Batgirl
It was the end of the school day and we had just been handed our year seven, final reports.
Summer was sticky in the stuffy, faded brown, steel panelled portable we were crammed into. To top it off, the air-conditioner was forever out of order. Bolted to the ceiling hung an old, bent, paint chipped, white fan that whizzed and clanked as it wobbled in an exhausted effort to do its job.
There were grass stains on socks, scuffed black leather shoes and scruffy hair do’s. The salty smell of dirty children wafted throughout the room and the distinct stench of body odour punched you in the face by the end of every hot day.
Desks were a mess of colourful, personalised folders and books, covered with patterns, pictures from magazines and graffiti. Loose, crumpled paper flapped about under pencil cases, stationery and elbows. It had been blown around all over and littered the floor from the fan’s attempt to cool the room.
Bing, Bing, Bing!
An announcement interrupted the chatter inside our dingy classroom and the voice of Mr. Pendelbury came through the PA system with wet pronunciation. Everyone found his lisp humorous. “Attention all students, congratulations on the near end of this fine year. You should now have your reports to take home to your parents or guardians, whom I’m sure, will be proud of any student that applied themselves. I would now like to announce the names of our most exceptional, academic students. They will be requested to attend our annual awards ceremony for a formal presentation of their certificates. Year seven distinctions go to, Rory Mantle, Katrina McDonald, and Elisha Kazowski…”
“Ouch!” I yelped like a puppy from the elbow my friend Sally dug into my ribs, and the whole class, all twenty-nine students had their eyes now fixed on me; Elisha Kazowski.
Some gawked, others stared, pairs whispered and a few smiled.
My teacher, Mrs. Fitz(schizo)simmons, beamed with pride. The old, senile and frail bag of bones stood there hunched over. Wrinkles dripped off her face as though she was ‘melting’ like a wicked witch from OZ, and still she looked happy.
Did I just hear right? My blurred mind questioned. I was surprised, pleased, embarrassed. Above all embarrassed.
Every student gaped at me and everyone in the entire school now knew I was a geek, square. You know, a four-sided shape with all equal sides. I was not a square, well until now I had managed to exist without being categorised.
Last year at Primary School I got ninety-nine out of one hundred on every assignment, much to my disappointment. But, on the very last project for the school year, I achieved a perfect score. I was so happy and proud. There was no embarrassment. In fact, when I was asked to return to my primary school to talk to the subsequent grade six students I was honored.
Things were changing as the high school year progressed. Puberty and hormones had kicked in. And no one knew how often I wished for good marks.
Often, I shoot hoops after school to get the answers I need from the basketball gods. A goal meant yes and a miss was a no. I also wait out at night, in secret, for the first star to appear and ask the galaxy for some luck.
Had it worked? I never verbalised to anyone what this achievement meant. An inner desire to do well at school existed in me. Although I had friends, I spent a lot of time in my own head. I was content being alone. Is it possible that my wish came true or do you achieve when you are determined?
“Well done Leash,” Sally said with proud sincerity.
“Thanks,” I mumbled, embarrassed, and fluttered my eyelashes at the speed of light while my eyeballs rolled around in their sockets.
As the principal finished up the announcement bombshell he had just dropped on me and countless other students, he congratulated us all and signed off with his usual catchphrase, “Knowledge is power. Grow your mind students. Good afternoon.”
Rrrriiinng!
Saved by the bell, like Batman I vanished.
I was up and out as quick as possible, hopeful my face wasn’t red with embarrassment. I gathered a few of my things from my locker. There were still two weeks of school before I could empty it for the year.
Head down I walked to the bus stop, after I farewelled my friends and waited. I stood there in my daggy uniform, red polo and black shorts. I hated shorts. My legs were not my best feature. My thighs rubbed when I walked.
I had my guitar with me today. Because I studied music on Thursdays at lunchtime. Like always, a boy grabbed my instrument case and pretended it had a gun in it, then passed it around. Pointing the narrow end of it at another boy. Each boy acted as though they were gangsters and could fire bullets through the case. I just want to fit in and be like everyone else, I think I will give it up.
When the bus pulled up, I hopped on and found a pair of vacant seats to sit alone.
The ride home was always a riot and today was no exception. The cool kids that sat at the back of the bus, took off the headrest covers from the seats, rolled them up, aimed and launched them down the aisles. These vinyl covers hurt if you got hit. You had to have eyes in the back of your head and supersonic hearing, ready to duck and weave around the next launched seat cover, come missile.
I arrived home unscathed and went straight to the toilet to freshen up. Then I got changed and made myself a snack of toast and orange juice.
Depositing my report on the table for my parents, I then watched some television while I ate before I headed upstairs to my room. I didn’t have any homework tonight so I just sat and read a book.
Hearing an all too familiar rustling going on downstairs. I descended to investigate. Just as I expected, Mum was home from work and she had done groceries. So, I went about helping her.
I found it hard to speak to her. She looked like she’d had a hard day at work and was tired. Huffing and puffing as she brought in the last of the groceries, and then plonked her handbag and keys down without any acknowledgment of me or for the help I gave. Also ignoring the presence of my report that now sat under her bag. Just one corner of the light blue folder peeked through on the now covered emu egg coloured tiled bench, in our country style kitchen.
When everything was put away except for the items Mum needed to make dinner for tonight, there my report sat as clear as day. Although it seemed invisible to her.
She started dinner and ordered me to make a salad and set the table. If I sat on the couch like my brother and watched television, I knew I would be in trouble. So I either helped or should have stayed in my room. But it was too late for that now.
Mum hovered over the stove, her creation, a casserole of meat and veg. And I washed and chopped up lettuce, cucumber, and tomato for the salad.
Once I’d finished my jobs and took hold of my report, I walked over to Mum and placed it right under her nose so she couldn’t ignore me. “Got my report today Mum,” I said, spitting with enthusiasm. Saliva bubbling on my lip.
Without looking at me, or the report, she replied, “That’s great Elisha, I’ll have a look at it after dinner, with your father.”
“OK,” I replied disappointed.
After I had placed everyone’s food down, I slumped down on my allocated seat at our dinner table.
Dad was home now, he took his seat at the dining table, claimed the television remote and was glued to the screen, hardly acknowledging any of us. The evening news was on.
It took, what seemed like an eternity for everyone to eat.
While I gulped down my food, and immediately after started to clear the table. Anything it took to hurry things up, so my report would get looked at. Everyone else took their time until slowly, finally they were done eating. And I was relieved to have Mum help me finish the cleaning up.
With Dad still at the now empty table, Mum handed him my report.
“Where’s yours Peter?” she called to my brother who was about to exit up the stairs to his room.
“It’s in my bag,” he replied and then got it out and brought his over.
Dad opened my brother’s first. It now sat on top.
I waited as they went over his.
Mine was beautiful, a work of art. A line of A’s and two B’s.
“Well done Elisha,” Dad said, chin high, expressionless face and with one awkward pat on my back he handed it back to me, and then turned his gaze back to the television.
Upset with the lack of fanfare, I dashed up the stairs four at a time, out of sight.
Batgirl.
