My name is Folu, it's 1993 and I'm 4 years old.
The red patch on my thumb is hurting again, from pressing my pencil hard against my book. It's handwriting class and this is not my pencil. The eraser still stands looking juicy on top of the pen. Definitely not my pencil. I look around, scanning the classroom. The coloured cut outs on the windows look really pretty. Why does my teacher get all the fun? Why does she freak out when I grab a scissors and some coloured paper? I can do this stuff too! The lunch table is littered with lunch boxes and bags. The combination of all the food and snacks form a unique smell that really makes me want to skip lunch. Everybody is busy trying to scribble their best looking letter A on their books. I feel their frustration. I see it in my mind. In fact I write it smoothly in my mind, but it doesn't just come out the same when I try to write it. Whatever is the matter with these hands. Then I see it. Yellow and short. The top half chewed off very roughly. My dear pencil! Why would she go and give someone else my pencil. Didn't she know it was mine? My mummy bought it for me along with my new socks, shoes and underwear! My mummy must hear this. I feel heavy inside, and sad too. I begin to swell. Waterfall.
"Why are you crying?" She asks, annoyed and impatient for no reason I could see.
"My...my...my...p..pe...
"You better face your work and use the pencil I gave you!" She snapped.
I remembered the last smacking. I could almost still feel the heat on my bum. I swell up some more. Now my book is all wet and mushy and messy. I can't even remember why I'm crying in the first place!
I manage to write something down. It's definitely not a letter A. Just glad to get it done with. Now she's coming to my table. I don't like her very much. She's not like the teacher in the next class. That one is so pretty. I'll tell daddy I'll marry her. She's looking at my work but doesn't look pleased. Here it comes... Earthquake!
I'm rubbing my head like the queen of lice decided to take a vacation in my hair. Once again I'm crying but my mouth is just open and silent. That's deep. And painful too.
"Your head is just big for nothing!" She snorts
I wonder who thought of this school idea in the first place. The person must be very wicked. Why can't everyday be like saturday?!
I need to get out of here. The pain in my head isn't so much. But I feel the need to cry even harder. Maybe someone will hear and come and take me away, take me home. Maybe spiderman will come too. Turn up the volume! The waterworks came down in full force. It's quite easy to cry really. Just decide you want to cry, and you just do it.
"You better keep quiet there" she says and eyes me.
There's just something about her that just makes me unhappy. I'm scared of her. I think it's the regular smacking. I don't understand why she likes to smack me. I never do anything wrong. Except for that time I had to poop in my shorts because she wasn't in the class and there was nobody I could take permission from to go to the toilet. And that other time I cried from home because I did not want to go to school that morning. And that other time I broke her glasses that she left on her table. And that other time I poured ink on her skirt. And that other time I tore my friends story book while trying to see if the butterfly had any teeth. It's like she came here to smack me!
I remember my voltron toy in my bag. I immediately begin to feel excited. At least I've got something I'll play with...
