All the heads of the first-graders at your table turn to look at the little boy sitting by himself.
The usual chorus of objections about the eccentric classmate circle around and he's excluded from the class party with unanimity.
Your eyes lazily slide down the line of cookie-cutter faces all so desperate to fit in that they've become one blob. One boring, uninteresting, un-fun group.
They've taken his talent and passion on the soccer field as a personal affront but personally you admire how true he is to himself though you don't realize it these terms because, y'know, you're in first grade.
So instead it comes out something like "ugh." And with a roll of your eyes you zip up your lunch box and leave the table.
A few people call after you, ask where you're going and what you're doing.
If you were older maybe you wouldn't have gone right up to Bachira's table.
Maybe you would've had a greater sense of self-consciousness that would've prevented you from taking a seat across from the school's supposed-pariah but you don't. Because again you're in first grade.
You sit down directly across from him leaving no doubt that you're here to sit with him and hear the subtle tap-tap-tap of the soccer ball he's dribbling between his own feet under the table.
Up this close you can see he's got some bruises and a band-aid across his nose.
With all the tactless conversational ability of a child you scrunch your face and ask "why's your face all messed up?"
He tilts his head, eyeing you for a moment before answering "because I kicked someone and he didn't like that."
"Why'd you kick someone?"
"Because he called me weird."
Bachira says it so nonchalantly you have no doubt that he got his revenge in the kick that had earned him all those bruises and, though the feeling is too nebulous for your young mind to be able to identify, it feels like something just clicked into place, like this is right where you're meant to be.
You give him a commending smile. "Awesome."
Bachira's eyes widen, his little mouth dropping into a surprised 'o' for a moment as he looks at you in a new light.
The tap-tap-tap under the table continues for another moment and then the ball bumps against your foot.
Smiling conspiratorially now you lightly kick it back; Bachira smiles, too, as he keeps the back-and-forth going.
From that day forward Bachira was no longer alone...in the eyes of the rest of the school.
Bachira, in his own eyes, had never been alone since he'd found his monster but he was happy to have another friend. One who seemed as uninterested in the mundane happenings of childhood as he was though you didn't particularly care for soccer. Sometimes you would do homework by the field as he played by himself--or so it appeared to you.
He liked your company. Your friendship.
But he wasn't sure how you'd feel about his monster.
He wondered if you had one of your own...what your monster might tell you to do, if you did. You were cool but after a childhood of being called a freak and a weirdo there was still a little wall around his heart.
He didn't tell you about his monster.
For the most part it was easy; his monster only ever appeared on the soccer field where you hardly ventured. And then, when he stepped off the pitch, it would fade into nothingness as he rejoined you almost as if he could only have one of you at a time. Until
He's blamed for his high school team's defeat at the championship.
Disheartened after a demoralizing post-game lecture he leaves the locker room. It's become a lonely void in his existence, this time after he leaves the pitch before you come to find him; a time without you or his monster.
A time filled with self-doubt...is he really a weirdo like he's always been told?
A time filled with fear...maybe he'll never find anyone to play with who'll make soccer fun.
And this time he feels the loneliest he's ever felt.
He avoids you. Leaving the stadium in the opposite direction of his team he sneaks out taking a long way home, stopping to sulk near the river.
It didn't make a difference.
"What the hell?!" You shout as you stomp down the bank to join him. "Why are you wallowing here like a goddamned gremlin under the bridge?"
He winces, hiding his face. You calling him a gremlin doesn't exactly soothe the ache in his chest.
"Oi! I'm talking to you!" You angrily snap. When he doesn't unfold himself or look up he hears your steps across the grass.
He expects you to sit down next to him...to offer some cliche would-be-comforting-words if he was some bland character...but you don't.
Because he's a freak, he reminds himself.
A moment later there's a quiet tap-tap-tap that's not graceful or eloquent but familiar all the same.
He peeks out a little bit to see you unskillfully passing the ball back-and-forth between your own feet. The way your face scrunches up in concentration sends a strange flutter in Bachira's chest that makes him hide his face again.
The ball gently bumps against his foot.
Without looking up he taps it back to you. You give an impatient little huff at the fact that he didn't need to look up to send it perfectly to you.
Despite the despair hanging around him, despite his fear and self-doubt, warmth flickers in his belly.
The exchange continues in silence for a few moments until you quietly admit "I heard what your team was saying to you on the field, 'Guru-kun."
This makes him feel even lonelier but you continue--
"Do you remember the first day we hung out?....That day in, what was it, first grade? When I came to sit with you at lunch?"
He nods without looking up, a lump forming in his throat; the two of you keep passing the ball back-and-forth just as you had under the table that day.
"Know why I did?" you ask. You get only a shake of his head in reply. "Because I thought you were cool. The coolest kid I'd ever seen..."
His heart swells, there's that strange hopeful warmth again.
"Because you didn't care what anyone else thought..." Your voice is soft but not gentle. Not placating. As if you're just quietly stating facts. "You were undeniably yourself...especially on the field. You played soccer the way you wanted to."
After his next pass to you the ball doesn't come back. He looks up, unable to deny his curiosity; what he sees takes his breath away.
You're standing--no towering--over him with the pad of your foot holding the ball in place, streetlight casting your face in dramatic lines but behind you swirling up as if acting as your shadow
"Stay true to that, Meguru." Your voice is quiet but commanding. "The people who'll make soccer fun are out there."
Bachira's lips quirk up as his heart beats like the dribble of a soccer ball.
"What?" you ask, brow dipping when he doesn't say anything right away.
The swelling in his chest feels like he's either going to float away or pop.
"You know...I was wallowing here." And he tells you.
He tells you everything about his hopes and dreams and, most importantly, the monster. Maybe it's masochistic. Maybe he feels like if he's going to be forever alone on the pitch he should be forever alone off the pitch alone and tells you to scare you off.
"Where the monster goes, I follow. And right now," he says in conclusion bracing himself against your unreadable expression, "it's right behind you."
"What does that mean?" you ask, tone of voice giving nothing away.
"It means my monster agrees with you. It's telling me you're right."
You contemplate this for a minute, tilting your head. "So your monster thinks...I'm cool?"
Bachira freezes for a moment as the word that leaves your mouth isn't derogatory. It's not shaming or condemning in any way.
He grins knowing it's his unrepentant full-freak-self-liberating smile, and the only thing that pops is the wall around his heart.
You grin back, matching his undiluted energy with your own and kick the ball back a little too vigorously; he catches it before it can smash his face.
"Whoops, my bad." You grin sheepishly. Bachira laughs, carefree and hopeful. You give him a fond look and then shiver. "Hey, any chance your monster's heading to get hot chocolate?"
--Bachira's eyes widen, his little mouth dropping into a surprised 'o' for a moment as he looks at you in an even newer light--
"Because I am fucking freezing."
for @vizernez for after your exams! Good luck with them and thank you for the request :) :)
