You know punctuality is the most respectful gesture that can be shown to others, I think. Any kind of session that is being delivered to a group by a person or group of persons that is meant to be for their benefit is a trust between the two. You, as the group member glean the benefits of what is being taught, and in return, the instructor is afforded at least the basic respect and courtesy. So when I bundle/crash/fumble/bound/bowl into lessons anywhere from 15 -30 minutes late, it would take a very special kind of relationship to withstand that. I was on first name, last name, star sign, blood group basis with the school’s admissions officer who kept track of repeat offenders. Ms Murphy; you couldn’t help but love her, she was this short, ample very matronly down-to-Earth ruddy complexion kind of lady. Her job motto was basically ‘bottoms are better in chairs’ regardless if they were only there 20, 40 or 60% of the time. “The stats, Jubeyr, are quite shocking”, Ms Murphy was trying to tell me off but when she was as adorable and cute and cuddly as she was (she was literally cuddling me) the effect wasn’t the same as say if Bigman was cautioning. “70% attendance with a punctuality of 53%”, it was like a life sentence. But first period was the worst of all lessons for me, because a) I struggled to get up for school and b) it took me an age to pick out an outfit and get ready. I often missed the bus, too. Information Technology (IT) was first period on Wednesdays. Late and flushed, I waited outside the class door watching, watching….now! With stealth I opened and closed the door without a sound, got as low as my rheumatology would allow and scuppered to the nearest free desk and computer, just as the teacher had turned to face the whiteboard. Whilst the login page was loading I opened my book when I was asked “…When did you get in?”, by the teacher. “Hmm? Mr El-Haddad, I was already here”, I scoffed with the most sincere expression of incredulity at his accusation that I was late. He looked puzzled. “Oh, OK, well, fine, carry on”, he assured me, slightly confused. Bless him. Completely in awe of my own abilities, I turned to the girl on my left, who was  wearing a black headscarf and exclaimed in Bangla, “Dekhsoth ni ami kitha khorlam (did you see what I just did)?”. I was chuckling expecting her applaud my antics. Instead, Sonya who was the Bengali girl to my right, laughed in acknowledgement. The other girl, gave me the most criminal offensive bombastic side-eye in the history of expressions, frowned her mouth and replied, “I’m not Bangorlee (Bengali)”, in slow enunciation dripping with disdain. Huh, she wasn’t? She looked like a clone of Sonya though. “This is Maha, she’s Eritrean, Jubeyr”, Sonya introduced us. You should know that in Arabic, Maha means ‘large eyes’; this girl has big beautiful brown eyes framed by thick lashes. Skin so smooth I swear the girl never knew the meaning of acne. She was very, very short. I don’t know what her issue was, because the rest of the lesson, she turned her entire physical presence to face away from me, like I was a repugnant reminder of the ancient reason why girls hate boys. Damn, I am never, ever speaking or looking at this rude girl ever again.

I was paired with that rude girl again. We were assigned an IT project. As it happens, boys are better than girls at computers. That is my opinion and if u don’t like it, lump it! Oh how the mighty fall. “Can you show me”, or “How do we”, “Erm Jubeyr, where is the”, came her pleas for help all bloody day long. I was never the grudge holding type, it’s just not my thing, But by the end of the project, after the hostilities died away, way away, Maha and I were emerging as fast friends. Similar in many ways, but so, so different. Not quite opposites attract, but that opposites have an affinity. I’m an introverted extravert; she is an extraverted introvert. Do you recall Science class, and that first row of girls in headscarves who never turned around? One Science lesson as I walked to class I glimpsed Maha just to the right and to my side. What you doing? We both mouthed to one another. This is my lesson, idiot! We both mouthed again. Shut up, abooout. What was up with this girl now she is literally copying everything I say. Literally how are we the same brain but in different bodies. But wait, where was her seat, because I knew roughly who and where every pupil in my class was. And then she walked, further, further, past my bench…and to the front row. NO WAY! LOL I howled. She was one of those militant science geeks? Damn!

There are some people whom you have met many times before you can recall the earliest memory of them. Such as a significant other, or a best friend. It is simply the way neural synapses work. With enough exposure to the same stimuli, a memory of that stimuli is formulated in the folds of the brain. That is what happened with Slim. One lunch time, I was of course, in the library, sitting at the front windows which overlooked the front courtyard to the school. Off this courtyard were various buildings and at the entrance of one of these buildings the Lebanese lot were hanging about. They all wore silver chains with little swords on them. The Shi’ite faction of the Muslims wear this sword of Imam Ali as a sign of resistance to oppression. This one guy, was wearing a baseball cap over gelled slick-backed brown hair, he was leaning back against a wall, one hand in the pocket of his joggers, the other hand was subconsciously caressing his neck chain. He was staring forward with his head slightly angled up. He had big, round, bright brown eyes, a small round nose, full round cheeks that betrayed a perfectly delineated 5 O’clock shadow that snaked its way down his neck and disappeared behind the neckline of his top. The other Lebanese boys all had shiny gelled hair, and took pride on how they dressed. This other guy however, wore clean and presentable clothes, and it seemed he didn’t have to try as hard as the others. Anyway, what struck me about this solitary guy, was that he didn’t seem to be engaged in the daily mating dance that the others would perform…for the girls. Just by their body language I could see the Lebanese boys were precocious, trying their best to impress the girls with their mannerisms, masculinity and banter. And the girls were lapping up the attention. They were pretty girls in make-up and very, very tight clothes. But every so often, these girls would look over at the solitary guy to try and catch a glimpse or catch his attention. He wasn’t having it. I even saw a few of the girls break away and walk up to him and try to engage in conversation. His body language remained unchanged and in fact, he lowered his gaze every so often. I was very much struck by this humble character. And then, le looked up, right at me, as I was staring down at him. Back then, I wasn’t all that shy, and so I just waved down at him. He smiled and nodded his head at me. If that happened now at this age, I would have thrown myself out the window before I waved at another guy. Anyway, something stirred. That familiar feeling of affinity to a person, but unrecognised as anything more than just a liking of something or someone.

Friday afternoon, I went to see Mr El-Haddad to follow-up on a piece of IT coursework, and as I turn into the class, I see this boy sitting in the class working. It was lunchtime, why was there a boy working here? I didn’t know we could do that. Anyway, Mr El-Haddad was looking through my work he graded and I required his explanation why it was graded a B and not an A. Something, something about my website idea being too ambitious for a coursework. Mr El-Haddad was trying to explain to me how to scale it down, when that boy turned around, saw us, and then decided to come over. Wow. I was taken aback slightly, because I didn’t expect it to be that Lebanese boy. Instantly my heart started thumping and my breathing became shallow. Why was the oxygen shut off? Someone open a window I cannot breath. He had gotten a fresh fade it seemed, and he wore this teal coloured jumper top that fitted his well-developed frame very nicely, and there was that silver chain sitting on top of a very hairy chest. How does a 16 year old grow so much hair?? This was Slim, and Mr El-Haddad had the audacity, in front of me no less, to ask him what his opinion was on my work! I immediately became hostile towards Slim, and voiced my objection that I would not be taking advice from a person I did not know. Slim mockingly grabbed the left side of his chest as if to signal his pain at his rejection. I continued to argue my case , but, why was this Slim still hanging around? “I want to ask Mr El-Haddad something, what is it to you if I stand here?”, he replied in a soft, well spoken voice with a very slight Middle Eastern accent. He stared me right in the eye. Challenged me. He then smiled, and it disarmed me. Shit, what was I talking about? Oh yeah, I need to scale down my coursework. No! That’s what I was arguing against. Argh! You know what, I’m just going to sit here for the remainder of lunch break and review my work, thank you very much. “So where do you come from?”, Slim asked me…

The bell rang out indicating the start of 5th period. I had maths, Slim had English. I hated Maths, he hated English. I liked English, he liked Maths. We chuckled as we walked to our lessons. “Were you in the library that day?”, he enquired. “Yeah, I was just working”, I shot back coolly. “How though? Isn’t it closed at lunch?”, he was surprised. “Well, I have special access”, I told him, proudly. We talked more until we had to part ways at the end of the corridor to our respective classes. “See you then”, I said as I stopped to face him, hopeful, for what, I don’t know. “Yeah, laterz”, he replied back, distractedly as he walked away, not even looking back.

And thus began, our rivalry.

The Pragaymatic Muslim

• High School Chronicles (8)
• His-story (14)
• Pluralism (1)
• Prelude (2)
• Revelation (2)
• Turning point (1)

1. 

   Ahahha. Thank you dear reader. Please do forward this on to those whom you think may benefit. High school is…

2. 

   Oh can’t wait for the next part. Very captivating.

3. 

   Merci beaucoup. If it pleases you then I will strive to compose more. Please spread the word and invite others…

4. 

   I like reading these!

5. 

   […] about how to suppress and repress the dark thoughts and suicidal ideations that plagued me at the turning point…