In my old secondary school there was a girlan orphan. She lived with her gran, a very frail, devout old woman. Every Sunday they walked handinhand past our row of terraced houses to StMarys, both of them skinny as twigs, wrapped in white kerchiefs. Rumour had it that Gran forbade her to watch television, to eat sweets, even to laugh out loud, lest demons slip in, and she forced her to splash her face with icecold water each morning.
We teased her constantly. She would stare at us with dull, almost adult eyes and whisper, Lord, have mercy on them; they know not what they do. No one befriended her; they called her halfmad. They called her Poppy.
Back then the school canteen served food that tasted like cardboard. On Fridays, though, there were hot scones with tea, or sausages wrapped in pastry with a mug of cocoa and a little chocolate bar. One afternoon, while some boys were pushing Poppy around, one of them shoved her hard enough that she crashed into me. I hit the serving trolley, spilling the cocoaladen chocolate river onto two senior pupils.
Haha, the seniors sneered.
Run! I shouted, grabbing Poppys hand, and we bolted toward our classroom.
It felt as if a pack of rowdy city lads and a herd of stampeding cattle were giving chase, their shouts echoing down the hallway. The next two periods were maths. Behind the glass door two hulking silhouettes loomed. Occasionally the door cracked open and two heads peered in, then hushed themselves. I sensed what lay aheadan inquiry, a trial, a punishment, just like the great novels said.
First, slip out of the class unnoticed, I whispered. I know a stairwell that leads to the attic; we can hide there until its dark, then make a dash home.
No, Poppy answered, her voice steadier than before. Well walk out like proper girlsquietly, without drawing attention.
But Poppythere are those theyll?
What? Theyll pour kefir over our heads? Beat us? What are you thinking?
Even if they beat us, it will be a single blow. If you dont go, youll live in fear every day.
We left the classroom with the rest of the class, just as girls were expected toquietly, head down. Two senior boys were propped against the wall.
Hey, little ones, lost something? one said, holding my MickeyMouseprinted wallet and ten pounds, the money I needed for the swimming pool and art studio.
Take it, he tossed the wallet into my hand, and dont run off again.
I walked home, my schoolbag swinging, feeling the odd thrill of how everything had turned out. And how lucky I was to have a new friend.
Should I call my mum? She could ring your gran, get you a day off, and we could watch cartoons at my house. Or is that forbidden?
Poppy rolled her eyes.
Lets go, grab the carameldrizzled waffles Gran baked today.
We stayed close for many years, until life scattered us across different continents. Yet I always recall that one moment.
Jumping from the diving board into the blue mirror of the pool was terrifyingonce is enough. Trying something new is always frightening. What if they call me a fool? One time they might. Then Ill keep telling myself its only a whisper, not a roar.
Fear can be faced once, or it can linger every day. Victory comes from that single leap, or from living with the dread beside you. The choice is yours.
