Grave Diggers .17

Mr Leonard orders me to stay seated by the entrance to the Headmistress’ office.

Don’t move, he says.

I’m in deep trouble. They say I hit a girl's head with a chair in a music lesson. Not that I remember doing it. I guess it must have been me. That’s why I’m waitin to be seen by Mrs McNeil.

Kids in a different year pass by me in the corridor, seein me on the naughty chair in the section in front of McNeil’s Office of Pain. They point an one of them shouts, Someone’s getting expelled, an they burst out laughin before a teacher goin by yells at them to stop. I realise it’s Miss Robinson. The Fake Flake who said she was gunna speak to mum an be there for me. She stands in the corridor an she ain’t lookin at me. It’s as if she’ll catch a disease if she so much as makes eye contact, an I wonder if that’s her shame as well makin her scared, cos she’s another one of the liars who need to be burnt at the stake like they did to the witches of Salem.

Miss, I say.

She walks off like she ain’t heard me.

Do you care about my welfare, Miss? Do you care about my welfare, Miss Robinson? When are you gunna call my mum? When are you gunna meet her for a tea an a chat?   

Mr Leonard appears an says in a firm teachery voice, Be quiet.

He’s basically a sign that can walk an talk. He’s No Ball Games. Keep Off the Grass. He’s the signs that the Old Lady tried to tell everyone about on the estate when they went on the patch of grass by the flats, wantin to play footie or takin their Staffies an Dobermans an terriers for poos an wees. It don’t do any good bein a sign. Mr Leonard will find that truth out for himself one of these days. Look at how the Old Lady ended up. Deader than dead cos I didn’t get her fags an gin like she asked me to.

Murders are buildin up big time.

Blood on my hands.

Their hands.

Flapjack turned into cat sushi.

No wonder Mr Leonard has a coffin tie. That’s his real job. The whole teacher act is a cover up.

He ain’t here to educate. He’s here to dig graves.

You are in serious trouble, Jason Smith. Do you understand?

I could say, Yes, Sir, or I could say, No, Sir.

Don’t matter.

The girl, she’s not dead. She’s in hospital for stitches. The same A&E where they took Krish after Sara Zondi went batshit. This time, though, Anne wasn’t there to say kind an carin words, kneelin down, passing the healin magic of Dr Pepper, cos she’s in a hospital herself for not eatin. 

Do you know where your mother is? says Mr Leonard. We’re trying to reach her.

I would cry if I had any tears left. I’m the same as those empty supermarket shelves where people walk around the aisles, carryin their baskets an pushin their trolleys with stupid expressions cos there ain’t nothing left.

This kind of sadness can’t even buy tears.

Is your mother home, Jason? Her phone keeps goin to voicemail. How can we reach her?

If I really was a Tower Block, I’d cry so many tears this school would be under water, turning these shoals of fools into fishes, their mouths gawpin open an shut, an their lies would be bubbles of air rising through the water, getting thinner, smaller, an then poppin into nothing, invisible, disappearing like sound because nothing anyone ever said meant anything in the first place.

Edgar arrives, carryin his rucksack.

You’re his friend, right? asks Mr Leonard.

Yes, Sir, says Edgar.

You’re okay to sit with Jason while we try to contact his family and get some assistance here?

Sure, says Edgar

It’s imperative he stays right there.

Yes, Sir.  

Mr Leonard goes back into the office to discuss graves with McNeil.

Maybe I can ask them where Flapjack’s buried.

Jason, are you okay? says Edgar.

I never get that question. What is, Okay? It don’t matter if I am or ain’t okay. Nothing will make a difference. It’s a dumb question. I know he wants me to speak. They all do. If people aren’t tellin you to shut up, then they’re on at you to talk. There’s no way to win. Not really.

He takes a pack of Monster Munch from his rucksack. Here, do you want some? he goes, tearing open the pack.

My stomach is pinchin an foldin. It fucken hurts. Mum has stopped buyin food. She’s back to her old tricks, sayin she don’t have money cept I see the cans an the bottles an the shit she smokes.

Edgar holds the pack in front of me. Take them, he says.

I want to, but I can’t.

I heard what you did, Edgar says.

I don’t speak, cos what’s the point of words unless you're kind an carin like Anne?

Edgar starts rummagin in his bag an pulls out a chocolate bar. What about this? he says. You like these, Jay, don’t you?

He doesn’t know how badly he’s temptin me with deliciousness. My stomach is howlin for food.

It’s going to be okay, he says. I’m sure you won’t be expelled. Everyone knows what a loud mouth that girl is.

I reckon the word, Okay, should be banned.

Edgar slips the chocolate into the pocket of my jacket. We sit there an he starts to understand that I’d like to chat if I could, cept there’s no reason to talk, the same as crying. It’s better for me to stay on mute. I know they’ll have to bring in a social worker. I reckon they’ll do a visit to the flat an when they see where I’m living, they’ll be tellin me that what they’re doing is for my own good.

Good.

What is good? Whose good?

Edgar reaches over. He wants to hold my hand. Mum does it when she’s in human mode. Mike too. I flinch at first. His touch is such a surprise.  

It’s alright, says Edgar.

He squeezes my hand, not carin who sees us.

As words go, sayin, Alright, is better than sayin, Okay.

Levi’s voice booms from her office. Mrs Smith, she says, we need you at the school immediately I’m afraid. Yes, Mrs Smith. It’s your son, Jason.

Edgar says, My mum wants you to visit again. We can play Fifa. You will come over, won’t you?

Levi says loudly, Your son, Jason. He has been involved in a serious incident. You must come to the school now.

You can eat as much pakora as you like, says Edgar.

Mrs Smith, it’s difficult to make sense of what you’re saying. Do you understand what I am telling you?  

I close my eyes an imagine large planes flying high above in the stratosphere, dropping hundreds of bombs that glide down through the air like prehistoric birds an land one by one on the school, explodin on the brick buildings an the portacabins. I can see one crashin through the ceilin an blowin up at my feet in a hot flash of white light, blastin us all to smithereens.

Reducin us to atoms.

Base elements.

Oxygen. Nitrogen. Hydrogen. Evil carbon an some other stuff. 

Everyone fusses an flexes, but that’s all we are.  

Ol Santini, he used to bang on about all that beauty of the universe shit in his science lessons.

Well, he did before he got signed off for stress anyway.

He’s another one that ain’t comin back.