I didn’t want to go, but I had to.
The school bus comes for me, and stops at the top of the lane. I climb in. Most the seats are still empty; but they would fill up soon. I sat at the back, leaning out of the window, and watched home slip further and further away.
I didn’t want to go to school- I didn’t want to leave home, the place where I should feel secure... but I had no choice in the matter. The bus wheels roll on, bringing me closer to the place where I’d be trapped in a room full of haters.
More people climb in. They sit two rows behind me, two rows in front. No one dares sit beside the “tattletale”: a place they would avoid even if the bus is crowded. Once, when I was first named that, roughlyaround a week later, I remember a kid- a little runt of a fellow, sat near me.
He did not know.
I had tried to warn him. "The place is taken," I said, "move along." But I wasn’t intimidating enough for him to even consider.
Then they picked on him.
"Yo, kid- d’ya want her to tattle out what ya were doin’ all yeer life?"
"Don’t ya talk to her, are yeer outa yo mind?"
"Hey, if yer want, you can have me seat- don’t be sittin’ next to her, not what you’ll be needin’, boy"
"C’mon kid, you don’t want to be sittin over there"
He learnt his lesson alright. Don’t be a tattle-tale; it’s the lowest of low in school society....
Voices at the edge of my consciousness-
‘Looka her- all moppy-fying to herself’ ‘aww... the poor kid’s feelin’ sorry for herself’ ‘well it’s her who brought it upon herself’ ‘that’s true’ ‘yeah...’
Don’t take up the bait... don’t look up....
I look up.
They see the tears.
“She was crying’”
“Aww... poor baby”
“See- she’s suckin’ her thumb”
“See- she want her mommy”
“She want her mummy... little cry-baby!”
My face burns. I look away. Why? Why me? ...oh, God this isn’t fair. You know it isn’t... I prayed last night, didn’t I? I told you I was sorry... sorry for lying? –but maybe I done it wrong, 'cus I did it the way mummy told me to- maybe I’d got the words wrong...
But I did tell you, later at night, when she was asleep, when the whole house was asleep. I couldn’t sleep. I asked you to help me not lie, not to be evil, and I asked you to make it not so hard, that the others won’t make me be evil like them. Why aren’t you making it easier? Do you want me to wait more...?
...or was it that you didn’t hear me yesterday, because you were also sleeping?
YOU ARE READING
Liar, Liar- Mouth on Fire
Short StoryThis was the moment I dreaded. The others were waiting to see what I would do; what I would say. I gulped. But... I couldn't help it- I had to tell the truth; I had to tell sir what happened, what they did... because, otherwise I’d be lying, and lyi...
