Part 2: Extract from a work-in-progress

The following Monday, I’m at my tree again. This time I’m sitting with my legs stretched out before me – my shoes polished a shiny black! I’m a quite relaxed and comfortable boy at a high school in the Boland. I actually sit there waiting for some reaction to my shoes, but there is none. These girls are going about their silly games, but SHE never comes to me – not for that whole week – till the Friday. They’re swinging each other, arm-in-arm, around their space at their tree, faster and faster, until one will let go, and go sprawling on the lawn. There will be peals of laughter as they whirl and whirl, round and round. The game is so enjoyable for them! ‘How silly can one get?’ I think to myself? They’re first-years at high school, for goodness’ sake! Then their wild game drags them out of their space, and across to my space. As they wheel past my tree, I’m just in time to see Natalie, as she whirls past, steal a glance from behind the back of one of her friends, at my feet, before breaking away from her friends and darting off, screaming, with the others in pursuit. 

‘Sneaky, hey! Smart girl!’ She has probably never mentioned her act of kindness to her friends!                  

I see Natalie, with friends, every day after that, just next tree to me, but not once, throughout the winter, and into the spring does she speak to me, or even look to my side. I’m not expecting a glance or a nod, or any sign of recognition, from her, but, goodness me, I’m sitting right here, and I’m not exactly a total stranger!                            

It can be that she has noticed that I am different from the other boys. I wear my hair very short, in a number one, crew-cut, like the guys on the street corners; I walk with a slight swagger; I seem to be a loner; my whole demeanour isn’t exactly what one would call, inviting. So maybe, that is what she sees.

From time to time, some of the bigger boys will walk past, and stop to chat. They meet behind the last classrooms at the end of the building, for a few puffs. Some other ones meet at the bottom end of the field, among some low shrubs and bossies. The bigger boys got to know me from being in the school’s barefoot rugby team, known for their entertaining brand of running rugby. They liked my game, playing from the side of the scrum, my handling skills, and disrupting the backline play of the opposing team. The boys in our barefoot team are mostly new to the school and come from different places. That’s probably why our brand of rugby has something different that spectators like on Saturday mornings. We play first on a Saturday morning, and the field will by then already, be packed with spectators.

I become engrossed in my schoolwork for the rest of the year. The next exam I want to do well. Our class is mostly children from different places: Aurora on the West Coast; Pniel; Franschhoek; Wellington, Tulbagh; Wolseley, Ceres, and Piketberg and they are all smart kids. I have seen that in the first half of the year. The competition is fierce for the first five places in class. I plan to stake a claim for one of those places in the September exam and then work harder from there, for the final exam. So far, my attention was less on schoolwork, and more on rugby, and other sport. I know very well: I’m not there for rugby alone – I’m there because my grandma wants me to become somebody in life.

I’m aware of Natalie, and notice her around, but only when we move from class to class, or when we file into class after break time. I’m not a loner at the tree anymore. I have joined a group of boys who gather right at the end of the school grounds, in a corner, behind some shrubs. It is easy to strike a friendship because most of us play in the school’s third rugby team. We will probably play together again the following year. We are also smoking buddies, down there, during break times.

So, I only get glimpses of Natalie, so now and then. In the school corridors. I may hear a familiar laugh, and when I look, they will have disappeared around a corner. Once, when lining up before school, I become aware, as one sometimes does, that someone is looking at me. I turn and see her two lines away, arms folded across her front, looking at me. She smiles at me, and I smile back. Then I lift my hand and wave her on because her line has moved, and the girl in front of her is already two metres away! I see her get a fright, jump forward, just in time, because the nastiest girl prefect is moving in her direction.

The next day, as I walk past my old tree, towards the shrubs at the bottom of the playground, I hear a voice calling out:

‘Hoeko sit jy nie mee’ hie’ nie? Tjommies gekry, nuh!’  (Why don’t you sit here, anymore? Got buddies, hey!’)

I stop in my tracks, and look sideways. There is a smile on her face, so it isn’t an accusation. I shoot back:

Wat is jou regte naam, nou actually – Michelle of Natalie? Sê eers vir my dai!     (What is your real name, – Michelle or Natalie? First tell me that, please!)

A burst of laughter comes from her friends under the tree. I feel like a fool, so I turn and walk away. The girl comes running up to me, and speaks here next to me:

‘Dis Cecile! Sy’t my gespite, want ek praat saam met ‘n jongetjie. Toe roep sy my sommer op ‘n anne’ naam! My naam is regtig Natalie! Regtig!’   (It’s Cecile! She’s spiteful, because I‘m talking to a boy. So she called me by another name. My name really is Natalie! Really!

I can see she is telling the truth. All around us are boys and girls of different ages, sitting in groups, as they do every break. I feel a bit uncomfortable.

‘So, jy praat soema met jongetjies, left right en centre!’  (So you just speak to any boy, left, right and centre!)

‘Nee! Dit issie! Ek praatie ee’s met die jongetjies innie klas ‘ie! Hoe meen jy!’  (No! It isn’t! I don’t even speak to the boys in my class! What do you mean?)

‘Jy’t saam’e mý gepraat!’  (You’ve spoken to me!)

‘Ja, ma’ dai was omlat … Jy wiet mos wat!’         (Yes, but that was because … You know what!)’

She looks away when she says that, as if it is something she does not want to discuss. I look at the girl and quietly appreciate her as a very considerate girl – beyond her years. It means the shoes incident is our secret!

‘Ek gan môre wee’ daa’ sit.’’    (I’ll be sitting there again, tomorrow.’)

‘Nuh? Dai sal nice wies!  Gan jy dannie mee’ pouses roek nie?’’     (Oh, yes? That’ll be nice so you’re not going for smokes during breaks anymore?)                                                                                                             –

And with that, she turns on her heel and is gone – really sprinting a quarter length of the field, back to the shade of the trees.

A few metres further, on my way to the shrubs, an older boy comes up to me and says I’m called over to where a group of bigger boys sit together. It is not in my nature to respond to being called over by anyone I don’t know. It gets my back up immediately. It’s the same as being asked for money in the streets; or being accosted in the manner that this boy does. But I’m curious.

‘Ek sê, van waa’s die boeta dan?’  (Say, where’s the boeta (brother) then from?)

I look at the faces. I feel a tinge of panic inside me: this is trouble! I survey the faces: all unknown to me; not friendly, and clearly street-wise laaities. I’m being challenged! I look at the speaker, and ask, in a voice that I force not to tremble:

‘Wie vannie boetas, hie’, wil dai wiet?      (Who of the boetas, here, wants to know?)

I’m not being strong-faced. I’m actually a bit afraid, but I’m not prepared to show them. No one wants to answer me. They just look me up and down. Maybe they’re just interested in getting a close-up of this boy. So, I turn and stroll away. I can feel the eyes on my back, but I’m already waving to Jacob, one of the friends from the shrubs, who is coming out from behind the shrubs and is looking in our direction. He comes up to meet me a few yards away, put his arm around my shoulders, and walks me to where our other friends are sitting.

I have a sense of belonging, in the circle of friends there, although we are the youngest at the school. It makes me feel more and more comfortable in my role as a high school pupil. I always know, that whatever I allow myself to get into, it will be something I can handle. I can, and will at any time, withdraw from anything I’m no longer comfortable with, or have had enough of. I have promised myself the same thing when I’m on the streets. But, at the moment I’m enjoying the role of being a hard-ball laaitie ‘vannie Kaap!’  

The girl, Natalie, and her friends don’t make an appearance at their tree during the break the next day, and the days thereafter. I’m a bit baffled because I will stop at the tree for at least five minutes of the break before moving down to my friends – no sign of them near the tree. I feel strangely disappointed. Not that we are friends, like friends-friends, you know. It is good, though, that you’re somebody who can draw the interest of a girl! I feel, strangely, though, that I have lost something. They are somewhere else on the playground, but where? I’m certainly not going to search for them. For what reason? I scan the lines in the morning. If your class is on this side of the school building, you line up at the nearest entrance on that side. I see her, but she looks strangely, just ahead of her, or down at her shoes. Something is wrong. But I cannot ask her. What if nothing is wrong? I will feel such a fool.

She saves me from all that, by suddenly appearing behind my tree, one day, just as I was about to leave for my friends.  She seems in a hurry.

‘My vrinne willie mee’ hê ek moe same jou praatie. Hulle sê jy’s bad news. Nou sit o’s daa’  byrrie hall’. (My friends don’t want me to talk to you anymore. They say you’re bad news. Now we’re sitting over there at the hall.’) 

And then she’s gone.

This is the first time I hear that I am bad news – simply on how I look; on my appearance; how I present myself.

I never do anything wrong at school, and I’m never in trouble outside school, for anyone to think I’m bad news! I feel insulted. Her words hurt! I have never broken any rules of the school! If a prefect tells me to pull up my pants, I do so without back-chatting – end of story. What do the other children at school see, when they look at me? And the teachers? Am I bad news when we play rugby, win, and everybody cheers? Am I bad news when I run for the school team, bring in points, and everybody cheers?

I think of those other boys at school the other day, the ones who called me over. What did they see when I walked past them, to make them accost me? Does my appearance evoke that response?How did I get to this point: where kids, of the same age, reject me, and others regard me as an outsider, just on what they see? Why am I accepted so easily amongst the boys who gather in the shrubs? Because it doesn’t bother them? Is that it?

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