“Kayla”chapter two

“‘Can I see it?’ asked a girl to my far left,” whom she’d been in a healthy conversation with before I took my seat. I watched as my schedule sheet was held out to her.

Eyes wide with eyebrows pulled against her forehead, “the girl exclaimed upon going through the contents. ‘He’s got Miss Montes for third period.'”

I was at my desk fumbling to appear busy so as to prevent evoking questions from arising. Besides, I have no clue who Miss Montes is; what in the world of teachers is strange about having her for third period?

I found everything wrong with why the girl had to exclaim but of course, I kept that to myself.

I got startled back to reality by the sound of an indication bell. In a split of a second, my paper was handed back to me at arm length, and all of a sudden the room was stirred up as everyone got up crashing into each other toward the door like they’d been told to run for their lives. In twos and threes and perhaps fives we finally squeezed our ways outside only to my dismay that nothing– aside teenagers leaning against walls with their girlfriends’ lips stuck to theirs– was happening. My first-school-day-friend and her comrades from the Advisory class were not inclusive, they were few steps ahead of me rambling about what was none of my business, and then suddenly, I reckon my friend sagging behind so that I catch up and walk alongside her- which I did. Like the other students, we burst through the heavy crowd of students who were aiming toward their individual classes. With the exception of those that thought the school wall was an impeccable joint to express their affections. I kept my cool as we both walked as mute as darkness down the hallway till we got to a junction where she took the right lane without saying a word, not even, “hey dummy I’m going this way!”

That would have been mean if she had but at least she’d have made it clear she acknowledged walking with a human being and not a wood, a wood not worth a fire-wood. I stood by the junction as dumb as Mr. Bean, staring at her dangling brown curly hair as she receded farther and farther disappearing into the massive crowd leaving an imagery of herself in the eye of my mind.

“‘What foolishness I term shyness?’ I puzzled myself when I was able to pull me together.”

Like my first Samaritan, I found someone to coach me to my next class, except that he appeared extremely vigilant and not aimless.

The second day of school was nevertheless a battle I’d rather phrase “Me Against My Instincts.”

I walked into my Advisory class flaming from confidence.

“‘Hei, sap!?’said the instructor.”

“‘Hi.’ I said,” as I curled into the same desk I’d sat in the day before.

A blend of smiles, a soothing “hiii” sound, accompanied by a flash of fingers rose from the side.

“‘Hi!’ I said back,” as I trembled to put out a smile. I bet that smile stood a great chance of being the ugliest smile under the sun.

I’m not a ladies man but I was far from lady-shy in Accra, the capital of Ghana. Why now? I was the kind that told-it-as-it-felt in the lowermost part of the heart to any lady.

Why shy away from a girl that’s not close to someone I’d love to hang out with? Okay, that’s a lie, but, well, at least not in this episode of my life…

Series and series of questions oozed from all angles of my brain; got me sweating under my toes for answers that never came.

Few months had exhausted and I’d finally been able to purchase a phone that only functioned within the circumference of my home on account of the fact that it depended on WiFi only.

Glued to my desk; from the corner of my eye I noticed lady-by-me getting at everything possible to catch a glimpse of what was going on on the touch screen, and then the unexpected happened: she hastily tapped on the search button on my Instagram app.

“‘It’s not connected.’ I whispered to her,” unwillingly and embarrassed.

“‘You wanna look me up? I’ll follow you back when I get home.’ I added,” attempting to appear determined.

“‘Yeah sure.’ She replied,” excitedly.

I couldn’t wait to get home– an absolute fact every young man in my position can’t deny.

‘Kayla xivivi…’ perhaps a thousand more of the xivis was what I saw on my phone as I walked up the stairs at home.

In the pictures, Kayla appeared energetic despite the static nature of the images; her white skin, spotless; her brown hair, almost at waist-length; her choice of fashion, eloquent; her structure, the model type– then certain things I’d condemned with all might made sense all at once: do the guys by the school walls see in each other what I’d just seen on my phone?

Kayla was not only cute, she was kind at heart.

“‘I told my mum I’d made friends with this African guy who’d just started school at Wagner and she said that’s good and that I could help you.’ She once told me as we stalk down the hallway.”

I wasn’t sure of the kind of help I’d ever ask of Kayla but I can’t blame her as the average American’s knowledge of Africa is a jungle embedded with black human species–thus if we’re ever considered humans.

In my second period, I’d been so unfortunate to have had an extravagantly fat black girl who thought she was in the pride of place with the nerves of being a bully– I emphasized on her fatness because she stood a great chance of being a victim of bully than I did, and of her being black on the basis that she was the least person I’d think of being a bully to her own.

That girl gave me a hell of sleepless nights.

If one ever wish for any crisp definition of the word “opposite,” Kayla was an entire opposite of the fat-black-girl, who made me almost hated being an African, in fact, Kayla wanted my friendship purposely because I was African.

–to be continued

Writer:

Abdul Amadu Jaramillo, a student of Wagner High School.

“Kayla”chapter one

It was the first day of school, I mean the first day I had started school– to be precise. Summer was over and Autumn was on its brink stages. Though Summer was history its memories lingered in the heads of most students like clouds of dust suspended in a construction site– following the individual rantings going on in classes about how they’d spent Summer in the Heart Of The Moon and how they’d wish the vacation lasted till eternity.

From the Counselor’s Office, I was handed a blue sheet of paper contented with scheduled classes and their appropriate times. As at then and there, it was time for Advisory class but how in heavens was I supposed to locate Room No. D142 out of a seemingly outrageous number of rooms?

With the help of a student who seemed to be wandering about aimlessly in the hallways, I was able to locate my Advisory class.

From the teachings of my African heritage, I knocked on the door. No response. Standing before the door swollen from confusions bombarding in my head, I decided to swing open the heavy steel door with an effort that lacked confidence– which gave me out like a born-moron.

Heads swiveled in my direction when I walked through the door, and I felt a sudden urge run through my veins to display what shyness entailed but I thought that will be stupid and besides, I didn’t want to be a perfect headline for discussions for the rest of the day or who knows when. I had to gather an urgent momentum and I did just that. When I motioned toward the instructor’s ends I held out the blue sheet clutched in my hand and quickly muttered to him– in an obviously strange accent to my allies.

“I have you for Advisory.”

“‘ Lemme check reeal quick?’ He replied in a naked-tongue-twisting-accent.” Swear if I try that any day I might risk breaking my jaw.

I held back my hand and waited as he took all the time known to “man” surveying the system on his computer to locate my mysterious name. If this was in Ghana I would have long been sunk into my assigned desk and began wondering if Chemistry and Physics were introduced with the mission of having me study my soul to death, I thought to myself while waiting on him. He found my name but reluctantly asked where I had come from, because– from my intuition — he thought the read of that name belonged elsewhere. Not in the United States. Not anywhere within the sphere of his scope. He had an expression on his face that makes it quite visible to a healthy mind that, he was having a nightmare pronouncing the name: the kind of nightmare that made one lifted a swift punch in the air in an effort to strike loose him or herself from an enemy.

“‘I came from Ghana,’ I said.”

“‘Haa lon u bin hierr?’ he asked with a vehement curiosity.”

I gazed at the top right corner of the white ceiling, struggling to recall when.

“‘Two months ago,’ I replied.”

“‘Wow! u welcam to de Unied states. U lyk e hierr?’ he added.”

“‘Oh thank you Sir. Hmm not really.’I whispered back.”

By then, all eyes, all ears and every soul in the room was dedicated to our chitchats, which engulfed me in a steam of nervousness.

“‘Sori bout tha, buh u gon ge yus to e, u wil lyk e; wtras mi.’ He assured me with faith.”

I smiled, shyly.

“‘U ken si’t a anywerr u wan, fil frii.’ He added.”

Right behind me was one of the many unoccupied desks, sandwiched between two students: a lady to the left and a young chap– who gave an impression that said, had it not been this law about kids his age being in school he’d have been behind a TV set watching the movie ” The Nightmare Before Christmas” or “A Bug’s Life.” In actual fact, we’d simply conclude, school bugs his life– sat in the opposite. I sat amidst them. Unlike the companion on my immediate right, who gave no sign of my recognition, the lady hesitantly asked my name and enquired if she can have a glance at my schedule.

“‘Sure!’I said, as I handed it over to her.”

She scrutinized it and found it disappointing that she had no classes with me aside Advisory.

“‘How old are you?’ She asked.”

“‘I’m 17.’ I replied.”

“Why are you a Freshman?”

“‘I don’t know.’ I said,” as I struggled to maintain my composure and a sense of dignity.

–to be continued

Writer:

Abdul Amadu Jaramillo, a student of Wagner High School.

 

With no… yet…

 

Life with no content– yet they live hope

Soul with no flesh– yet they build mountains

Veins with no blood– yet they accumulate offsprings

Tongueless –yet they scream silence

Heads with no brains– yet they jot wisdom

Imposed themselves with no conscience– yet they rose in the dungeon

And the Image Sacred Heart of Jesus dangle on high with no dirt– with which they preach the worlds– yet they live evil

And our tears made oceans— yet rain had guts to fall…

Abdul  Amadu Jaramillo