5

My days at school weren’t very good to me either. For it could be said that I had no friends there. Well, actually I did have one, Volkova - but she was in a different class known as “special” for smarter kids. Our public school divided its students by classes from A to D. Class A was for the A-students, Class B for the B ones and so on. I was in Class D - among slow ones. I don’t know how I’d managed to get in there, but I suspect there was a reason. I remember they were actually going to hold me back.

I struggled to follow the school program. My great efforts to concentrate on the teachers’ explanations were futile; all the new information I got would come in one ear and go out the other. Later on I realized it was not me being thick; I just have a different mindset. I need to find out and digest information on my own, learn it by trial and error, even if it takes a lot of time. But our educational system wouldn’t let me spend a lot of time on searching and analyzing things on my own, so my school performance left much to be desired.

I also hated the labs (laboratory assignments) which were supposed to be done collectively. Even back in my school days I knew for sure that teamwork was not my thing. So, by hook or by crook, I tried my utmost to dodge all kinds of labs, team projects, school clean-ups and other collective chores.

Although, speaking of school clean-up chores, I can not refrain from bringing up one curious event. It occurred when I was in year eight or nine; that week our group was charged with a cleaning duty. Some girls and I were assigned the task of cleaning up the kitchen and running the dishwasher.

Having done with the dishes we sat down on the window seat to wait for further orders about setting the lunch tables. We’d got an hour and a half of free time left; so we decided to spend it playing cards.

It was one of those rare days I was included in the game instead of standing off alone in a corner. I was in a great mood; it was a bright April day, the sun was shining through the window, and on the radio the newly released song by Chaif - Argentina-Jamaica was playing.

And, as ill luck would have it, at exactly that moment we got interrupted by the appearance of the boys who were on duty, too. And of course, they started bullying me as usual.

“Hey, Philipok, what are you doin’ here? Go clean the loo!”

I had long been used to such attacks and I’d learned that the best way to cope with the situation was to ignore my offenders, mentally building an invisible wall between them and myself. Bullies taunt their victim because they expect some funny reaction - for example, crying, waving their fists around or something. When there’s no reaction, the taunters get bored and bug off.

Just so I’d liked to tease one rooster in the country when I was small. The rooster was scrappy and when he was angered he would chase me trying to peck me in the butt. As I drove the rooster mad I would run from him with laughter, and had a lot of fun. But later that rooster had either got cooked or dead - I’m not sure - but I confused him with another, a calm one, and when I started teasing him, no reaction followed. Having realized that the game was over I lost interest in visiting the henhouse and doing such a nasty thing.

Perhaps, Buddhists are right and karma does exist. Apparently, as a punishment for making fun of that poor rooster when I was six, I ultimately had to pay for my karma.

However, as they made a comment or two about me, the guys focused on someone else. It was evident that they hadn't come for my sake. They were keen on the girls, among which there was Elya, a very interesting character, I must say. Many guys in our school had a crush on her, even though she looked rather plain - short and redheaded; besides, she couldn’t pronounce the letter “r” properly. But how confident she was! She was reasonable and pretty smart; she had a perfect sense of beauty. But the main thing in her that attracted both boys and girls was the total absence of insecurities. She was aware of her shortcomings but she could also accept them which is unthinkable for a regular teenager. When someone not very clever tried to mock her improper “r”, her reaction was surprisingly calm:

“I got a tight lingual frenulum. It needs to be cut; then I’d be able to speak properly.”

It was disarming: her opponent didn’t know what to say next. I envied her secretly; I struggled to understand why she was taking it so easy. Only years later I’d got the clue: she was truly loved by her family, and the energy of that love could reach any point of her localization. The love of her family had boosted her aura and helped her stay immune to any toxic environment including our school.

It was quite understandable that the guys had come to see her. So we were sitting there and talking (I mean, they were - I was sitting silently in my corner). And then the curious event happened, when one of the girls asked the guys about their foot sizes.

I have no idea where that silly legend popular among teenage girls back those days came from, that the foot size of a man is relevant to the size of his dick. Practice showed me afterwards that those parameters do not correlate with each other in any way. But the trick question was asked, and the giggling girls waited for a trick answer.

“Wanna know my size? Here!”

It happened in a blink of an eye. One of the guys, Marchenko, unzipped his fly and pulled out something red and slimy, and incredibly disgusting. I uttered a cry and turned away as I covered my eyes with my hand.

Everybody burst out laughing.

“Ha-ha-ha, look at Philipok! Why did you turn away? Are you a virgin?”

“Why do you care?” I said frowning.

“Hey, really, why are you so weird?” a guy nicknamed Chechel asked me, “You always look as if you’re about to be beaten up.”

“Aren’t I?” I thought to myself.

“Just keep it simple, you know?” said Chechel, “If you go on with the way you are, you’re screwed.”

“He’s right” said Elya, “You don’t even watch your posture, let alone your style.”

“Exactly, you keep slouching around and it makes you look like an underdog. Everybody can see it.”

And just like that I was “put on trial” once again. Another meeting was declared open.

How many times have I been put on trial like that? At home, at school, at work, on the Internet… Meaning well and truly believing in their good intentions people have never spared criticism with me - they would lecture and criticize me right to my face. Maybe they have just always been aware of my inner softness and spinelessness which I haven't got rid of up till now.

Reviews

[emmajoygreen]

Have read up to here, initially thinking this girl is either less than who she could be or.. is squashed out of visibility yet is bright enough to know it, but needs to remain a victim. Why? For now, the fact is only for herself.

Her father's cruelty is unforgivable; he is the adult supposed to be guide a child, she is a silly child trying to cope with a life that is cold and deficient. However tragic. I need discover the facts as time moves on and- I will. Fine writing, raw and intense, worth reading tart to finish to see who or what wins.