At our secondary school there was a girlan orphan. She lived with her grandmother, a wiry, devout old woman who kept the house as if it were a chapel. Every Sunday they walked sidebyside to StMarys, thin as twigs, their heads wrapped in crisp white kerchiefs. Rumour had it that the grandmother forbade her to watch television, eat sweets, or laugh with her mouth open, fearing that demons would slip in, and she forced the girl to splash her face with icy water each morning.
We teased her. She stared back with a muted, adult look and whispered, Lord, have mercy on them; they know not what they do. Nobody befriended her, they whispered she was halfmad. They called her ImogenAngelina in the old registers.
In my childhood the school canteen was bleak, but on Fridays we got jam doughnuts with tea, or sausage rolls with a drizzle of cocoa and a tiny chocolate bar. One Friday, while the senior boys were shoving Imogen around, one of them shoved her too hard. She flew into me, I knocked over a tray of cocoafilled glasses, and the warm, chocolatey river spilled over two sixthformers.
Look at that, they sneered.
Run, I hissed, grabbing Imogens wrist, and we bolted toward our classroom.
It felt as if a pack of rowdy football fans and a herd of cattle were chasing us, their shouts echoing down the hallway. The next two periods were mathematics. Behind the glass door two hulking silhouettes loomed. Occasionally the door cracked open, a pair of heads peered in, then retreated, whispering. I sensed the inevitableinvestigation, a tribunal, perhaps even expulsion.
First, slip out unnoticed, I whispered. I know a stairwell that leads to the attic; we can hide there until dark, then slip home.
No, Imogen replied, her voice steady. Well go the proper wayquietly, like proper girls.
But theyll
What? Will they dump kefir on our heads? Beat us?
Maybe.
Even if they beat us, itll be a onetime thing. If we dont run, fear will cling to us every day.
We left the room with the rest of the class, as wellmannered as any girls would. Two sixthform boys leaned against the wall, eyes glinting.
Hey, little ones, lost something? one said, holding my MickeyMousepatterned wallet with ten pounds insidemoney meant for the swimming pool and art studio.
Here, he thrust the wallet into my hand. Dont try to run again.
I walked home, backpack swinging, feeling the strange lightness of a day that had somehow turned right. I thought of the new friendship blossoming.
Let me call my mum; shell ring your grandma, get you a little leave, and we can watch cartoons at my place. Sound good?
Imogen rolled her eyes.
Lets go. Well take some of your grandmas honeydrizzled waffles; she baked them this morning.
Our bond lasted for years, until life scattered us across different continents. Yet one memory never faded.
Jumping from the diving board into the blue mirror of the pool was terrifyingonce terrifying enough. Trying anything new feels the same. What if they call me foolish? They might say it once, and Ill replay it daily. Fear visits once, then every day if you let it. You beat it once, or it lives in you forever. The choice is yours.
