To The Place I Belong

SYLVIA

She was almost on the verge of crying.
“You okay?”
She gave a fearful look at me and then nodded her head. “I was just trying to make my way out of the crowded corridor.” She paused and said, “Yes, I think I must have pushed one of them, but I said sorry, believe me.” Her hands were trembling but she clutched her books tight to her chest with her anxious looks of trepidation.
“I do believe you.” I gave her a smile that came somewhat between pity and contemplation. “I hate bullies. Anyways, English major?”
“Yes”
“Nice to meet you. Am Sylvia Jones.”
“Myra. Myra Clarke. I remember you. Yes you were in my class.” she returned a smile and extended a hand in manner of a handshake. It was cold. Her hands were still trembling.
“What elective do you have now?”
“Sociology”
“Oh that’s great. Me too. Shall we proceed then?”

And it was then I found my first friend in the cellar. Classes ended at noon owing to our first day.
Back at home dad was waiting in his ultimate savage mood to ask me an unnerving question---
“How was your first day at college?”
“Not as bad as I had thought” I replied with honesty. This seemed to have put him in some sort of confusion as he could not decide if it was okay to bring up the next question, “Got new friends?”
“Got a friend.” I thought of Myra and skidded to the dining table. The table was already embellished with roasted chicken, French loaf and wine. Jane was laying the plates and was quite keen to ask the same questions but let them slip anyway. She was the most understanding woman I had ever met in all my life. Dad’s over-enthusiasm about my college led Jane to ultimately say, “Arthur, that’s enough for a day. Save your questions for some other time. She just got home.” Even then when Dad had persisted on asking two more questions like, “How are the professors” and “How does the college campus look like”, Jane fixed an intense cold stare at him and kept the wine glass with a thud on the table. That was enough to send quietness in the room that dad dare not disturb.

Upstairs, in my room, I had changed into my casual clothes and settled on my bed for a long meditative silence. Diary writing wasn’t really boring but wasn’t too interesting as well but Mr Oliver had eventually forced me into it. My sincerity towards this diary writing routine was broken by Jane who had dropped in my room to say, “I wonder what did you keep that oversized sofa for…”
I realised that it could not have been just about a sofa and told her, “Come in Jane, at least you don’t have to do that.”
“Do what?”
“Courtesy.” I replied
She moved in lazily and sat on my bed. We looked at the sofa that lay on the right hand side corner of my bed. A small table had also been arranged in front of it so that together they took the look of a study table and chair. I felt a certain obstruction in my chest whenever I looked at it.
“Memories, Jane. They are the only things that keep you alive. I have got to preserve them.”
She smiled. It was the most Jane-ish smile I had ever seen. There were times when I had felt the absence of a mother and I was grateful to Jane for she had never been any less of a mother to us, even though sometimes I did wish she was out of my life, due to her persistent interference. But I would regret it if I didn’t have this entire Jane-figure in my life.
“You know what; these boys out on the opposite street. Why don’t you go out and speak to them some days. Nice kids, you see, the other day they had come to offer us help. Really kind of them.” Finally she broached the topic for which she had come.

“Boys?”
“Yes, just across the street, after four buildings.”
It took me sometime to recollect.
“Oh you mean the extra-verbal moron? The one who had been there to offer useless non-sense help when we shifted?”
Jane did not know which part of the statement to react to. The fact that I had considered one of those “nice kids” as nothing more than “extra-verbal moron” seemed to disturb her, even more when it was combined with “non-sense help” Finally she said “yes.”
“Yeah , yeah. I will.” I tried to stifle the yawn. Jane’s persuasion, despite my “I will”, ended soon enough when she took the hint that I would rather extend a leg to kick their ass than extend a hand in way of friendship towards them.
…..
He is the same guy who lives across my street. But why does that iconic moron keep staring at me as if I were some art specimen of Pablo Picasso?
Blue eyes, brown hair and thin lips and faded skin- did he think that he is the Tom Cruise of his age with physique of Bruce Lee?
How very irritating it was. It’s just the fourth day of the college year and he had done this twice by now.
I was at the college canteen with Myra. I had just got hold of my tray carrying buns and sausages when this piece of nonsense had collided with me. Again, for the second time. Does he keep doing that out of pure malice? What fun does he derive in knocking out people? People or just me? All my buns and sausages dropped on the floor along with Mrs Collin’s (the canteen staff head) precious red tray and she kept eyeing us as if we had purposely tried to smash her antique piece. “Careful!” she shouted from over her the place where she was standing.
Okay. Now this is disgusting and embarrassing. People all over the canteen were staring at us turning their heads 360 degrees to have a look at the cause of disturbance.
“I…I am sorry. Really-” and the blue eyed devil started picking up the sausages and buns that had gone astray, here and there, on the tray frantically, while Myra aided him.
“No no, it’s alright” Myra replied in her usual feeble, shaky voice and turned to look at me, adding in a small frightened tone “I guess.”
The guy got up and said once again unnecessarily, “Miss, am really sorry. Once Again. It’s just, I dunno-”
I did not wait to hear his nuisance and pulled Myra by the arm to Mrs. Collins, so that we could place fresh order and return her battered red antique tray. Disgusting.

In the class hours between 1 and 2 pm he kept looking at me, finding every excuse to steal a glance at me or talk to me. When the bell rang and I started stuffing my notebook inside my bag, I found him walking towards me. He staggered a bit, his gait lacked the intensity and before he could even reach me, another of his friend gave him a shout, “Ethan!”