Idealist; one guided by ideals;

If imitation is the sincerest form of flattery then consider yourself flattered Mr Roddy Doyle!

The below is a semi-autobiographical (in the most broad, based-on-a-true-story sense of the hyphenated-word) recount of an incident that happened to me as a child. Names have been kept the same, ages have been falsified, forms mimicked and personalities distorted. And at the risk of being called in for defamation, I must assure the reader that I’m almost certain that Mr Barber actually was gay. We never proved it though.

Michael Clay Ha Ha Ha or  Please don’t sue me Mr Doyle…

“I KNOW BECAUSE I’M SMART! I’M SMARTER THAN YOU!” I shout. Nik looks stunned. So does Pete. Everyone goes real quiet. The year 7 kids at the library computers stop typing and look over at us. One of them whispers something and another one sniggers. I wish I heard what he said. I’d get him later. Teach him to laugh at a Senior, bloody Smurf.

We called em Smurfs cause of the uniform. The uniform changed when you reached year 11, from navy blue to royal white. We moved up to the white uniforms this year and it was still big news for us.

A couple of weeks back Julian Murray went on a water fight rampage and wet all of the girls white blouses and you could see their bras, except for Zara Thompson, who didn’t wear a bra because her mum was a feminist. Zara was a gronk so you weren’t supposed to look at her. But we all did anyway. I kept sneaking glances at her nipples all through maths class. They looked like mine, but a bit pointier. I didn’t see what all the fuss was about. Zara kinda looked like me anyway. It made it weird.

I think I’m blushing. I hope I’m not. I breathe in deeply and real quick. Maybe if I hyperventilate the boys will think I’m angry instead of embarrassed. Thinking like that makes me angry anyway. Screw em, I think.

Mr Barber, the gay librarian is looking over at us. The fag. We don’t know he’s a fag, not for certain. But one time, Pete said he saw the gay science teacher Mr Shields out on a date with him.

*

- How’d you know it was a date? I ask.

- It was obvious, Pete replies.

- That’s not a proper reason. I say.

- They were holding hands and walking real close together.

- Were not!

- Were too. Plus it was Mardi Gras.

- What were you doing at Mardi Gras?! I shout accusingly.

Pete blushes real deep red. You can barely see his freckles. We all laugh. We know we’ve got him now.

- I wasn’t AT Mardi Gras. Mr Shields told my dad about it afterward.

That shuts us up. It’s a pretty good reason.

Pete’s dad Mr Baldwin works in the science department with Mr Shields. He would know. I don’t want to admit defeat though. I try to think of something to say. I can’t. So I just look down at my shoes. After a bit the silence becomes awkward.

-Wow. I guess that proves it then. Mr Barber is a queer, says Blake.

- Yeah, we all nod.

I nod too, without looking at Pete.

*

Mr Barber clears his throat. The queer. He always does that when you’re being too loud. Sometimes he says ‘This is not the playground,’ like he’s being real funny. As if we didn’t know. The queer.

You’re not supposed to shout in the library. It’s forbidden. Once a boy got expelled for yelling at a teacher in the library. I don’t want to be expelled though. I like school. I’m always right in class and the work is really easy.

No one says anything. I wonder if I’m still blushing. I can hear my heart thumping in my ears. No one moves. I wonder if the boys can hear my heart from where they’re standing. Thump. Thump. Thump thu-thump.

God, please let someone speak.

- Thats pretty harsh, man. says Pete.

That’s snaps us out of it. Year 7 starts playing Dirt Bike on the library computers again. Mr Barber gives us one last look before going back to filing the books.

I’m in trouble now and I know it. Why did I do that? How could I let that slip out? I actually went and said what you should never admit, not even to yourself. Let alone to their face. That’s like calling their mum a lesbian or their dad a queer. You’re liable to get punched for saying something like that. No one would jump in for you either. You weren’t supposed to say things like that.

I know I’m smarter than them though. I’m pretty sure they know it too. But I’d never, ever admit it. Nobody likes a smartarse. Kids have been beaten senseless for less.

Nik snaps out of it. I can see him turning over whats just happened in his head. He’s deciding what to do. I wonder if he’ll hit me. I hope not. Nik’s a bit bigger than me. Almost all the kids in the year are. I don’t want to get into a fight now. I’ll lose, and that will make the whole afternoon a waste. If he swings at me I’ll run away. But not before I kick him in the nads.

- Yeah, fuck you. How the fuck do you know you’re smarter than me? says Nik.

Nik’s not stupid. He’s actually pretty smart. His mum works in a secondhand bookstore and she brings home books for him all the time. Big books, with hard covers and long titles. Nik reads a lot. He’s not dumb. So why did I shout at him like that, in the middle of the library and make everyone look at me and the kids at the computers stop typing?

*

- It is ca-te-gor-ric-ly im-possible to travel at the speed of light, I say proudly.

I take my time on the words, to make sure the boys hear them. I wait for them to be impressed. I wait for the gasps of admiration. I bet they don’t know about Einstein. Not like I do.

- Really? says dimitri.

- Yeah, how do you know? says Nik. We could discover some amazing new fuel or something.

Brilliant, I think. I was hoping someone would challenge me.

To Be Continued …