Side Story (1): Part 2/5

If I had known this was to be our last autumn afternoon together, I would have begged her not to leave.

 

 

 

Repentance, Forgiveness, Acceptance

 

Part 2 /5

 

 

 

 

 

My mouth hung half-open and my wide dark eyes stared through the glasses. This view was more chaotic than the Ape Dance in a later chapter of The Jungle Book. Boys and girls jumped, shouted and pleaded with raised hands, pencils raced against paper obeying the absorbed minds frowning at the minutes that pass stealing away their chances to participate.

 

Nonetheless, I MUST FOCUS! I quickly turned to look down at the notebook pages I'd murdered with pencil scrawls, tilting my head with a small sigh, leaning it against my tight fist. Everytime I thought I'd reached very close to the solution I got tangled in another twist.  

 

"No, wrong again!" Mrs. Maureen announced with a smirk, beckoning the enthusiastic boy to sit down, she was enjoying it, I thought, the suffering of students to breathe out the correct equation, "I need real answers. Don't just guess!" she called again motioning her hands in the air with a shrug. Her voice defied the wild clutter of voices filling the classroom, "Where have all the smart people gone!?"

 

This was not the most lively, math-loving 8^th Grade I had ever seen, but the difficult problem scribbled with chalk on the blackboard was worth a whole ten-mark bonus admitted straight onto the surface of next month's report card.

 

I wasn't squeezing my brain out especially for the ten-mark bonus, I wanted -no- I needed to prove I was not late behind all private school-educated students around me, but it seemed nearly impossible to reach the solution compared to the pace of Omar, the intelligent red-head calmly sitting next to me, with one hand raised and the other placed on the desk by the neatly sorted numbers on the white sheet. "Yes, Omar?" the teacher finally said in a forged musical tone, and the noise around was instantly muted, every student settling down and turning towards the boy under the spotlight, surrendering to the fact that the competition was over.

 

Even though I ended up estimating a final solution, I decided I should surrender as well; I was no match for a math-star, I thought as the class listened in awe to Omar's carefully studied explanation. I dropped my ill-treated pencil onto the scrawled paper and buried my head in my crossed arms.

 

"Close. Very Close." Mrs. Maureen said with squinted eyes, as she turned around to walk further between the desks, "But sadly, you're missing one tiny piece."

 

He missed? I raised my head again and turned to look at Omar who looked slightly dissatisfied despite his unshaken calmness.

"I KNOW! I KNOW!" another student yelled her hand shooting up, reviving the competition with all the wild noises bouncing against the classroom walls. I blocked my ears with both palms, muffling the painful clamor. Much better.

 

Ms. Maureen motioned me with an open palm as she smiled saying words I could not hear. The students settled down again and all eyes centered in my direction. I unblocked my ears. Did she just choose me?

 

"We should grant new, bright-looking students a chance too, don't you all agree?" Silence met her question.

 

No…I swallowed as I slowly rose from my seat. Why me? I didn't even raise my hand. I was not quiet ready to be mocked and it was only my second day here.

  

"Yes?" Ms. Maureen slightly tilted her head as she waited for me to falter, wearing a confusing smile. Did I really have a choice? I guessed not, I realized, accepting the challenge.

 

After all, I've come here to learn. And making a mistake, even if it was humiliating, was a vital part of learning. A math-genius just messed up, yet he remained composed. I should do the same.  I glanced at Omar who had his sharp eyes behind the glasses focused forward through the blackboard.

 

I cleared my throat and began despite the protesting nervous system shaking through my feet, "I followed the steps you taught us yesterday, but I reckon the equation is still incomplete." I remembered the few 'confidence body language techniques' I once read in last weeks' newspaper: Standing upright and erect, with the chin up and the chest thrust out, prolonged, unblinking eye contact, "… and the same number times seven and increased by 80 is 7n+80." Ms. Maureen's eyes rolled up and a few of her fingers tapped her chin. What did that mean? I paused for a moment, wondering if my explanation had anything to do with the question, but I had already reached halfway; it was futile to stop now, "I Set these equal to each other, then I solved: 50 - 3n equals 7n + 80. or -30 = 10n, and n equals negative 3."

 

"Alright," Ms. Maureen sighed, her eyes smiling again at me. My pulse accelerated despite my initial submission to my failed attempt, "I want to hear a whole-hearted applause for this young boy. What was your name again, sweetie?"  

 

I slowly raised my head to look at the teacher solely clapping her hands, my eyes still absorbing the shock, "Nader Farfoor." I said glancing around at the wordless stares surrounding me. My eyes lowered to my left side; Omar imitated their silence, yet his gaze remained fixed forward.

 

Thump! I flinched at the metal ruler Ms. Maureen slapped against her desk. I heard a girl gasp from the right, "Are you all deaf? I want…a whole-hearted applause." Her voice was low and dangerous. Weak clap-claps grew from the back seats expanding to the front in response to her eyes burning with demand. A grin of triumph lit the corners of my lips.

 

--- --- ---

 

 

I was amazed by all the new worlds to discover in every class, but thanks to Ms. Maureen's military-like methods in teaching, I especially fell deeper in love with algebra, biology, and physics.

 

"You missed." Ms. Maureen told me from her seat behind the desk after she had asked me to stay at the end of her class, "It wasn't the completely correct answer either."

 

"Then why did you ask for applause? I didn't deserve it."

 

"Well, the question I offered as a challenge was a difficult one. For your age that is. And you're not a genius, sweetie." Her tone was slightly teasing.

 

I frowned, "I know I'm not a--"

 

"However, the aim was to make you feel a little welcome here." She sighed closing her eyes, as if trying to relief a headache, "I'm so sick of those scary little faces staring at new guardians forcing them to despair and crushing what's left of their esteem." I said nothing to that.

 

She pitied me, I thought, but I'd been told that pity is a minor gate to mercy and mercy is the sister of kindness.

 

I was originally smart, I internally insisted, but after today's math class, I developed my courage to just say whatever I had in mind (not to a dumb extent). And for that I was grateful.

 

After a failing match of basketball in the 8^th period, our bipolar P.E coach was in an exceptionally good mood today so he let us out ten minutes before the end of class.

 

It was relatively quiet; I could only hear loud clear voices of teachers from the rooms on the sides, since rowdy kids were still packed in their classrooms and the bell hadn't rang yet announcing the end of the school day. I walked across the sunlit arched hall of the new building, searching my pockets for extra change. I felt thirsty, but I had frittered my lunch money earlier on one of those new 'prize inside!' potato chips packs; a very contagious trend that I was mildly ashamed of having been drifted into.

 

"What a waste of time." I sighed, forced to approach the rusty, and as some said 'haunted' water fountain, where my eyes located a figure from behind leaning to get a sip of water; an appealing, slightly taller blond with tight, white leggings wrapping her plump pinkish legs, a short skirt and cropped pale hair topped with a violet round hat. It was the same abused guardian from yesterday, I remembered. She raised her head up standing straight again, lightly pressed her mouth with the back of her hand and turned around to face me.

 

"You cut your hair." I neutrally said breaking the silence as our eyes met.

 

"Oh, it's you again." she said with a half-hearted grin slightly startled, "Marhaba, Nader." She remembered my name. What was hers again?

 

"Marhaba…" it started with an s, but what was the rest?

 

"You forgot my name." she flatly said slightly pursing her lips. Not good; I heard girls were sensitive about two things: name and age.

 

"Wait." I told her anxiously squinting my eyes, "I'll-I'll definitely remember."

 

"Oh, really.." She said in a cynical tone crossing her arms, "and when will that be?"

 

"Soon."

 

She shook her head as she walked closer, the 'God, you're hopeless' smile painted on her lips, "Just take a look up." She enfolded my shoulders with both her hands, spinning me towards the large window on the right. It was a clear, warm day. And the sun moderately lit an image of blue and white. Right! The sun!

 

"Shams!" I quickly told her. Her hands remained around my shoulders, her partially-mature warm, female curves enclosing on mine. My heart faintly squeezed. 

 

 

"Sah! (correct)." She beamed, the breath of her laughter tickling the back of my neck where a slim shiver tiptoed along. What was that feeling? "Come with me." She said, grabbing my arm, her voice dropping down to a half-hushed tone.

 

--- --- ---

 

"Green…tea?" I turned my eyes from the tender, cheerful-green leaves assorted in a row in the minor portion of earth still damp from this morning's rain.

 

"Mh." Shams nodded her back still bent towards her inexperienced but precious piece of art.

 

She had led me to the half-empty orchard behind the old school building, nearly the size of a kindergarten playground, her 'secret garden' she called it; I had sensed no students were allowed in there before Shams told me it originally belonged to Principle Taleeda, telling me 'not to worry', since the forty-three-year-old gender-biased woman had rarely approached the orchard ever since her marriage broke into pieces a couple of years ago; quiet similar to the classic story(1).

 

In a further East corner of the garden, a few bright colored flowers a bush of Kurmuzi (2) roses, a patch of green tea, mint and sharp-flavored thyme, a stem of basil were all growing under Shams' inexperienced but faithful care.

 

She had a passion for gardening that gleamed in the pretty fourteen-year-old shade of green in her eyes.

 

"When I grow up," she said, her palm lightly running over the tips of the raw saplings, "I will have an orchard of my own. And all the beauty in the world will reflect in its colors and herbal scents."

 

Her first attempts were a few tomato seeds. And after an entire week of disappointing waiting, she gave a little spell she knew a chance, and the result was encouraging. In a few weeks, her garden slowly began to surface the soil, without the need to use Shawada.

 

"By the way," I said, "How come you're the only student dressed like that?" my eyes unconsciously admired the plump figure curving underneath the silky chemise, white leggings and short skirt.

 

"Ooh, that's another secret charm." She smirked tilting the round, violet hat crowning her cropped, silverish, blond hair, "It's a trick my mother taught me when I was five, where you could customize the visibility of your current clothing."

 

"Ah, so people like the supervisor and Principle Taleeda can't see you in that?"

 

"They cannot. Isn't it fun?" she shook her head, giggling in excitement, "Actually I started doing this hoping the human I secretly admired would notice…" She paused reflecting, "But now it's become a habit, just throwing on these purple and white colors in the morning." The autumn sunlight fondled her image harmonizing with the weak smile that difficultly bloomed out of her distrustful spirit. I would never forget the brief time fate had blessed us with; but that moment would rest gently engraved in every dream I had since that afternoon. If I had known this was to be the first and last picture left of Shams Anwar smiling with a violet hat as she proudly stood by her budding slice of earth, I would have pulled her close and firmly asked her not to pay attention to any sound other than my whispers.

 

Both of us turned around to the creaking gateway where Mrs. Maureen had just stepped through. She glanced at us and unhurriedly walked with crossed arms towards the fig (3) tree ahead.

 

"That's Mrs. Maureen." Shams said in a low voice leaning closer to my right ear, "Your homeroom teacher, I think."

 

"Yes, that's her."

 

Mrs. Maureen turned half around, her eyes faintly curved in a smirk, aiming at us behind her right shoulder. A single finger ascended up and pressed her lips, almost as if she was signaling us to keep her visit a secret. Shams and I nodded in her direction, sharing a look as soon as she turned her back at us and dragged an old wooden ladder leaning against the tree bark.

 

"This isn't the season for any fig fruit to grow." I flatly stated.

 

What was she doing here?

 

"She's that desperate, huh?" Shams commented in an almost sympathetic tone.

 

"Desperate?"

 

"Mrs. Maureen is a barren woman. Although she might seem harsh and aloof, inside she'd always wanted a child of her own." she explained, maintaining her conscious, low voice, "She comes from a fairly spiritual family."

 

"What does that have to do with her harvesting a fruitless fig tree?" I asked.

 

I watched Mrs. Maureen carefully mount a few more steps of the seemingly brittle wooden ladder, her hands reaching to pluck a few leaves. 

 

"In old religious beliefs, fig and olive trees are both blessed. Some people collect their leaves and soak them in drinking water hoping to obtain dvine sympathy. That's what your teacher's probably been doing for the past few months."

 

"Oh."

 

"Anyway," Shams said, her voice returning to its natural phase, "I need to go home soon. Walk me to the front gates?"

 

"Sure." I said turning around and starting to walk out of the orchard gateway, where three older, dark looking boys were approaching in a row, loudly laughing and slapping each others backs, the three of them constantly and attentively glancing at the fig tree ahead. The boy in the middle was tall, dark, handsome, with sharp, metallic grey eyes, and a presence that generated a strange, ominous aura.

 

The sudden sound of a crack and Shams gasping, I turned back around to the sight of a ladder jagged and broken beneath the tree, Mrs. Maureen's hands tightly clutched around a shivering tree branch and her body dangling dangerously above the soil. The voices of the three boys behind grew restless, and one of them 'WOOHOO'd loudly as if he were watching a soccer match.

 

Mrs. Maureen attempted to slightly shift along the rickety branch which was rapidly cleaving off the mother bark.

 

She was going to fall. I nervously thought as the wooden branch exceeded its tolerance and abruptly broke with a snap.

 

"No!" I shouted as my right hand stretched in the air, weaving a noisy whirlwind that enveloped the fig tree and left it bare in moments, exhaling its last breath in our direction, carrying Shams' violet round hat backwards.

 

The three boys behind stood still, their sarcastic prattle and other sounds were hushed, except for the solo melodic autumn bird song fading further above, and a faint female laughter coming from the bed of dark green leaves beneath the naked fig tree. Shams and I shared a look, slowly nearing it.

 

"Mrs. Maureen!" I called, "are you alright?"

 

"Yes!" she said in between the chuckles lolling in the green load of fig leaves. Shams' green eyes stared down in wonder at the rescued teacher and grinned, instantly infected by the laughter, "Help me up, dears." she childishly raised her arms up and Shams and I each took a hand, "Shokran," she groaned as she pulled herself up, the end of her words getting consumed in a chuckle again, and after quickly patting the back of her dark pants she shook her finger at me, "This was your doing just now, wasn't it?" She said still laughing, briefly glancing at the blonde's bottom clothing. Did she know about her trick?

 

"Yes, it was." I said secretly glancing at the half-curled fingers of my right hand. 

 

"I'm sure you know how strictly forbidden the use of Shawada within school grounds is." She said in a semi-serious tone, her voice still affected by the chuckle, "But your little spell saved my back from cracking. And for that, I'll let it pass."

 

"Thank you." I politely said.

 

"No problem." She briefly smiled, brushing the few leaves loosely hanging in the threads of her wooly blouse, "Now hurry back home before your parents start to panic."

 

"That was kind of you," Shams said as we walked to the orchard gateways, where the three dark boys still stood close together, silently staring from a corner, "If it were another guardian, I bet they would have watched her break." I wasn't surprised, it was that cold and detached even outside this school. Shams continued talking about the heroic situation but I wasn't listening; my eyes traced the beautiful plump figure shifting forward in those tight white leggings, my heart making a minor bounce as I continued tracing upwards.

 

"Your hat." I reminded her as my eyes reached up to the cropped silverfish blond. Her eyes rolled up and her arms bent in an arch reaching for the top of her head, "Ah, there it is." I said. pointing beyond the gate. Shams skipped towards the violet round hat lying by one of the boys' feet. As she unbent from the pavement, her scratched, fragile green eyes met the cold metallic grey ones that leisurely scanned the curvy form enfolded in purple and white. He stood between the other two boys, erect with crossed arms, merely communicating with eyes that smiled at the blonde's, but his were unreadable, they held something entirely other than bliss.

 

As we turned away towards the archway heading to the main gates, I could still feel a pair of metallic grey silently gazing through my back. This day was going to be long.

Author's Note

(1): Nader is referring to Frances Hodgson Burnett's novel: The Secret Garden, first published in 1911.
(2): Kurmuzi is an arabic term for the color shade crimson.
(3): Fig Tree: a large, deciduous shrub or small tree native to southwest Asia and the Mediterranean region (from Afghanistan to Portugal). The Common Fig is widely grown for its edible fruit throughout its natural range in the Mediterranean region, Iran, Pakistan and northern India, and also in other areas of the world with a similar climate, including Louisiana, California, Georgia, Oregon, Texas, South Carolina, and Washington in the United States, south-western British Columbia in Canada, Nuevo León and Coahuila in northeastern Mexico, as well as Australia, Chile, and South Africa.

Look here : http://efvoniks.deviantart.com/art/Fig-79110685

O...kay, *laughs nervously* it turned out, I'm no super-writer, and this side story is going to take a bit more than just two chapters, BUT! this just means I'm making it more exciting, right...*Swallows* RIGHT..?? *Is murdered by the original-story fans*

Comments, reviews, corrections are all appreciated. Thank you for reading.

Reviews

[TL Boehm]

Secret garden is one of my favorites. I simply read for enjoyment of this piece and although I'm lat to the room I very much enjoyed this. Well penned.

[tshigg]

Great stuff. It seems you are getting more and more talentedd with each tale. Great story, I look forward to reading more.

[Havatara]

"And after an entire week of disappointing waiting" Should that be disappointed waiting instead?

I LOVE both plots, so you can take as long with this one as you want. What I would suggest is if this one is going to be long, write a third part, and then go back to the first plot. After a few more chapters of that, continue with this one. It's almost as if it's two books in one. Fun, right? =) Unless that doesn't work with what you have planned. It's completely up to you. Either way, it's an amazing plot and I hope you continue one or the other, if not both. I think I'll stop babbling now =)

[Hollow Man]

This is very well written. And if you don't keep writing it, i will hunt you down and make you finish it, jk, maybe ;). But really there is so much going on here and it is all so beautifully interwoven that I can't help but be excited for where it goes. Also, this feels much more like a novel than a story. Just a thought

kgs

[Deviant Works]

Okay, okay! Dr.Farfoor and Madam Sham... Is cute, sweet, curvy Shams and the orchard loving, throw animal carcasses in an ice-cave "Madam Sham", the same person? Just give me a little hint...please. If they are the same person than I must know what in the world happened to make Shams go...berserk on cuddly, innocent little animals. This is when I pout because the next addition can't come soon enough.:) Excellent side story yet again, love Mrs. Maureen, now get to typing.:)

Oh! And..."She pitied me, I thought, but I'd been told that pity is a minor gate to mercy and mercy is the sister of kindness."...How brilliant you are...

[George Love]

Very busy chapter, lots of interaction and you keep us wanting more.

[*skittlez*]

love it !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[Jonathan De Elvira]

it's okay...now hurry up and write more...well, this side story if quite interesting to me and you as a writer should acknowledge it too you know...I love the detail...hell, i won't be able to write a great side story such as this one...:P

[Coyote Poetry]

I like this story. It was a interesting way you told the story in this chapter. I like the situations and the results you create. A lot of event in this chapter. A very good ending to the chapter. Thank you.
Coyote