I believe that no one deserves the fire-breathing dragon that I turn into when I’m provoked, or the even deadlier, unnamed creature I transform into when I really have a good reason. But sometimes, some people are so stupid, so moronic, so idiotic and so obtuse, that they’re exempted from this. Such as certain people in the long narrative that follows. However, be warned: it’s pointless teenage drama.
It was around 3:20 p.m yesterday, the 4th of June, when he first informed me. He did it in an easy, laid-back, casual manner, as though nothing were wrong. As though the earth’s crust hadn’t just separated under me. As though I hadn’t gritted my teeth so hard that the next morning, I could feel my incisors shake slightly. But this story requires some back-story.
Around two months ago, when my finals were done, I decided to attain self-actualisation. I decided to become as independent as a fifteen year-old with super overprotective parents could become. I decided to conquer my anxiety and do something that would make me blossom into a social butterfly, with that easy grace and charm that most of my seniors had been blessed with at birth. (Okay, I realise that I’m stretching it with the butterfly thing. I was just hoping for moth status.) So in order to accomplish all of this, naturally, my first thought went to the abode of prayer and worship I spent my Sundays in. The church it is, then.
It was fate that brought the fellowship to me. They were campaigning right around the time I was all pumped with the desire to do good in the world and the desire to be confident and the desire to be the most awesome version of me. The youth fellowship secretary called my Mum’s cell, and Mum suggested the idea with a hint of amusement- she didn’t think for one second that I’d jump at the chance, because she knows me well enough. Proving her wrong gave me childish satisfaction, and I sat back down to my dinner with a smirk on my face and determination blazing in my eyes.
So the next Sunday found me looking at my feet and awkwardly shuffling my way to the third row in the hall the fellowship had reserved years ago. I smiled at the young secretary, and participated timidly in the activities. I got to know a few nice people, a few not-so-nice people, and a few downright disgusting “people”. As the weeks passed, I decided my plan was actually working for the most part. The shell was slowly lifting, and I found my interactions with people much more confident- which isn’t really saying much, but considering the way I was before, I was pretty damn proud of myself. I found myself initiating phone calls with people other than my two best friends, and happily participating in events I wouldn’t have dreamt of been involved in earlier- catering a traditional meal to over two thousand people, and throwing a javelin, to name a couple. Being a proudly religious person, I found comfort in the spiritually fuelled meetings, and found motivation to get out of bed on certain bad Sundays where I would be stuttering and nothing would be right. After all, it was for the church.
Another incident that came with this brand new, shiny part of my life was meeting a boy. No, I wasn’t interested in him, but I knew him, and he’s quite the character. As some of you might know, I consider myself the perpetual narrator, and I have no shame in quietly observing the people around me, without actually introducing myself. It is not stalking- every writer knows it. I observe, and sometimes I find more happiness in watching some random stranger do something completely mundane than I would find in an hour of light hearted conversation with a familiar acquaintance. This boy is not an acquaintance, however. He just happens to be in the fellowship. He also happens to be the reverend’s younger son. The first thing I noticed about him, the first time I saw him, was his quietness. He is not quiet in the fidgety, anxious manner that I am. But instead, he is calm like the ocean waves, on a quiet day with a soft breeze playing about. He doesn’t make himself known, but somehow, people know that he’s there, that he’s in the room; his presence is obvious. Let’s call him A, for I do not wish to disclose his name (one of the key reasons being that I don’t know him). I’ve heard someone say that he’s musical. I believe he plays the piano. Once, I got close to him, as in, we were forced to work together in a group. And I tried to say hello, I did, but my vocal chords decided to go on vacation that very second. So I failed. But I did hear his introduction with my head bowed, and I discovered that he was also my age, and that he went to school with some of my friends, over at the co-ed school close to ours.
A is big for his age- he’s quite tall, and not particularly lean. In fact, he has quite the imposing build. He also has an older brother, taller, and much more imposing. They’re most often spotted together. But A as a person is anything, absolutely anything but imposing and intimidating. I’ve once watched in awe as he firmly gripped onto a weak, ill old man’s elbow, hoisted him up and remained a strong, prominent presence beside him, still holding on to him, for the entirety of the fifteen minutes he was supposed to keep standing for a particular ceremony. Perhaps the thing I noticed the most was his smile: radiant, warm, welcoming, inviting, polite and as always, calm. He smiles with his entire soul, eyes glowing with kindness. He doesn’t know me, but he’ll smile as he passes. I always look forward to those smiles, despite the fact that I can never return it the way a person like him deserves.
But now, he’ll never smile at me again. Why? Because of the Moronic Donkey. Now, this Donkey is a good friend of mine, someone with whom I often have refreshing, sometimes profoundly meaningful conversations, and for the remainder of the time, he can make me laugh to my heart’s content, at least. Another peculiar character, this one. What’s wonderful about our friendship is that we have a completely open dialogue. As in, I could tell him anything I wanted. I told him about A, too, because A goes to school with the Donkey, and the Donkey has seen A around. I’ve told him about the aura A radiates, and how I’ve been trying for weeks and weeks to simply say hi to him, or congratulate him on his marks for finals, something, anything.
The new school year started for the Moron yesterday. And after a nice conversation the night before, we’d parted ways until afternoon yesterday. I was in the middle of biting my nails as I awaited some admission test results for another institution, and trying to drown my worries in the internet, when he texted me. I asked him how school was, he told me about some things that had gone wrong, and then he casually mentioned that A was in his class, referring to him by his last name, and continuing to say that he had talked to him about me. I stared blankly at the message for a good five minutes before my network fluctuated, and then I was desperately trying to reconnect so I could make sense of what had just happened. Surely, I was hallucinating. The Moron surely hadn’t just gone and told the boy I’d been watching that I knew him. Surely not.
But he surely had. He first attempted to give me a heart attack by telling me that he’d told A that I “have a crush on him and wanna fuck him and shit like that”. I nearly collapsed in a panic right then, but still, some part of me knew that he was joking, that my friend wouldn’t ruin my life like that. And sure enough, my friend said that he hadn’t ruined my life, when asked the same, and I was about to heave a gigantic sigh of relief when oh, look, the moron speaks again.
“No, I just told him that you talk about him a lot sometimes, and that you said that he’s really nice and an extremely decent guy and stuff”. And then he sent me that emoticon that depicts that you’re extremely happy, and I sensed that he was extremely happy with himself indeed. And then, for formality’s sake, he asked me if it was cool. I felt like I was floating for a few seconds before all hell broke loose and I’m glad I taught my autocorrect every swear word in the book, as I started violently, crudely, hysterically text-yelling at him until my phone died. And then I was stuck in a drab waiting room, staring at my dead phone and wondering how exactly I should kill myself. Later at night, I tried to reach my friend, but I suspected he’d gone to bed early to compensate for the mostly sleepless night before. I calmed myself down with tea and water and lots of fluids and then I fell asleep in my jeans, again.
Waking up early for once, I took an ice cold shower while the sun was rising, and forced myself to think about my other engagements. I picked up a book to read, and was busying myself with preparing for my academic workload when my best friend called me. And then my hormones flew off the radar, and I heaved and panted and paced about and curled up into a ball on the floor as I told her everything, trying to find the funny part of it. Then I did find the funny part of it, and my state worsened- I was laughing so hard I doubled over, but tears of anxiety streamed down my face as my heart pumped faster, at the same time. The same thing happened later in the afternoon with my other best friend, and by the time I spoke to Moron again, I was so completely hyped up on mixed feelings about the whole thing that I screeched at him again, even more than I did yesterday. The only reason I stopped was that I had to go out, and later, I apologised.
Now I just need you to understand, that this is actually serious. Imagine someone randomly comes up to you and tells you that some person “talks about you a lot”. And you vaguely recognise the name of the person, but, wait, you don’t know the person..then how would they know you? Stalker alert! Stalker! How do you respond? You smile awkwardly, or you poker-face your way through the horror of learning that some creep has been watching you, as A reportedly did when the Moron ran his stupid big mouth. And worse, you realise that this creep is someone you see on a regular basis. So what do you do if you’re a kid in this situation? You’ll tell your parents, I assume. And A’s father, as I told you, is the reverend. I’m just putting that out there, in case anyone was thinking I’m overreacting. Because I’m not. I’m really, really not.
It’s night time again, and it’s technically Saturday. Do you know what day it is tomorrow? Sunday. I’m going to see the Moronic Donkey today, so if someone has any suggestions on whether I should take a butcher’s knife or a crowbar when I see him, I’d be more than happy to hear them. Yes, this is that serious. You can tell me, don’t worry, I’ll kill him quietly, and I know where to hide the body. You won’t be legally tied to anything, I promise. You have my word. So come forward with ideas. Also, tell me if a good kick in the shin could potentially kill someone.
P.S- I do not have a crush on A.
[Note to readers: Thank you for bearing with the rambly ramblings of a teenager like me. I couldn’t articulate anything properly today since I’m still just as anxious. Also, the Moronic Donkey is called Varun and he has a blog HERE. He’s also starting up at wordpress, over HERE, so check him out if you want really touching stories, some crazy stuff, and intellectual shit sometimes.Thanks for reading, and I love you. –Thunder]