Babysitter Cougar [COMPLETE]

Chapter 4 page 2 - Attack of The Geese

*Element of racism/Islamophobia is in this chapter.

Since I broke the record of being the longest caretaker, Saint has succumbed to my terms and we became cooperative to one another. I finally obtained the trust I deserve when he allows me to his playpen in the attic, which Sabina once pointed out, "No one has ever been allowed to go up there."

"What's going on back there?" I break the silence in the air between us as we resume our 10 minutes' walk to his residence.

"Nothing," he downcast his sad eyes to the ground.

"That's not nothing, that's definitely something," I probe.

"They call me a terrorist and a Taliban," Saint bursts out.

"What? Why?"

"Because I'm a Muslim and mommy's from Afghanistan," he answers sulkily. "They said that mommy is Osama bin Laden's secret girlfriend, and she wants to bomb the school."

I'm flabbergasted by his explanation. Such audacity these kids have, spewing spiteful remarks at each other in their tender age of eight to 10 years old!

Although I'm sadden by the news of 11 September attack that occurred a couple of weeks ago, it breaks my heart to see the media feeding racist, Islamophobic arguments to the masses, instilling fear and animosity in them. They have been labelling Muslims as terrorists just because of the acts of the minority few extremists doing in God's name when Islam never condone hostility to anyone.

"Well, they don't know who we are," I assure him. "They don't know that Muslims in general are good folks. If we show them no violence, they'll get over it soon."

I'm not sure if that's the best answer to give to an eight-year-old, considering that he has to face these kids the next day, but I just don't want the world to think we are vicious.

"How about you? Aren't girls at your schools call you terrorist?" he flashes his pair of adorable curious eyes at me.

"No, Saint. They don't," I shake my head. "We Malaysians tolerate one another like family, regardless of race and religion."

"Oh, Okay," he replies flatly, not satisfied with the answer.

"Can I make you happy, Saint?" I ask my usual question whenever he is not up in a good mood.

"Shoot," he responds amenably.

"Do you want to play board games when we get back?" I suggest.

"No, you're gonna let me win again. Where's the fun in that?" he chuckles.

"Okay," I wheeze. "Maybe we can watch 'Jimmy Neutron' or something."

"We don't have to do my thing. We can do homework or listen to Rick Dees if you want."

"Wait, stop!" I slow my pace and face him. "Did I just pick up the wrong Saint from school? Where's the menace I used to know?"

Saint laughs and shrugs to my remark. We are halfway towards Freesia Court when a gaggle of unattended geese roaming around by the roadside, alarming me. Witnessing them pattering towards us gives an unsettling feeling of wanting to detour to another route.

"Where are you going?" Saint tugs my hand back into our original course.

"Away from that bunch," I gesture at the two-legged flappy creatures ahead of us.

"I'm not afraid of them," he says smugly.

"Well, I am," I whisper vociferously, as though talking out loud might attract them. "We'll find another way."

"No. Any other way is a long way home and I'm tired of walking. I'll protect you!" Saint picks up a few pebbles by the roadside. Before I can halt him, he starts stoning the animals. "Shoo! Scram!"

"Saint, no!" I exclaim frantically but it is too late. I appreciate the intention of a kid who is half my age to scare them away for my sake, but his action just leads into a catastrophic turn of events that is likely to happen.

I can see a couple of geese begin to slightly bend their head back in aggression before jerking its neck out straight, increasing the intensity of their aggression. My breath jerk hard, admonishing Saint from tossing the pebble while the geese hissing and honking at us.

At first Saint ignores my cautioning but when he sees fear in my eyes, he surrenders and we both back away. When the geese start spreading their wings to prepare for an attack, I devise an escape plan. I cower in terror and urge Saint to hop behind me. He obeys and clings his arms around me as I swiftly hoist him from behind, piggyback before mustering every energy in my lower body to sprint away from the gaggle gang that comes charging towards us.

I'm thankful for the stamina drill I had through my cheerleading training because carrying the weight of a child behind my back becomes a breeze. However, my legs warm up when I throttle forward and I'm choking on air supply. I ignore the stifling cough from dampening my pace. If I stop, I could harm both me and Saint throughout the chase.

I curse at the cars that pass us without stopping. Either the drivers are too amused to watch us or simply don't want to get involved. Typical cowards! I can hear Saints panic breaths behind my ear, too frightened to utter a word.

I grab the opportunity to cross to the other side when the road clears up. This had curbed the pack from running after us when cars continue their trail from both sides. Finally, one considerate man on a motorcycle slows down by the kerb and chases the angry birds away.

When I feel safe from the birds' attack, I reduce my pace to a complete stop and pant vehemently. Saint cheers behind me, re-enacting Woody's line from Toy Story 2, "Yay! Ride like the wind, Bullseye!"

"Damn you, Saint!" I gasp.

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