Side Story(1): Part 1/5

God is beautiful, she told me, so he created a beautiful picture for our eyes to smile at every morning.

 

 

 

Repentance, Forgiveness, Acceptance

 

Part 1 /5

 

 

 

 

 

"After nine years of Homeschooling, are you sure this is what you and your son desire?"

 

These were the words my right ear interpreted as I pressed it against the closed door. The intention was not to pry, I just happened to come across this conversation between my only uncle and only parent; my only family; the only people I could trust.

 

"Have faith in my sense as a mother, Waleed." she whispered loud enough for the sound to pass through the wooden rectangle, "And it tells me this is his best chance to live like all healthy young boys do."

 

Whenever Mayada tried to lower her naturally loud, crusty voice, I knew the discussion was a serious one.

 

For some, like me, turning twelve and a half was a sharply foreign experience; especially if you were to inherit your manifest family legacy. I descended from a bloodline of White Guardians, born to serve and protect humanity through arts of magic, but be it white or black it was still despicable among most people of Ivory town fifty years ago, not bothering to even slightly shift us from the same category the Black Guardians occupied, slaves of Shaitaun (Satan) is what they used to call us, not that our status had improved much over the years, but at least the future pacified the injustice with the new Shawada institute established by the end of my fifteenth winter.

 

"Well, then," my uncle conclusively sighed, "Shall we move on to the last step?"

 

"Please do."

 

"I will promote your request to the headmistress first thing tomorrow morning."

 

"Mashkoor (I'm very thankful)"

 

It was a drab silence for the next few moments, until my uncle spoke again, "It will be glaringly difficult in the beginning for young Nader."

 

"I am…aware of that." Her voice lowered breaking into stifled, abrupt inhales, "My poor, poor boy…"

 

"Don't waste vigor through tears, Mayada. It exceeds your health's tolerance. God is watching over him." My heart slightly ached as she tensely wept, especially that I was her main concern at the moment.

 

Mayada Farfoor was my foster mother, a stout, rowdy, overemotional widow and a zealous cook. The genuine care she had embraced me with consciously shut away my mind from the need to venture deeper into my real family's history. Mayada trusted I would be mature enough to be told about the unfortunate summary of my parent's suicide when I was an infant, despite the puzzling questions about the details.

 

Until this day, I had to live in discretion in our reserved, poorly urban south of town, receiving home education with three other students a few years older than I am who would occasionally snatch off my optical glasses, laughing at the way I eagerly participated during lessons. Our tutor nourished us with a little bit of everything, even when my mind longed for much more. I loved reading, writing, and listening to all that I was oblivious about in the world I lived in. Uncle Waleed admitted I was lover of sciences on the same day he announced that he could save me a seat in the Oasis Middle School. If the whole world rejected me, I analyzed, it would be natural for any ordinary school to deny me the permission of education too, but the headmistress of Oasis thought I was too special to be wasted, my uncle explained with a grin, a rapidly contagious grin.

 

Mayada and I shared a look. Her proud eyes curved in delicate joy reflected in mine.

 

"When do I start!?" I beamed.

 

"Tomorrow morning," Uncle answered, the delight in his tone competing with mine, "You shall start, young lad, and let no one get in your way!"

 

After listening to Mayada cry and complain some more, I unclogged my ear from the door and stepped back, my feet flying towards the staircase, back to my bedroom and my lips still infected with an impatient grin.

 

I used to watch T.V from time to time and children, even the most victimized, eventually adapted to their surroundings in new schools. How bad could it be?

 

It was a good thing Uncle bought me the books a week before the new academic year started so that I could take my sweet time scanning their contents, I thought, my eyes admiring the glossy cover of the stocky 8^th Grade Math text book on the desk beside the bed. I flipped the first pages and bowed to sniff the freshly, printed paper. Beautiful, I smiled again, quickly spinning around to plunge into the mattress of the creaky bed.

 

But, oh no, I assured myself, I would never fall asleep before carefully and accurately assorting the new books on my desk shelves, and all of them must be placed in the very top, I would even memorize the distance I've put between the little old toys, souvenirs and other books on the shelves, a compulsive habit I had never been able to break.

 

The shrill sound of my alarm clock easily opened my eyes to the faded autumn sunrays as my back lay over the twisted white sheets. As always, time flies when you're asleep! I thought as I jumped up and straight to the washroom door, rushing back to the edge of the bed to fit my cold bare feet into a pair of friendly slippers.

 

New school bag: Check!

Glossy-covered books in school bag: Check!

Well-ironed school uniform: Check!

Full-charged high spirits: Check!

 

Tomorrow had magically turned into today; I took a deep breath as my feet moved a step closer to the staircase, the deliciously heavy satchel over one shoulder, my head proudly raised, and my young eyes behind the glasses confidentially staring forward.  Learning and exploring worlds behind closed doors was starting to develop into a risky obsession, what will I see today? How does my school building look like? Will I make any friends? What would that be like? I almost literally floated a step down the long staircase, but I had preferred to pass this first morning without being caught by Mayada, her eyes suddenly widening at the irrational sight of my body carried in the air, shaking a finger at me and telling me about the common possibilities of young guardians breaking a neck or an arm during such practices.

 

A glow of paranormal abilities to seize control of matter on earth existed in every Guardian from the moment of birth. And sweet enough, even when I was surrounded by ordinary beings, Mayada allowed and encouraged me to nurture the arts of Shawada naturally oozing from the tips of my fingers. She did not deprive me the right to quench my desire to know more, my desire to sail into yet another ocean most humans were ignorant of.

 

The best trainers of Shawada could have been my biological grandparents, but since I'd been told neither of them approved of my parents' union in the first place, I'd imagine how utterly embarrassing and pointless it would be to appear at their door with a greeting like 'Hello, grandfolks, remember me? Your unwanted grandson?"

 

Mayada refused to let me journey through the humiliation she had experienced years ago as she tried to soften her family's hearts towards an orphaned, young Shawada guardian. "Even the closest people to you," Mayada once told me, "could easily drift with the common mortal imperfection. They could turn their backs on you and leave you to deal alone with uncertainties."

 

Uncle Waleed, Mayada's half-brother was the only divergent color among all those who had turned their backs on Mayada and me.

 

"So, I've heard you want to learn how to be a magician." Kind, brown eyes, similar to his sister's, smiled down at me as he crossed his arms, beneath square, bulky shoulders.

 

"It's called Shawada, Uncle." I flatly said. I had this habit of correcting people even with insignificant details. They needed to read more, I always thought in arrogant disappointment.

 

"Yes, yes." My uncle half-heartedly chuckled.

 

"Even if I wanted to, I couldn't." I sadly pursed my lips, slightly shaking my head.

 

"How come?"

 

"There is no one to teach me."

 

"That's not quiet true now, is it?" his hand reached behind the couch pillow supporting his back, his smile expanding as he introduced a twin of slim, purple-covered books.

 

"As long as books welcome us with what they contain, we can always learn."

 

Uncle was right. Books were all I needed. And the best thing about self-learning was, there was no one around to smile sarcastically and correct you when you're wrong.

 

Chapter 3.4 - Matching mental orders with the physical pace.

 

I shifted my crossed legs for a more comfortable position on the itchy carpet, cringing my nose as the shadow of my head neared the open book on the coffee table. "Use model 7.1 in previous chapters to…bla bla…already done that." I murmured with a sigh, turning the page. My eyes hurt. I had persistently spent third of a weekend night carving the basics of the first book Uncle Waleed gave me, nearly falling asleep as I scanned through what's left of the tedious theoretical text.

 

I removed my glasses to rub the sore eyes with loose fists, trying to relieve the hurt which sarcastically but rationally throbbed deeper into my head. "When does the real magic start…?" I internally wondered in a muffled groan as I buried my head in crossed arms against the coffee table, sitting straight again after deciding to go through the few last pages of the fourth chapter.

 

Chapter 5.1 - Practical Activities.

 

My sluggish eyelids rose and my head slightly tweaked, a funny smile forming across my face.

 

 

Practicing the first steps of Shawada was relatively similar to extreme sports. The speed of a want or need flashing in your head must match the speed of your physical motion.

 

For example; if you had just prepared a quick meal before rushing to class, but forgot to grab a fork from the drawer across the breakfast table, two things would make it move towards you and land right beside your plate:

 

One is to wish for it to move.

 

And two is to cause the fork to move by curling your fingers in a certain manner.

 

However, without precisely matching the time of your mental wish with the motion of your fingers, the strings of matter in the air between you and that fork would not assist you.

 

It took concentration to move a fork, mental clarity, and patience…lots and lots of it, but in the end I succeeded, selfishly complimenting my wits and efforts in front of Uncle Waleed and Mayada right before sheepishly remembering to thank him for he was the reason I was able to study in the first place.

 

Mayada's traumatized eyes at the irrational sights of my early practices prevented her from congratulating my progress, so I had to compromise; I would not use my fingertips in Shawada unless the situation called for it. And elevating plates, cans, cups, spoons, and forks during the morning hustle were an exception she pulled her roots of courage to allow.

 

"Eat very very well!" Mayada firmly said as her chubby hands around a wooden ladle scrambled the sizzling eggs in the pan, "I don't want you to tire too soon on your first day of school."

 

"Yes, Ma'am!" I noisily replied swiftly transporting the cereal box from the cabinet above her head to the table, changing my mind about the meal right after the smell of scrambled eggs with thyme and mozzarella cheese had reached my senses. Mayada used to cook irresistibly zesty scrambled eggs.

 

Time barely stood between me and my destiny of entering for the first time the gates of Oasis Middle School. I fit my socks into my feet and feet hurriedly into my shoes, running to the main door at the end of the dark corridor behind which a gloomy rainy world came to life with the sunrise. I didn't think it was an omen. I liked the rain. Mayada and I would sit on the sheltered couple of doorsteps in front of our house and we would count together the ripples flickering in small puddles in the old, sloppy pavement as the rain starts to slow down. The sad sighing sky with the sheets of grey, and the glossy, freshly-bathed tree-leaves were beautiful. God is beautiful, Mayada told me, so he created a beautiful picture for our eyes to smile at every morning.

 

It was slightly frightening to think about the future from that point. My mind flashed an image of Mayada tensely weeping in the night, her flooded, brown eyes masked in her palms.

 

I wondered if beauty meant the same thing as compassion.

 

Would God be kindhearted to me on this unfamiliar journey?

 

--- --- ---

 

"Nader?" Mayada said in a low tender tone, as I jumped out of my car seat onto the wet sidewalk.

 

"Hm?" I turned around.

 

"Where's my hug?" She opened her arms and smiled, and I quickly bent inside the car in response. She was so warm. "You be careful, son. And enjoy your day!"

 

"Yes, Ma'am." I whispered against her shoulder in an assuring tone.

 

The school entrance was a modest one, with forced green lawn grown on the sides of the pathway leading to a glass door of a centered building among the other smaller buildings. The glass door probably led to the administration offices. I was glad I watched a lot of high school crap movies. Right then, I was almost sure I wouldn't have to worry about looking like a newbie since I knew everything I needed about school environments.

 

A national music theme played and children's voices grew as I walked closer around the building to the left. The rain and frail fog in the air did not interrupt the active motion on the school grounds.

 

"WOW!" how many kids were there? I exclaimed at the sight of the students standing in neat lines behind a row of stern looking men and women, the woman outnumbering the men.

 

That must have been the morning assembly, which meant I had arrived right on time. Great! I smiled to myself, shoving up the satchel against my back as I walked forward, my eyes curiously scanning a girl in front of me a few centimeters taller than I was, with Rapunzel-like long, smooth blond hair and a tight dark skirt above her knees patterned with red and green squares. Her white, plump flesh partially wrapped in white leggings moved strongly forward as her hair slightly brushed from sides to side against her back. She carried a plain but expensive looking bag around one shoulder. Was she allowed to wear anything other than the uniform? A rich brat perhaps? I was probably going to see a lot of those, I remembered, since it was a private school. I passed by grades from highest to lowest; almost every student among the lines that met my eyes pinched me with an unwelcoming feeling. The beginning of the difficult road, I assumed internally sighing and looking down at the wet pavement as I walked.

 

"Ah, you look new." I turned around to the small, squeaky voice close to me.

 

"Yeah, I am new." I answered smiling back at the sociable looking girl with brown hair tied up in two side buns; she carried a few books on one side, and a shoulder bag on the other side, "Hello." I hesitantly greeted.

 

"Hello back!" she briefly rocked back and forth with a perfect, white grin, like the ones appearing in toothpaste commercials, "My name's Salma. What's your name and grade?" Another girl approached her side as she talked.

 

A new friend made in the first few minutes of my new day at a new school? See? It wasn't as bad as it seemed to be.

 

"Nader Farfoor. Eighth grade." The other girl's eyes warily stared into mine, her hand partially covering one side of her mouth as she leaned to whisper in Salma's left ear, whose smile vanished in response to the whispered words.

 

Maybe that didn't sound friendly enough; I thought I could enhance the conversation, "Well, what about you?"

 

The two girls shared the same cold, unsmiling faces now as they both briefly examined me, turning to walk away without a single word.

 

I frowned at my rushed judgment, my feet refusing to move for the moment, even after I had turned back around to my meant direction. Although I did look like a new, ordinary kid, people would always recognize the name and it would soon repel them away.

 

The pretty, rich blond leisurely walking forward turned to look at me behind her right shoulder. She was not smiling either, but her dark green eyes were not cold like all the other eyes attempting to hunt my mere presence. Who was she?

 

A group of three drunk-like loud girls with arms tangled together quickly moved in one tempo closer to the blond, shoving her onto the ground, laughing louder at her low groan of pain, one of them throwing her head back from amusement, as they proceeded past her. "Have a finicky new academic year, wacky b***h!" the girl in the middle hollered from afar. A sharp, serious voice of an adult woman called over three female names in response. At least teachers paid attention to injustice, I thought, slightly calmed.

 

"A finicky new year to you too…" I heard the blond girl mumble through clenched teeth. She sat there motionless with her white legs bent on one side, and her long blond hair falling around her lowered head, her fists twitching against the cold pavement.

 

"Are you alright?" I said my feet approaching her form, but she did not look up. "Can you stand…?"

 

She suddenly raised her head up, the locks of straight smooth gold moving aside like sleek curtains, "Are you talking to me?" I slightly jumped at the hurried, surprised tone and narrowed green eyes. Did I say something wrong? After all, I hardly spent time with people outside my house zone, let alone spend time to figure out how girls think…Mayada did not count, I thought, she was too old…

 

I swallowed the fear of the unknown and nodded to her.

 

"Yes I can stand up, little boy." She said faking strength in her voice. I quickly laid my hand to her, "but I just…didn't feel like it." She rolled her eyes, accepting my hand. She had a strong hand; she probably could have shoved all the three of them back.

 

"Little boy?" I asked a bit of disappointment in my tone, "Do I look that immature?"

 

She smiled half-heartedly in response, "Eighth-graders never use that word; immature. So, you seem mature enough." Was she listening to the short conversation I had with Salma a minute ago? She looked back at me, moving the gold long fringes out of her eyes. The green in them was scratched. She didn't seem like a new student, but her eyes told a story of fear. Fear ten-times possessing than the one I felt this morning.

 

"How did you know about my grade?"

 

"I know more than just that." She slightly raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips in a perceptive expression, "We both carry the same blood." We certainly were not related, and I had never seen or heard of her before so I guessed…

 

She was a guardian too!? I widened my eyes in surprise. So that was the reason behind the mean-spirited push just now. Was I supposed to be more afraid now?

 

"Are you afraid?" I asked her instead of answering my own question, a naïve genuine look in my eyes behind the glasses.

 

"I'm consumed by fear." She flatly told me, "I've grown accustomed to it. And so will you."

 

That was not comforting. It was weak; not the answer I wanted.

 

"No." I defensively said.

 

"No?"

 

"I've come here to learn. Pranks and jokes and insults will not stop me."

 

"Let no one get in your way!" my uncle's words repeated in my head, recharging my solo confidence.

 

She could easily find negative words for responses, "We've all tried that in the beginning, haven't we?"

 

"Th-Then keep trying!" I told her quickly grabbing her hand into my palms; she slightly jumped with wide green eyes, yet not rejecting the random move. Her eyes silently gazed into mine for a long moment. I studied them well. I wanted to know more about the scratched green shade. And it was as if the want I had just mentally confessed magically elevated in the strings of air in between us, soaking into her eyes, painting a weak smile on her lips.

 

"You keep trying, if it makes you feel a little less insignificant," She said pulling out her hand, "but save your bravery until the morning salute is over."

 

We were the only two out of the lines, I realized, internally gasping at the chance of being spotted by the edgy looking teacher standing further.

 

"Ah!" I turned to her anxiously, "we should move then."

 

Will I see get the chance to talk to her again?

 

"Shokran (thanks), for helping me up on my feet just now," She told me, "You are not smart, but you are different from the rest of us."

 

Eh!? I AM smart, I inwardly protested.

 

"I'm not a quitter, is all."

 

"And…" she hesitated, "will I see you later, persistent person?"

 

Yes! I internally beamed, not bothering to stop the grin from invading my lips. Wasn't she the persistent one though?

 

"You definitely will!" I nodded, "and the name's Nader Farfoor, not person."

 

She softly laughed shaking her head. Did I say something funny? I should stop clowning, I thought, and show her the mature, wise side of me.

 

She laid out her hand, and I took it into mine, vibrating as she shook it powerfully once.

 

"Shams Anwar. That's my name."

 

I still had one more day ahead of me until I witnessed the tragic series that would haunt me through the rest of the apparently rain-blessed week.

 

Reviews

[Tala]

I love stories like this. all weird and mysterious and "ooh, what's going on here?" but the writing style got really annoying at points. It was sort of written like an essay, not like someone thinking, there was also too much thinking in huge blocks, try to put like what's happening in between it. Also I don't know if things are different in America (if that's where your from) but people are never that erm, straight forward I think, in their stereotypes. Like no one will just come out with

"Eighth-graders never use that word; immature. So, you seem mature enough."

Some of the other dialogue was kind of un-realistic too.
sorry seems like I'm giving you a bunch of bad criticism but I honestly did enjoy reading this.

[Erin]

“"Yes, Ma'am." I whispered against her shoulder in an assuring tone.”
You do this quite a bit from what I’ve seen: You end a piece of dialogue with a period, and then you proceed to continue the sentence through description. To do that, end the dialogue with a comma, not a period. (I must say, though, The Balance is maintained very well. Nice job with that.)
“"WOW!" how many kids were there?”
I assume that the dialogue (“WOW”) and the thought (“how many kids were there?”) are supposed to be separate sentences, because that seems the most grammatically correct and logical. If that’s the case, then you should capitalize the “how.”
I liked the side story in itself, but I really didn’t see much of a connection between the book and the side story. I like what is written in the Author’s Note, by the way. You have a poetic style that translates beautifully; keep it up.
PBP

[Havatara]

"and my young eyes behind the glasses confidentially staring forward" Shouldn't it be confidently instead of confidentially? Just saying. Also, I was a little confused when you went from him getting ready for his first day of school to him reading about magic. Maybe you could explain what's happening there a little more?
I really like this side story. I'm guessing that Nader is Dr. Farfoor? It's cool that you're going more into his background. Great job on this book so far.

[Drako]

well, i'm not yet familiar with the Husky and Me story, but i shall remedy that within the coming days. this story was quite interesting to me, and i especially like Nader. He's so different from how you expect people with supernatural abilities to be. he's, well, a nerd, and being a nerd i can relate. i look forward to reading more

[Coyote Poetry]

A very long chapter. I like detail of her life and the many events in this chapter. I like the internal conversation and the many twists in the story. A very good chapter.
Coyote

[Deviant Works]

Oooo, more Husky and Me.:) Completely enjoyed the new characters you have introduced and especially loved the conclusion with Shams. I fond Nader intriguing, his thirst for knowledge, the way he uses his gift, his calm nature. Also learning about the Guardians, I love the idea of there being a good and not-so-good side, makes me anticipate magical battles.:) Wonderful side story, Wella. I can never get enough of the spunky Farfoor's.

And I am sorry your real world distractions were unpleasant.:( At least the distractions did not hinder your ability to create brilliant stories.:)

[kaylynnmelody♥]

This was a great story, thanks for the read request!

[George Love]

Definitely full of detail here. Well written, and a good story.

[Escape My Fate]

This is great. Great job . :)