My life wasn't always a bed of thorns. Far as I could remember, things seemed to be going my way. I was a Misfit, but I wasn't bullied. I was the guy that got warm hugs from mates and teacher alike. The guy everyone wanted on his or her team. Not to brag of the soothing voices speaking assuring words about how colorful my future was. All those happened for some reason, later revealed after the dusk past—perhaps, too late.

Experience is a lesson. Another chance is a blessing. But regret is an eternal burden that can't be taken. If only, the consequences of my little actions weren't the weakness that finally binds my undoing. I guess that's every hero curse—you could ask Achilles.

The arrow wasn't the source of his downfall, neither was his weak heel as most people implied. It was the simple mistake of leaving his heel insufficiently protected.

Junior High II was the year, I finally grasped the general concept of masculinity and the joy of mass adoration. I despised everything I once held dear including running to my mother; seeking guidance and protection. Getting dirty, crying when hurt, speaking out of terms, saying what you see, and other childish behaviors—I abandoned for clearer sight.

That was the source of my downfall. The boyish dream that my school will take me as anything other than the boy who cried a lot. Meeting people and pretending to be brave to prove a point, only to fall short of expectations. That changed how my mates looked at me. I was no longer the oblivious little boy who could do better.

But, I was through with the first hurdle on my road to redemption—repentance. I gloried at the thought of that. All I needed was another opportunity to prove my worthiness. And Senior High I was oozing opportunities to those with sight.

The school closing bell was a minute way and my bag was ready to run from an uneventful day. A day marred by what I considered as betrayal. Sam had spilled out about my supposed affection for Daniella to Zaara's crew—Daniella's dearest friends. A mere effort to aid my pursuit of a girlfriend or for rather selfish reasons, it was of no concern to me. His loose mouth had set a few high romance expectations into motion; expectations that I felt inept to handle.

I felt like a makeshift Santa Claus with a fear of crowds and open spaces.

To my disgust, Musa sided with Sam when I asked for a show of remorse. So, I couldn't wait to disappear and plan my next course of action. One that didn't involve my treasonous friends.

"Stay away from me, weirdo!" A voice spoke out. It was Emy—one of the sassy popular girls—the self-acclaimed school nobles that solely concerned themselves with protecting their reputation at all cost. She was pretty, a little dumb but pretty—that I couldn't deny. That meant she was on most boys' wishlist for Christmas. And she lived for that attention—making her both dangerous and susceptible.

She walked away from a distraught Weeney—leaving him to jeers and a slow walk of shame back to his seat. I was busying myself with thoughts of revenge, so the details of what transpired was a bit sketchy at first.

But that was my opportunity to earn a kind of reputation for myself. Put down a failure and get recognized by one of the popular crew. All future aspirations, given freely on a platter of gold—no more sneers, lame crews, and a definite goodbye to being bullied—maybe, a girlfriend to match my new status. A sleazy comment was all needed to seal the sell of my soul for a seat at the table.

"You okay?" I asked with earnest concern as I walked to his table.

"Yes. Yes, I am." A thin smile passed over his face. "Won't be the first time—" He looked to speak further, but decided against it quickly. Leaving us to an awkward silence.

The school closing bell rang.

I looked at my bag in my hand. "Do you want to go home now?" I asked. The question leaving my lips before my brain had a chance to deliberate. The folly of my words and the eventual ramifications played in my head. Please, say no, I prayed hopelessly.

"Sure."

I had one last chance to sly him and walk away. But for some righteous reason, I walked out of the class with a loser. A few glares and sneers accompanied us on our way out—the most disheartening was the disappointment on Daniella's face.

The deal with the devil was surely off.

I wasn't an asshole neither did I hope to be. Besides, I saw everything I was and hated to be in him. He was a Misfit that didn't care about what was said about him. He found joy in the saddest moments. His loyalty, unquestionable.

Walking to his seat that day cost me a new reputation, but earned me a necessary ally—a dear trustworthy friend, like Grey Fisher.

"Doesn't it bother you?" I inquired as we walked on the pavements that led to the school gate. "Treated like this."

"It does sometimes. But, what can I do about it?"

I kept silent. For the true answer to the question still eluded me. I guess he sensed how upset I was at the whole thought of it.

"Most of those laughing at us will grow us to be us. Misunderstood and treated like trash. All they will have are memories of their glory days." He placed his two hands on my shoulder and turned to face me. "Andrew, our best is yet to come. Our glory days are still ahead."

I muttered, "That's what keeps you happy in spite of everything? Hope for a bright future?"

He nodded with a broad smile.

That sounded almost as delusional as a grown man hoping to see a tooth fairy. He was rapping crazy, but his crazy made more sense than my dream of high school conquest. It was almost easy to just believe and make no effort to alleviate the burdens I carried.

He was about to cross over to a road that led in a different direction when I asked. "Who are you crushing on?" My question made no sense in the light of our topic. It was the anger about the revelation of my secret budding love for Daniella speaking. I needed some other romance to take my mind off Daniella. I didn't expect him to reply.

He let out a short laugh with his tongue out—like a cunny hyena. "Zaara Karim."

I was lost for words—maybe, frozen. I wasn't sure I raised my hand when he waved goodbye from the other side of the road. I think I spent a couple of minutes just staring vacantly in the direction where he stood.

In a fortuitous unpleasant sudden turn out of events, I was caught in a rabbit-hole. A stronger relationship with Zaara forged by symbiotic interests was inevitable. I never thought I will see Zaara as more than a sympathizer with inexplicable feelings for me. But, Life had decided to deal me a different hand.

I had to go back to my drawing board to conceive a better plan. A plan with Zaara as the centerpiece, while also putting some other sporadic life-wrecking factors into consideration.

Nothing escapes Andrew Shilling's well-thought plan.