At St. Andrews Primary in York we had a girl an orphan. She lived with her greatgrandmother, a frail, devout old woman who clung to the church like a lifeline. Every Sunday they walked arminarm past our school, both slight and fragile, their heads wrapped in plain white bonnets. Rumour had it that the old lady barred her from television, sweets, even a laugh that showed her teeth, insisting she splash her face with icy water so no devil could slip in.
The other pupils tormented her. She met us with a grey, worldworn stare and whispered, Lord, have mercy on them; they know not what they do. No one befriended her they called her odd, called her Emily.
In my childhood the school canteen never served anything tasty, but on Fridays there were teacakes with cocoaglazed sausage rolls and a tiny chocolate bar. One day, while teasing Emily, a boy shoved her; she collided with me, and the tray shed been holding tipped, spilling a river of hot cocoa over two senior pupils.
Fine then, the seniors muttered.
Run, I shouted, seized Emilys hand, and we bolted toward our classroom.
It felt as if a band of marauders and a herd of cattle were thundering after us, hooves and shouts echoing down the corridor. The last two periods were maths. Behind the glass door two tall, looming figures shifted; the door cracked open now and then, letting two heads peek, then disappear. I knew what lay ahead a grim inquiry, a courtroom, a verdict, perhaps even execution.
Slip out unnoticed, then I know a hatch to the attic. Well hide there until darkness and make a break for home, I whispered.
Emily shook her head. Well go the proper way modest, like proper girls.
But Emily, they
What? Theyll pour kefir on us? Beat us?
Even if they beat us, itll be once. If you dont go, fear will sit on your shoulder every day.
We left the class with the rest of the students, as girls were expected to, quietly, demurely. Two seniors leaned against the wall.
Hey, kids, lost something? one asked, holding my wallet with a Mickey Mouse charm and ten pounds enough for the swimming pool and the art studio fees.
Here, he thrust the wallet into my hand, and dont run off again.
I walked home, backpack swinging, a strange calm settling over me, grateful for the way everything had turned out, grateful for a new friend.
Let me call my mum, shell ring your gran, get you excused and we can watch cartoons at my place. Sound alright?
Emily rolled her eyes. Well go, grab the waffles with condensed milk Grandma baked today.
We stayed close for years, until life pulled us to opposite ends of the globe.
But I still remember that one moment the terror of leaping from the high diving board into the blue pool. Fear comes once, sharp as a knife, when you try something new. What if they call me a fool? I heard myself fearing. That fear could haunt you every day, or you could face it once and let it die.
You either conquer fear in a single breath, or it lives inside you, ruling each sunrise. The choice is yours.
