As I approached my home, raindrops danced around me, soaking my five-foot-six frame from head to toe. My short hair, tightly coiled like springs, clung to my scalp in darkened curls—a stark contrast against my smooth, mahogany skin. My uniform, typically crisp and neat, sagged heavily on my shoulders, sodden with rainwater. With each step, water sloshed beneath my worn shoes, the rhythmic splashing echoing in the empty streets.
The dull, consistent patter of rain was the only sound accompanying me as I trudged toward the sanctuary of my front door. It felt like the rain wanted to wash away more than just the dirt from my body—it wanted to wash away the day, the tension, the unspoken fears. As I stepped onto the porch, my hand paused on the door handle for just a second, steeling myself for the warmth and familiarity inside, though my mind lingered on the outside world that had turned cold and hostile.
Inside, the house greeted me with warmth that immediately began to dissolve the chill I had carried with me. The air was thick with the rich, earthy aroma of red peas soup simmering gently on the stove. The scent wrapped around me like a protective embrace, and for a moment, the weight on my chest lightened. I closed the door behind me, shutting out the rain, the world, and everything that had been gnawing at me.
Mom was there, bustling around in the kitchen, her back to me as she stirred a pot on the stove. Her tired eyes flicked over her shoulder, and as soon as she saw me, her expression softened. "Jerri, mi boy, yuh soaked to the bone!" she exclaimed, her voice warm but touched with that familiar hint of frustration.
She hurried over, dish towel in hand, reaching out to fuss over me like she always did. "Yuh must have forgot yuh umbrella again, eh?"
"Mom," I groaned, trying to avoid her hands, "I'm fine. It's just a little rain." I waved my hands around to escape her fussing, and her face lit up with a soft chuckle.
"Fine, mi pickney, but yuh not tracking water all over mi clean floors. Get on the mat!" She pointed sternly to the small mat by the door. "And Jesus Christ, don't mek me take the Lord's name in vain."
I hurried to the mat, leaving a small trail of puddles behind. She clicked her tongue, shaking her head but with a smile tugging at her lips. "Lord have mercy on mi," she muttered under her breath as she wiped the floor. "Boysie, what happened? You're soaked!"
I hesitated, casting a quick glance down at my drenched clothes. "I… I forgot my umbrella, Mom," I mumbled, trying to sound convincing, though my voice wavered slightly.
Her eyes narrowed, a knowing look creeping onto her face. "Really now? I remembered giving yuh yuh umbrella this morning."
I swallowed hard, guilt twisting in my stomach. "That was yesterday," I stammered, my heart sinking as the words left my mouth. Lying to Mom always left a bitter taste, but I couldn't tell her the truth. Couldn't tell her that the bullies had taken it, just like they'd taken everything else from me.
Her skepticism was clear, but she sighed and let it go. "Alright, then. Get out of those wet clothes and tek a warm shower. Red pea soup on the stove to warm yuh up after."
I nodded, grateful for the reprieve. The warmth of her words was like a blanket around my shoulders. I peeled off my shoes and socks, my fingers stiff from the cold rain. As I walked down the passage, the familiar smells of home—the soup, the faint scent of Mom's jasmine perfume—settled the frayed edges of my nerves.
Inside my room, the storm outside faded away, replaced by the soft hum of home. I stood in front of the doorframe, a ruler balanced on top of my head. Stepping away, I glanced up, disappointment filling me as I saw the ruler hadn't moved an inch. Still no growth. I sighed, a sense of helplessness washing over me.
The warmth of the shower melted some of that tension. Hot water streamed down my back, rinsing away the stress and worry of the day. I closed my eyes, letting the steam surround me, imagining for just a second that the water could wash away everything—Kofi's taunts, the fear, the lies.
Downstairs, a bowl of red peas soup was waiting. The kitchen table was set, and Mom's tired face lit up when I joined her. I sat down, the warmth of the soup rising up in gentle spirals, filling the air with rich, comforting aromas. As I took the first bite, the tender beef practically melted in my mouth, mingling with creamy coconut milk, sweet potatoes, and the subtle heat of Scotch bonnet peppers. The flavors transported me to a place of warmth and safety, a place far away from the storm of emotions raging inside me.
Mom's phone rang, breaking the peaceful quiet. She frowned at the screen before answering. I focused on my soup, but I could tell by her face that the news wasn't good.
"Mi haffi start mi shift early," she sighed, setting the phone down with a weary expression. "Is always one thing or the next. Dem want me fi work extra hours, and just deh day mi haffi deal wid some loud passengers pon mi flight."
I looked up, worry creasing my brow. "Mom, yuh tired. Maybe yuh could take a day off?"
She shook her head, brushing off the suggestion. "Ah boy, yuh know how it is. Mi cya afford to tek time off. Mi need this job." She smiled weakly, trying to reassure me, but I could see the exhaustion etched into her features.
As much as she tried to downplay it, I knew the strain she was under. But I also knew that if I said too much, she'd just brush it off. Instead, I took another spoonful of soup, letting its warmth fill the silence between us.
"I'm just glad to have moments like these where we can sit and eat together," she said softly, her voice tinged with sadness. "With mi schedule, we hardly get time like this anymore."
I nodded, the weight of her words settling over me. These quiet moments were rare, and even rarer were the times I could truly relax. But tonight, the news changed all that.
As Mom switched on the TV, the grim headlines filled the screen. Gangs were clashing in town. Reports of violence, shootings, deaths. The flashing sirens on the screen made my heart sink further. The chaos outside felt like it was closing in.
I couldn't handle it anymore. Quietly, I got up from the table, placed my bowl in the sink, and retreated down the hallway. The weight of the day pressed down on me as I sank into my chair, booting up my computer. "Elder Scrolls: Oblivion" loaded up, the familiar opening music pulling me into a world far away from the real one.
I became Bardroc, the fearless Argonian. The game was a perfect distraction—a place where I could be powerful, where I could win. Every battle, every victory felt like a small escape, a small triumph over the things I couldn't control. In the dark caverns, Bardroc readied his bow, preparing for the final monster.
"Jerri! You no hear me calling yuh name?"
I ripped off my headset, startled. "Mom?"
"Come lock di door and di grill. And don't mek me catch yuh up late playin' this game when yuh supposed to be in bed."
I groaned but dragged myself up from the chair. "Okay, I'm coming."
As she was about to leave for work, I suddenly remembered the permission slip for the school trip. I hadn't given it to her, and a part of me didn't want to. The thought of going, of facing Kofi on the trip—it was too much. My hands hesitated as I fumbled through my wet bag, finding the crumpled slip still dry at the bottom.
Just as Mom stepped through the gate, I stood there, the permission slip in my hand. But the words stuck in my throat. I couldn't bring myself to give it to her.
"Jeremiah, wash di dishes before bed," she called over her shoulder before disappearing into the night.
I sighed, slumped against the door, and watched her go. Back in my room, the game screen flickered in the dim light, but I felt no pull to play. I shut it down, crawled into bed, and pulled the blanket over my head, the faint sound of the news still echoing in the background.
My eyes were heavy, and sleep came in fragments—shallow and restless, filled with flashes of the day's humiliations.
But sometime in the middle of the night, when the house was quiet and the rain had stopped, my mom, exhausted from her shift, quietly entered my room. She moved about with practiced silence, collecting the scattered items I'd left lying around in my bag. She found my crumpled permission slip for the Blue Mountain trip at the bottom, barely hidden. Her tired eyes softened as she smoothed out the paper, her fingers tracing over my name on the form. Without saying a word, she signed it, shaking her head at the thought of how I'd almost forgotten something so important.
She carefully laid out my damp books to dry, laying out a new pair of my uniform neatly before tiptoeing out of my room. Even as I slept, I could feel the quiet comfort of her care, though the guilt of hiding things from her weighed heavily on me.
The next morning, I woke up with a heaviness in my chest. The faint light filtering through my curtains did nothing to lift the weight of dread that had settled over me. I dragged myself out of bed, my limbs sluggish as though they were resisting the day ahead.
I got ready in silence, pulling on my uniform with mechanical precision. As I stood at the mirror, I took a moment to press the ruler against my head again, hoping for some change. But, just like yesterday, nothing had changed. Still the same height. Still the same me.
The breakfast table was empty, the remnants of last night's soup already cleared away. Mom had left early for her shift, and the house felt eerily quiet. The loneliness clung to me as I stepped outside, the dampness of the previous night's rain still hanging in the air.
Each step toward school felt heavier than the last. Anxiety gnawed at my stomach, twisting it into tight knots as I approached the gates. My eyes darted nervously from one corner to another, scanning the crowd, searching for any sign of Kofi or his friends.
For a brief moment, I thought I had made it. I was close to the entrance, the safety of the classroom just within reach. But then I saw him.
Kofi stood casually by the doorframe, his broad shoulders slouched as he lazily swung my umbrella in his hand. His friends flanked him on either side, their eyes gleaming with the anticipation of what was to come.
"Look who it is," Kofi sneered, his voice carrying easily over the chatter of students. He twirled the umbrella, flashing me that familiar smirk that always sent a chill down my spine. "Lose yuh umbrella, Jeremiah? Or yuh lettin' us hold it for yuh?"
I froze, my heart hammering against my chest. My feet felt glued to the pavement, and for a split second, I considered turning around, running, just getting away. But I knew it wouldn't make a difference. They'd catch up, like they always did.
Kofi stepped closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over me. "You forgot your umbrella, huh?" he asked, his tone mocking, tapping the umbrella against my shoulder. Not hard, but enough to make me flinch.
"I… I was looking for it," I whispered, my voice barely audible.
His grin widened, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. "Oh, so now yuh forgetful too, eh? Must be forgettin' yuh place around here."
I clenched my fists, trying to control the shaking in my hands. My throat felt tight, like the words were stuck somewhere deep down. "I just… I just want it back."
Without warning, Kofi let out a bark of laughter, tossing the umbrella across the courtyard. It skidded across the pavement, the sound grating against my ears. "Go fetch it, then."
His friends erupted into laughter, their voices loud and cutting, echoing through the courtyard. Humiliation burned hot in my chest, but I didn't hesitate. I hurried after the umbrella, grabbing it with trembling hands. My fingers tightened around the handle, my knuckles white with tension.
When I straightened up, I could still hear their laughter behind me, taunting and sharp. I kept my head down as I made my way into the classroom, the weight of their words hanging over me like a heavy cloud.
Inside, the room felt no safer than the outside. My legs felt like they were made of lead as I slid into my seat, my hands still shaking slightly. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but my heart was still pounding in my ears.
The teacher's voice droned on in the background, but I couldn't focus. All I could think about was Kofi and his friends, the look on their faces, the way they had laughed at me. I felt small, insignificant. It didn't matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't escape them.
I closed my eyes for a moment, wishing I could disappear, wishing that I could find the courage to stand up to them. But every time I tried, every time I thought I might be able to fight back, that same fear would creep in, freezing me in place.
The rest of the school day passed in a blur. I moved through the motions, barely aware of my surroundings, just trying to make it through. The bell at the end of the day and I thought I could finally escape the endless droning of lessons and the sidelong glances from Kofi. But just as I was about to pack up and leave, our teacher, Mr. Johnson, called for everyone to stay seated.
"Before anyone goes," he began, waving a stack of permission slips in the air, "I have the final list for the Blue Mountain trip this weekend. If you haven't handed in your form, today's your last chance."
I froze, my heart sinking. My hand instinctively reached for my bag, the dread returning in full force. The permission slip—Mom must have signed it. My fingers brushed the familiar paper at the bottom of my bag, still slightly crinkled but dry.
"Jeremiah," Mr. Johnson called, his voice making my stomach lurch, "I've got yours right here.Your mother called to confirm that she signed your permission slip and she was okay with you going just incase you forgot it". He smiled at me, oblivious to the internal turmoil I felt and I took the slip out of my bag and handed it to him.
I nodded dumbly, feeling the weight of the moment press down on me. There was no backing out now. He shuffled the rest of the slips and reminded us all to wait back a little—"The bus is on its way, so don't wander off. We'll all meet here and head straight out."
The classroom buzzed with excitement, everyone looking forward to the adventure, but all I could think about was how Kofi would be there, too. The trip felt less like an escape and more like another battleground I wasn't prepared for.