At my school there is a girl who is an orphan. She lives with her grandmother, a very old and devout woman. Every Sunday they walk to StMarys Church past our house, both of them thin and fragile, wrapped in white kerchiefs. Rumour has it that the grandmother bans her from watching TV, eating sweets or laughing out loud, fearing that demons might slip in, and she makes her wash her face with icecold water.
We tease the girl. She meets our jokes with a grey, adultlike stare and whispers, Lord, have mercy on them; they know not what they do. Nobody befriends her; they think shes a little crazy. They call her EthelEvelyn, in the way the teachers used to mispronounce her name.
In my childhood, the school canteen never serves anything tasty. On Fridays, though, there are custard slices with tea, or sausage rolls with cocoa, and a tiny chocolate bar. One lunchtime, while a group is teasing Ethel again, someone shoves her. She lunges into me, I crash into a tray, and the cups of cocoa on it topple, spilling a river of chocolate over two senior pupils.
Right then, the seniors mutter.
Lets get out of here, I say, grabbing Ethels hand and pulling her toward our classroom.
It feels as if a flock of rowdy boys and a herd of cattle chase after us, shouting. The next two periods are maths. Behind the glass door, two tall silhouettes loom. Occasionally the door cracks open and two heads peek in, then whisper to each other. I realise what lies aheadan inquiry, a tribunal, maybe even punishment, as the classics would put it.
First we slip out of the class unnoticed, then I know a way up to the attic. Well hide there until dark and make a run for home, I suggest.
No, Ethel replies, well go the proper way, like proper girls. Quiet and modest.
But Ethel, there are theyll
What? What will they do? Pour kefir over our heads? Throw us out? Beat the fifthform girls? What?
Well
Even if they beat us, itll be only once. If you dont go, youll live in fear every day.
We leave the classroom together, just as girls are supposed todemurely. Two seniors lean against the wall.
Hey, little ones, lost something? one says, holding my Mickey Mouse wallet with ten pounds inside (for the swimming pool and art club).
Here, he drops the wallet into my hand, and dont run off again.
I walk home, swinging my satchel, feeling how good life is. Everything has turned out alright, and Im grateful for my new friend.
Should I call my mum? She can ring your gran, get you a halfday, and we can watch cartoons at my place. Or is that a nogo?
Ethel rolls her eyes.
Lets go, well take the waffles with condensed milk Grandma baked this morning.
Our friendship lasts many years, until life eventually drifts us to opposite continents. Yet I always recall that one moment.
Jumping from the diving board into the blue mirror of the pool is terrifyingonce is enough. Trying something new is frightening, too. Whats the worst that could happen? That Ill be called a fool? That will happen just once. If I keep telling myself its only a oneoff, Ill live that fear every day.
Fear can be faced once, or it can linger forever. The choice is yours.
