Abhay's Bhay

“If you lay a hand on me again, I’ll rip your arm off and smack you with it till you see stars!” a prepubescent voice rang over the shouts and cries of the cafeteria.

Ahmed winced at the stretch caused to his arms by the people dragging him away from Jacob, the owner of the voice who himself was being dragged away in the opposite direction.

How did this escalate this quickly?

Ahmed tried to speak, but a sharp pain emanating from his cheek and the throbbing of the whole left side of his face drew his attention. After being dragged to the other side of the cafeteria without any resistance he was let go. His left hand shot up to his face, cool fingers on a hot cheek. His eyes sought out Jacob across the room, still struggling against the hands holding him back. Kids were crowding around Jacob and Ahmed, savoring the drama. Ahmed felt his face flushing further, his vision turning red.

Chloe’s face appeared out of the crowd, “Mr. Jackson and Ms. Lopez are coming. Stay here, Ahm, don’t do anything else.” Ahmed barely heard her, his heartbeat loud in his ears.

The crowd parted as the two teachers entered the cafeteria, the noise of the kids lessening immediately. Chloe disappeared back into the crowd. Kids got down from the lunch tables. Jacob, though, continued thrashing against the people holding him. The teachers talked briefly to the food attendants and the other kids before splitting. Ms. Lopez moving towards Jacob and Mr. Jackson walking towards Ahmed.

That’s just great, Ahmed thought. He was in Mr. Jackson’s class, but he wasn’t really his star student, no, that was Jacob. Mr. Jackson was the most senior staff member of the faculty, being with the school for almost two decades. He was a tall man with salt and pepper hair and a light beard. His attire was very much the signature physical education teacher, with his sports shoes, windbreaker, casual pants and a whistle around his neck.

What kind of trouble was he in? all Ahmed wanted to do was bash Jacob’s stupid face in. He couldn’t look around into the eyes of the crowd either. All these kids would be laughing at him for the rest of his life.

“You alright?” Mr. Jackson asked, offering his hand to him as he’s still sitting on the floor.

“I don’t know.” Ahmed responded taking the hand. He was heaved up almost too easily.

“Fair enough,” Mr. Jackson said, looking away, his eyes surveying the crowd. “Follow me.”

Without waiting, he started walking out of the cafeteria through the corridor. Not wanting to be left alone with the mob of kids, Ahmed hurried behind him. As they moved away from the chaos, the noise of the cafeteria faded, replaced by the slow hum of the school’s heating system. Ahmed’s breathing was still heavy, his nostrils flaring with the remnants of anger and adrenaline. The silence of the corridor felt stark in contrast, each step echoing slightly. Ahmed’s thoughts were a whirlwind, the sting on his cheek a constant reminder of Jacob’s punch. He glanced at the walls lined with student artwork and bulletin boards, trying to ground himself.

Mr. Jackson’s pace was steady and purposeful, his tall frame cutting a calm figure in the almost empty hallway. Despite his racing heart, he found comfort in the teacher’s presence. As they reached an empty classroom, Mr. Jackson pushed the door open and stepped inside, holding the door open for Ahmed. The room was bathed in soft afternoon light, casting shadows on the floor. Ahmed hesitated at the door, before walking in. Mr. Jackson stood by the window, gazing outside. The quiet of the room enveloping both of them. His chest feeling heavy with the weight of the situation, added by the uncertainty about what was to come.

“Have a seat, Ahmed,” Mr. Jackson said, gesturing to one of the desks. Ahmed nodded, his legs unsteady as he walked over and sat down. Adrenaline was wearing off, leaving behind a mixture of exhaustion and confusion. Mr. Jackson turned to face him, leaning against the window sill with his arms crossed. A moment passed in silence, filled only by the distant sounds of the school. Ahmed’s eyes darted around the room, taking in the empty seats and the odd pictures decorating the walls.

“Let’s talk about what happened.” Mr. Jackson began, drawing Ahmed’s attention back towards him. Ahmed’s breathing quickened as his mind started racing through the chain of events that had just occurred ending up with him getting punched.

What am I even supposed to tell him? Will he even believe me?

“They say you threw the first punch,” Mr. Jackson remarked, his tone even and composed.

Ahmed’s initial reaction was one of disbelief, his cheeks burning with hurt and indignation. “What?!” he exclaimed, his voice betraying the frustration he was feeling.

Mr. Jackson remained unfazed, his posture calm as he leaned against the window frame. “Your face is swelling up kid. Hope it doesn’t leave a mark,” he commented, his sight unwavering. Ahmed wanted to yell, frustration welling up inside him, threatening to boil over. His fists clenched and unclenched, emotions hard to rein in. “I did not throw the first punch. I didn’t throw any punches at all!” he declared, his voice trembling with suppressed anger.

“I’m told you boys had been bickering all morning, till you hit him just now and he retaliated.”

Ahmed realized he was sitting white knuckled. His heart pounding, eyes shut, a sharp pain began behind his eyeballs. That punk Jacob. He needed to be taught a lesson. How will he explain this to his father? His mother will probably have a heart attack. The principal would believe him, right? No, not really. No one ever believed him. He’d have to change schools, start over again. Maybe that wouldn’t be a bad thing. His leg began bouncing uncontrollably as these thoughts raced through his head.

A hand on his shoulder brought him back. He opened his eyes to see Mr. Jackson had closed the distance between them, his eyes concerned and a gentle smile on his face. He offered him a water bottle. Ahmed took the bottle thanking him, swallowed big gulps of water and took deep breaths to compose himself.

Mr. Jackson leaned back, his hands forward on top of one another and gave him a moment. “Well?” he began, “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Ahmed’s mind went blank. What could he say? He just shook his head. “What does it matter anyway?” He replied, his shoulders sagging.

Mr. Jackson’s brows shot up, not expecting the response. “What does it matter? How about everything, my dear boy.”

Ahmed snarled, hearing condescension in Mr. Jackson’s voice, and snapped back, “No, it doesn’t matter at all, Mr. Jackson, that’s just something people say to make themselves and others feel better. You know why? Because Jacob has been an asshole to both Chloe and me since the school year started, and no one saw that. He took a cup of pudding at lunch and threw it at me,” he pointed to a stain on his shirt, “and no one saw that either. But when I stood up and placed my hand on his shoulder, asking him to stop bothering us, he punches me right here.” He pointed to his shutting eye as his cheek swelling up, red and throbbing, his voice drenched in pain, “everyone saw it but only in the most distorted way. I’m going to be disciplined by the school and by my family. Jacob on the other hand, will be back in the cafeteria being a menace in no time. Everyone will laugh at me for the rest of my life. I will have to change schools. You, though, will not lose you star pupil in Jacob, so do not worry. But please, do not feel bad for me!” He finished, breathing heavily.

Mr. Jackson stayed still, his eyes on Ahmed, his face impassive. Ahmed looked down, not being able to hold his gaze. A moment hung between them.

“Have you met Woofles yet?”

Ahmed raised his head to see Mr. Jackson walking towards the back of the room without waiting for a response. Still tense, he managed to croak, “No sir, I have not.”

“Well, come here then, allow me to introduce you two.”

Intrigued, he followed Mr. Jackson’s steps to find a chubby little hamster that was the grade 3 class pet. Its orange, black and white fur was all frazzled. It sat in its cage munching on grass, its nose twitching, beady eyes not registering the spectators. Mr. Jackson rummaged through the drawers and fished out a few fresh cherries. He offered one to Ahmed, who declined. What was the point of all this?

“Suit yourself.” He said as he popped a cherry in his mouth, and his other hand unclasped the top of Woofles’ cage. He held the cherry between two fingers, showcasing it for Ahmed, then lowered it into the cage. Woofles perked up, head jolting upwards and nose twitching furiously, smelling the treat. Mr. Jackson kept the treat out of reach as Woofles reached out with his tiny hands, begging, waddling around its cage following Mr. Jackson’s hand.

Despite himself, Ahmed let out a small giggle watching the creature’s ridiculous antics. Mr. Jackson smirked and finally gave the treat. Woofles dug in with a passion.

“Do you know what ‘sonder’ means Mr. Rashid? Have you ever heard the word?”

“I can’t say I have, sir.” Ahmed said, turning away from the cage.

Mr. Jackson nodded, turned to face him, and leaned on the desk. Ahmed faced Mr. Jackson.

“I need you to humor me for a moment, ok? I’m going to ask you some questions. You do not have to respond, just think about the answers. Can you do that?”

Ahmed nodded, hesitant, his intrigue building. Mr. Jackson gestured for him to close his eyes.

“Good. I want you to go through your memories in your mind. Think about your life. About some happy moments. What pops in your mind when I ask what is the happiest you have ever been?”

Was it last year’s family ski trip? While coming downhill, he managed to avoid crashing into this little girl, who came in his way out of nowhere, by jumping over her and missing her head by a hair’s breadth. The bystander applauded for him, and he was recognized by multiple people as the jumping kid during the rest of their stay. He had felt like a superhero.

“Now think of some sad moments you’ve been through. What comes to your mind?”

Ahmed was thinking of Mochi, their cat had passed away three months ago. She had been in the family since before he was born. He had never seen his father cry till the day Mochi left the world. He remembered the hug his mother gave him, grief flowing through the two of them.

“How about a time when you felt guilty?”

He thought of when he was a kid, he had broken a vase and blamed his brother. His brother had gotten an earful while he got away unscathed. He felt horrible for lying and was sure his brother would hurt him. His brother never said anything to their parents though.

“Now open your eyes,” he found Mr. Jackson still in front of him, his lips arched in a gentle smile, “Isn’t it cool that you have a memory that fits all those emotions? Emotions are what make us human,, right?”

“I guess,” said Ahmed, not sure what else to say.

“A good first step. Guessing is mostly all you can ever do anyway. Now I want you to close your eyes again, but this time think about me.”

“You want me to do what?”

“Think about my life! Think of what my happiest moment is. My saddest memory. What series of events would’ve led me to these emotions?” He encouraged, his eyes huge.

Ahmed closed his eyes, brows furrowed, perplexed. What did he know about Mr. Jackson? What kind of life had he lived to be a school Phys Ed teacher? He had always assumed Mr. Jackson didn’t like him. Jacob and others got his attention in classes. But the Mr. Jackson in front of him seemed warm and friendly. Did he even know him?

Ahmed opened his eyes to meet Mr. Jackson’s gaze. He smiled, the crows feet around his eyes deepening as he spoke softly, “The realization that everyone around you is living a life just as complex, just as detailed as you yourself, with their own agendas, goals, thoughts and dreams, is known as sonder. You and I? We’re just one of many.”

Ahmed blinked, taking in this information. It seemed like he knew this already, still the implication that everyone is just doing their own thing seemed strange.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“You seemed really worried about what the other kids were going to say about you, for your whole life. I just wanted to shift your perspective a little.”

Ahmed grabbed his head. What was Mr. Jackson doing to him? Woofles sat sniffing around, looking for more treats.

“What kind of life do you think Jacob lives? Do you think he’s happy at home? Is his mother loving? Is his father proud?” asked Mr. Jackson looking into the distance.

Ahmed had no clue. Did Jacob’s family know what a tyrant he is, or were they oblivious?

“You want to know what I think?”

Ahmed looked at Mr. Jackson, who was eyeing Woofles. “What do you think, Mr. Jackson?”

“I think we’re all just people. Everyone is trying to do their best. Nobody can control life. Everyone is reacting to the world as it happens to them. It’s the human thing to do just to think about ourselves.”

Ahmed nodded his head, “Doesn’t that mean everyone is self-centred?”

“Everyone is inherently self centred. But people are a lot more than one character trait. Putting it simply, people are the sum of two parts of their lives.”

“What would those be?”

A smile spread on Mr. Jackson’s lips, “Part One is what people are surrounded with. Part Two is what people surround themselves with.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?” Ahmed scratched his head.

“Not at all, dear boy.” Mr. Jackson pulled a chair close to him. He sat down, moving his hands for emphasis as he talked, “See, Part One of your life, you have no control over. You don’t get a say in where you are born, what your name is, what faith or moral code you’ll have as you’re growing up. This part is taught to you by your family or people raising you.”

So far making sense to Ahmed, he nodded.

“Part Two however, is where you begin to choose for yourself. What kind of people you hang out with, what music you listen to, books you read, media you consume? What ambition you acquire? How you react to the world,” he leaned forward, placing his hand on Ahmed’s shoulder, “is what defines you as who you are.”

Ahmed leaned back in his chair, eyes on the ceiling, brain processing.

Mr. Jackson turned towards Woofles, his lips still graced by a smile. He fished another cherry out of the drawer and tossed it in Woofles cage. The little creature toddled over to it and megan munching. It’s beady eyes staring at nothing while it’s mouth moved hungrily. It looked so ridiculou, Ahmed couldn’t help but laugh.

“You think Woofles here cares if someone is laughing at it?”

“No sir, it looks content.”

“Precisely. Do yourself a favor and stop making assumptions about stuff you know nothing about and live a little. If things look bad, just take a step back.” said Mr. Jackson as he stood up and walked to the front of the class.

Ahmed sat in his chair, a sense of clarity taking root in his mind. “Yes sir.”

A moment passed.

“Alright kid, we still got to get you to the principal’s office.” He held the door open for them as Ahmed shuffled out of the class. The hallway was teeming with life again, lunch coming to an end. Mr. Jackson cleaved the halls, students circling around them. What will he say to the principal? They turned the corner into the hallway leading to principal’s office.

“One last question.” Mr. Jackson interjected, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “who do you think is the smartest teacher in this school?”

Ahmed blinked in surprise, caught off guard. “Umm, Mrs. Heron?”

“You say that because she teaches science?” Mr. Jackson quipped.

“Yeah.” Ahmed admitted.

“Wrong answer. the correct answer is me,” he declared, pointing both his thumbs towards himself, “See, she gets to check homework while I get to play ball everyday.”

Ahmed couldn’t help but laugh, “You make a lot of sense Mr. Jackson.”

Mr. Jackson left Ahmed outside the principal’s office, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before walking away. His footsteps giving off low echoes in the empty hallway. Ahmed noticed Jacob sitting on the bench, his face contorted.

Jacob glanced at Ahmed, fists clenched. “This is your fault,” he muttered, his voice trembling.

Ahmed, uncertain how to respond, just stood there. Adrenaline rom before now replaced with swirling confusion. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it, unsure of what to say.

The principal’s door opened. “Ahmed, Jacob, please come in.”

They exchanged one last tense glance before entering.