I dragged my feet along the cracked sidewalk, rain soaking through my shoes and shirt until the cold clung to me like it belonged there. Every step felt heavier than the last, not because the walk was long, but because of the weight sitting in my chest. I approached the doorway, the porch light flickering above me and casting my shadow across the puddled walkway. I didn't move. I couldn't. The chill had settled into my bones, but the shame burned hotter than any fever.
The umbrella hadn't disappeared. It hadn't slipped my mind or fallen out of my bag.
Kofi stole it.
He waited until lunch break, until I wasn't looking. Then he pulled it from my bag and held it up like a prize for everyone to see. I watched him do it. I saw the smirk spread across his face when our eyes met, like he knew I wouldn't do a thing about it. And he was right.
When the final bell rang and the rain began, I asked for it back.
He only laughed.
"Look 'pon him a beg. Wah, can't face likkle rain without me fi save yuh?" he sneered, spinning the umbrella in his hand. "If yuh want it back, come tek it from me." He held it just out of reach. "Gwaan, show everybody yuh nuh soft."
Then he pushed me.
Not a full shove, just enough to send me stumbling past the classroom door, out into the storm. The door slammed behind me. I didn't even try to knock. I just stood there for a moment, stunned, watching the umbrella vanish behind glass and grinning faces.
Now, hours later, I walked toward my front door, soaked through and already rehearsing a plan to say I'd simply forgotten it, if Mom asked. Easier to claim I'd misplaced something than admit I'd let someone take it from me.
Because telling the truth meant admitting that I'd let it happen.
I knocked on the door as raindrops danced around me, soaking my five-foot-six frame from head to toe. My short hair, coiled tight like springs, clung to my scalp in darkened curls, a stark contrast to my smooth mahogany skin. My uniform, usually crisp and neat, now sagged heavily on my shoulders, weighed down with rainwater. With every step, water sloshed in my worn shoes, the splashing echoing through the empty streets.
The dull, steady patter of rain was the only sound that followed me as I trudged home. It felt like the rain wanted to wash away more than the dirt from my skin; it wanted to strip the day itself, the tension, the unspoken fears. When I reached the porch, my hand lingered on the door handle, hesitating as I braced myself for the warmth and familiarity inside, even as my thoughts clung to the world outside that had turned cold and hostile.
Inside, the house greeted me with warmth that immediately began to dissolve the chill I had carried with me. The air was thick with the rich, earthy aroma of red peas soup simmering gently on the stove. The scent wrapped around me like a protective embrace, and for a moment, the weight on my chest lightened.
I closed the door behind me, shutting out the rain, the world, and everything that had been gnawing at me. A sigh slipped from my lips before I even realized it.
"Smells good, Mom," I murmured, almost surprised at how much softer my voice sounded.
Mom was there, bustling around in the kitchen, her back to me as she stirred a pot on the stove. Her tired eyes, set beneath soft lines that spoke of years of both laughter and worry, flicked over her shoulder. As soon as she saw me, her expression softened.
She hurried over, dish towel in hand, her slim frame moving with surprising speed as she reached out to fuss over me like she always did. The motion loosened her braids from the bun, and a few strands fell forward, brushing against my face.
I ducked away from the dish towel. "Mom, I'm fine. It's just rain. Just a little rain." I waved my hands around to escape her fussing, and her face lit up with a soft chuckle.
"Jerri, mi boy, yuh soaked to the bone!" she exclaimed, her voice warm but touched with that familiar hint of frustration.
"Get on the mat, mi pickney. No tracking water all over mi clean floors. She pointed sternly to the small mat by the door. "And Jesus Christ, don't mek me take the Lord's name in vain."
I hurried to the mat, leaving a small trail of puddles behind. She clicked her tongue, shaking her head, though a smile tugged at her lips. "Lord have mercy pon mi," she muttered under her breath as she bent to wipe the floor. Then her eyes flicked up to me. "Boysie, what happened? How yuh get so soak?"
I hesitated, casting a quick glance down at my drenched clothes. "I... I forgot my umbrella, Mom," I mumbled, trying to sound convincing, though my voice wavered slightly.
Her eyes narrowed, a knowing look creeping onto her face. "Really now? I remembered giving yuh your umbrella this morning."
I swallowed hard, guilt twisting in my stomach. I wish I could tell her the truth, but I can't. This isn't the first time either. I've lied before, and now I'm about to do it again. You'd think it would get easier, but it doesn't.
"That was yesterday," I stammered, my heart sinking as the words left my mouth. Lying to Mom always left a bitter taste, but I couldn't tell her that the bullies had taken it, just like they'd taken everything else from me.
Her skepticism was clear, but she sighed and let it go. "Alright, then. Get out of those wet clothes and tek a warm shower. Red pea soup on the stove to warm yuh up after."
I nodded, grateful for the reprieve. The warmth of her words wrapped around me like a blanket. I peeled off my shoes and socks, my fingers stiff from the cold rain. As I walked down the passage, the familiar smells of home, the soup on the stove and the faint trace of Mom's khus khus perfume, worked their way into me, easing the frayed edges of my nerves.
Inside my room, the storm outside faded away, replaced by the soft hum of home. I stood in front of the doorframe, a ruler balanced on top of my head. Stepping away, I glanced up, disappointment filling me as I saw the ruler hadn't moved an inch. Still no growth. I sighed, a sense of helplessness washing over me.
The warmth of the shower melted some of that tension. Hot water streamed down my back, rinsing away the stress and worry of the day. I closed my eyes, letting the steam surround me, imagining for just a second that the water could wash everything away: Kofi's taunts, the fear, the lies.
Downstairs, a steaming bowl of stew peas was waiting. The kitchen table was set, and Mom's tired face lit up when I joined her. I sat down, and the thick, savory aroma wrapped around me before I even touched the spoon.
The first bite was rich and hearty, the salted pig's tail tender enough to melt into the creamy red peas and coconut milk. Soft spinners drifted among chunks of yam and carrot, soaking up the flavor of thyme, scallion, and the slow burn of Scotch bonnet pepper. Each spoonful was heavy with comfort, the kind of food that settled deep in your chest and reminded you you were home.
Mom's phone rang, cutting through the peaceful quiet. She frowned at the screen before answering, her voice flat as she spoke. I kept my eyes on the soup, but the lines forming on her face told me the news wasn't good.
She hung up and set the phone down a little too hard, exhaling like she was holding the whole world on her shoulders. "Mi haffi start mi shift early," she muttered, rubbing her forehead. "Always something. Somebody call in sick again, and now mi haffi cover. Two hours notice, like mi nuh have a life of mi own." Her fingers dragged down the sides of her nose before she leaned back in the chair. "Just last week mi did haffi deal wid a set of passengers who nearly tear up the whole flight. People shouting, fussing, like mi not human too. Work just... drain mi."
I put my spoon down, my stomach twisting. "Mom, yuh tired. Can't you take a day off? Just one day?"
She shook her head firmly, though her eyes softened when they met mine. "Ah boy, mi cya do that. Time off nuh free, and we need the money. Bills don't wait." She forced a smile, but it never reached her eyes. "Besides, you think the airline care if mi tired? To them, mi replaceable."
Her words sat heavy in the air. I hated hearing the defeat in her voice, hated how work always wrung her dry and still asked for more.
I shifted closer and tried a small smile. "If you keep working like this, you're gonna start dreaming in airplane announcements."
For a moment, her face softened into a real smile, tired but genuine. She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. "That's why mi push so hard, Boysie. One day, mi want you flying de plane, not just hearing mi voice come through de speaker."
I swallowed the lump in my throat and took another spoonful of stew peas, letting its warmth cover the silence between us.
As Mom switched on the TV, the grim headlines filled the screen.
"Breaking news. Rival gangs clashed in downtown Kingston last night, leaving several dead and others wounded. Police confirmed that heavy gunfire erupted shortly after midnight and continued into the early morning. Residents are being urged to avoid the area as investigations continue."
The flashing sirens on the screen made my heart sink further. Maybe my troubles with Kofi weren't so big in the grand scheme of things. Out there, families were mourning, lives cut short, children left without parents. Compared to that, an umbrella and a little humiliation felt like nothing at all.
I couldn't handle it anymore. Quietly, I got up from the table, placed my bowl in the sink, and slipped down the hallway. The news, the sirens, Kofi's smirk — it all pressed down on me like a weight I couldn't shake. I dropped into my chair and fired up my computer, desperate for something to drown it all out.
"Elder Scrolls: Oblivion" flickered onto the screen, and the familiar opening music wrapped around me like armor. For a little while, at least, I could leave the real world behind.
I became Bardroc, the fearless Argonian. The game was a perfect distraction. A place where I could be powerful, where I could win. Every battle, every victory felt like a small escape, a small triumph over the things I couldn't control. In the dark caverns, Bardroc readied his bow, preparing for the final monster.
"Jerri! Yuh nuh hear mi calling yuh name?"
I yanked off my headset, heart skipping. "Mom?"
"Come lock di door and di grill. And don't let mi catch yuh up late pon dat game when yuh fi deh inna bed."
I groaned, pushing myself up from the chair. "Alright, I'm coming."
As she was about to leave for work, the memory hit me. The permission slip for the school trip. I hadn't given it to her yet, and deep down, a part of me didn't want to. The thought of going, of being trapped around Kofi the whole time, was too much. My hands stalled as I dug through my damp bag, fingers brushing against the crumpled slip still dry at the bottom.
Just as Mom stepped through the gate, I stood there, the permission slip in my hand. But the words stuck in my throat. I couldn't bring myself to give it to her.
"Jeremiah, wash di dishes before bed," she called over her shoulder before disappearing into the night.
I sighed, slumped against the door, and watched her go. Back in my room, the game screen flickered in the dim light, but I felt no pull to play. I shut it down, crawled into bed, and pulled the blanket over my head. The news replayed in my mind, Kofi's smirk pressing in right beside it. My eyes were heavy, and sleep came in fragments-shallow and restless, filled with flashes of the day's humiliations.
Sometime in the middle of the night, when the house was quiet and the rain had stopped, Mom slipped into my room. Moving with the silence of habit, she gathered the scattered things I had left in my bag. At the very bottom, barely tucked away, she found the crumpled permission slip for the Blue Mountain trip.
Her tired eyes softened as she smoothed the paper flat, her fingers lingering on my name. With a small shake of her head, she picked up a pen and signed it. She didn't say a word, just sighed at the thought that I had almost let something so important slip away.
She carefully laid out my damp books to dry, laying out a new pair of my uniform neatly before tiptoeing out of my room. Even as I slept, I could feel the quiet comfort of her care, though the guilt of hiding things from her weighed heavily on me.
The next morning, I woke up with a heaviness in my chest. The faint light filtering through my curtains did nothing to lift the weight of dread that had settled over me. I dragged myself out of bed, my limbs sluggish as though they were resisting the day ahead.
I got ready in silence, pulling on my uniform with mechanical precision. As I stood at the mirror, I took a moment to press the ruler against my head again, hoping for some change. But, just like yesterday, nothing had changed. Still the same height. Still the same me.w
The breakfast table was empty, the remnants of last night's soup already cleared away. Mom had left early for her shift, and the house felt eerily quiet. The loneliness clung to me as I stepped outside, the dampness of the previous night's rain still hanging in the air.
Each step toward school felt heavier than the last. Anxiety gnawed at my stomach, twisting it into tight knots as I approached the gates. My eyes darted nervously from one corner to another, scanning the crowd, searching for any sign of Kofi or his friends.
For a brief moment, I thought I had made it. I was close to the entrance, the safety of the classroom just within reach. But then I saw him.
Kofi stood casually by the doorframe, his broad shoulders slouched as he lazily swung my umbrella in his hand. His friends flanked him on either side, their eyes gleaming with the anticipation of what was to come.
"Look who it is," Kofi sneered, his voice carrying easily over the chatter of students. He twirled the umbrella, flashing me that familiar smirk that always sent a chill down my spine. "Lose yuh umbrella, Jeremiah? Or yuh lettin' us hold it for yuh?"
I froze, my heart hammering against my chest. My feet felt glued to the pavement, and for a split second, I considered turning around, running, just getting away. But I knew it wouldn't make a difference. They'd catch up, like they always did.
Kofi stepped closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over me. He was tall and broad for his age, with close-cropped waves and a scar faintly cutting across his cheek. "You forgot your umbrella, huh?" he asked, his tone mocking, tapping the umbrella against my shoulder. Not hard, but enough to make me flinch.
"I... I was looking for it," I whispered, my voice barely audible.
His grin widened, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. "Oh, so now yuh forgetful too, eh? Must be forgettin' yuh place around here."
I clenched my fists, trying to control the shaking in my hands. My throat felt tight, like the words were stuck somewhere deep down. "I just... I just want it back."
I had tried before. All the karate stances I practiced, the hours I spent learning how to fight, I put them to use once. For a moment, it felt like they worked. But Kofi was bigger, stronger, and in the end I still lost. Standing here now, I knew none of it would save me.
Without warning, Kofi let out a bark of laughter, tossing the umbrella across the courtyard. It skidded across the pavement, the sound grating against my ears. "Go fetch it, then."
His friends erupted into laughter, their voices loud and cutting, echoing through the courtyard. Humiliation burned hot in my chest, but I didn't hesitate. I hurried after the umbrella, grabbing it with trembling hands. My fingers tightened around the handle, my knuckles white with tension.
When I straightened up, I could still hear their laughter behind me, taunting and sharp. I kept my head down as I made my way into the classroom, the weight of their words hanging over me like a heavy cloud.
Inside, the room felt no safer than the outside. My legs felt like they were made of lead as I slid into my seat, my hands still shaking slightly. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but my heart was still pounding in my ears.
The teacher's voice droned on in the background, but I couldn't focus. All I could think about was Kofi and his friends, the look on their faces, the way they had laughed at me. I felt small, insignificant. It didn't matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't escape them.
I closed my eyes for a moment, wishing I could disappear, wishing that I could find the courage to stand up to them. But every time I tried, every time I thought I might be able to fight back, that same fear would creep in, freezing me in place.
The bell rang and chatter filled the classroom, but Mr. Johnson clapped his hands to get everyone's attention. "Alright, folks, settle down. It's Friday, last day of the week. Before anybody rushes out the door, I've got one quick announcement." He lifted a small stack of papers, fanning them for emphasis. "These are the permission slips for the Blue Mountain trip. If you're planning to go this evening, right now is your last chance to turn yours in. No slip, no trip. Simple as that."
A few students groaned, some laughed, but I stayed frozen in my seat, wishing the moment would pass. My hand slid into my bag almost on its own, fingers brushing the crumpled edge of the slip at the bottom. I hesitated, then slowly pulled it free just enough to peek at the top. There it was, Mom's neat signature in blue ink. My stomach tightened. She had signed it, and now there was no way out.
"Jeremiah," Mr. Johnson's voice cut across the room. My head snapped up, heat rushing to my face. "Don't worry. Your mother already called this morning to let us know she signed your slip. She said you're good to go, just in case you forgot to hand it in." He smiled, his tone light, as if he hadn't just peeled back the secret I'd been carrying for days.
A nervous laugh from the back of the room made my shoulders tense. I dug into my bag quickly, pulling out the wrinkled paper, trying not to let my hands shake. Walking up to Mr. Johnson's desk, I laid the slip in his hand.
"There you go," he said, giving me an approving nod. "All set. We will have a good time on the trip."
I forced a small smile, but inside my chest the knot only tightened.
I nodded dumbly, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. There was no backing out now. Mr. Johnson shuffled the remaining slips and raised his voice above the chatter. "Alright, remember, the bus is already on its way. Don't wander off. We'll all meet right back here and head straight out."
The room lit up with noise as laughter broke out, voices traded plans about snacks and seating, and the thrill of being free from school for the day filled the air. Desks scraped, bags rustled, and the classroom buzzed with excitement.
I sat in the middle of it, unable to share their joy. The Blue Mountain was not calling me to adventure. It was dragging me into another arena where Kofi would be waiting. The thought turned the trip from a chance to escape into a battleground I was not ready for.