At our school there was a girl an orphan. She lived with her granny, a very old, devout woman who wore a threadbare habit and a white kerchief. Every Sunday they walked past our house to the parish church, both as skinny and fragile as reeds, their heads wrapped in snowwhite scarves. Rumour had it that Granny forbade her to watch the telly, to eat sweets or laugh with her mouth open, lest the devils slip in, and she made her wash her face with icy water.
We teased the girl. She stared at us with dull, adult eyes and whispered, Lord, have mercy on them; they do not know what theyre doing. No one befriended her; they called her mad. Her name was Ethel, sometimes Angel.
In my childhood the school cafeteria was never tasty, but on Fridays there were jam scones with tea, or sausage rolls dusted with cocoa and a tiny chocolate bar. One day, while the older boys were pushing Ethel, she collided with me; I crashed into a tray that held cups of hot chocolate, and the whole chocolate river spilled over two senior pupils.
Whoa, they said.
Run, I shouted, grabbing Ethels hand, and we bolted toward our classroom.
I imagined a platoon of Cumbrian hunters and a herd of wild buffalo lunging after us, their hooves echoing with a haunting ululu. The last two lessons were maths. Behind the glass door two hulking silhouettes loomed. Occasionally the door cracked ajar, two heads peered in, then vanished with a rustle. I understood that what awaited us was, as the classics would put it, an investigation, a trial, and a verdict.
The point is to slip out unnoticed, then I know a way up to the attic; well hide there until dark and then dash home.
No, Ethel replied, well go the way girls go in daylight, quietly.
But, Ethel, there are those theyll
What? Theyll pour kefir on our heads? Throw us out? Beat the fifthform girls?
Well
Even if they beat us, itll be once. If you dont go, youll live in terror every day.
We left the room with the rest, as proper girls should, modestly. Two senior boys leaned against the wall.
Hey, little ones, lost something? one said, holding my Mickey Mousestamped wallet and ten pounds (for the swimming pool and art studio).
Here, he thrust the wallet into my hand, and dont run off again.
I walked home, swinging my satchel, feeling how sweet life could be, how everything had turned out fine, and how lucky I was to have a new friend.
Shall I call Mum? Shell ring your gran, get you excused, and we can watch cartoons at my place. Or is that not allowed?
Ethel rolled her eyes.
Lets go, grab the waffles with condensed milk granny baked today.
We stayed friends for many years, until life scattered us to opposite corners of the world.
I still remember that one time.
Leaping from the high dive into the blue mirror of the pool was terrifying but terrifying only once.
Trying something new is frightening. What if the worst happens? Theyll call me a fool, just once. Then Ill tell myself that every day.
Fear is scary once, or every day.
You conquer fear once, or it lives inside you, haunting your life day after day.
There is a choice
