October 10, 2000
PS 144 Queens, NY
Infirmary
As soon as I heard the answer from the nurse, I felt as if my world were spinning; after all, how is it possible that I have gone back more than 20 years into the past? That was something unheard of, something that only happened in those novels or series that Asians and some geeks loved.
I admit that I also had my time in which I loved reading those stories; say what they will, they were a great escape from reality and they helped me forget the problems I faced in my real life.
I suddenly came out of my thoughts when I heard the nurse talking to me: "We already called your mother, she will probably be here shortly; for the moment, lie down and rest."
Closing the curtain, she withdrew, leaving me alone to lie down on the stretcher of the school infirmary. As soon as she left my sight, I simply lay back, trying to do a retrospection of how it is that I am back in this school when I haven't set foot in this place since my graduation.
Public School 144 of Queens, or PS 144 for short—Col. Jeromus Remsen school—located in the wooded area of Forest Hills, is one of the best elementary schools here in Queens.
Now then, you will wonder how it is that, living in Jamaica, I can go to a school in a different district; the short answer is that my mother was a housekeeper for one of the houses here and, at that moment, our mailing address was listed here, so that was how I ended up going to a better public school in a better district.
The only disadvantage was going back and forth; since I wasn't legally in the district, I had to move on the subway from Monday to Friday to come here. I remember that before I hated having to wake up early and travel squeezed or surrounded by the strange people of the subway, but now, with the mature mind of someone 30 years old who has seen and heard worse things, the New York subway is nothing.
The other disadvantage was having to live with the spoiled brats of this school; I remember how they bothered me for the simple fact of being poor and because my mother didn't have a job as glamorous as a lawyer or a stockbroker on Wall Street.
Especially Lionel; I remember how he made my life impossible during those years. The worst of all is that I couldn't do anything to him because his parents were my mom's bosses, and he took advantage of that. I remember how he treated me like his lackey and slave these years with the threat that if I didn't do what he asked, he would throw my mom and me out onto the street.
I remember how those simple words made me tremble those years and how I had to do all his commands those years.
Now then, what seems strange to me is the fact that I find myself in the infirmary; from what I remember, in 1st grade I never suffered a faint or anything; either it was a butterfly effect or it is a memory that my mind subconsciously blocked.
Trying to delve deeper into the subject, I felt a headache begin to give me in my head; as soon as I put my hand, I felt the bandage I had around my head and how my head slowly stopped throbbing.
Now then, that bandage means that I probably received a blow or some object hit me in the head; the question is, what?
Before I could even try to remember, I heard a door open and a voice with an unmistakable Colombian accent say: "Where is he?"
As soon as I saw how those brown eyes landed on me and on the bandage on my head, I saw her run in my direction without caring about the 10 cm heels she was wearing, and suddenly I felt as if I were suffocating from the prominent bust that was in front of my face.
Paola Hernandez, my tia by affection, my mother's best friend; the reason she is here instead of her is that probably my mom is working double shifts to be able to pay the rent, and the thing is, since she resigned from her job at the house of Lionel's family, she must work double shifts to make ends meet.
I lost my train of thought when I heard her say with her marked Colombian accent: "Quien te hizo esto mijo? "(But who has done this to you, my son?) taking my face finally out of those two deadly weapons; when I finally felt the air returning to my lungs, I answered her:
"I'm not sure, tia," with a hesitant tone.
After that, the nurse was heard entering and addressing my aunt directly, she said: "Are you a relative of the patient?" she asked.
"I am his aunt; could you tell me what happened?" asked my aunt while she threw a piercing look at the nurse; and the thing is, my tia is one of those women who are scary when they get angry, especially seeing how she was more than a head taller than the nurse; and the thing is, my tia without heels is 5 ft 7 in; with 10 cm ones she easily reaches 5 ft 11 in, taller than the average man.
Seeing the look in my aunt's eyes, the nurse subconsciously took a step back and hesitantly began to explain: "He suffered a slight concussion from having been hit by a baseball." Upon hearing that, my tia began to launch a diatribe and insults in Spanish that I preferred not to mention. As soon as I heard how I fainted, it was as if something clicked in my brain and I remembered what happened.
Playground, 1 hour before
"Ok, loser," Lionel began to say, "this is the game: you will stand there still with the apple on your head while my friends and I try to knock it down, understood?"
Hesitant and with a resigned look, I remember putting myself where they told me, and then I hear one of Lionel's henchmen say: "Cover up down there, loser, we don't want anything to happen to you," while Lionel and the other idiot laughed. "Hahaha."
Coming out of that memory, my tia suddenly turned toward me and asked me: "Who did that to you?" then in silence she waited for my answer; and here I knew I had 2 options: tell the truth or lie; and after a quick thought, I began to say: "I don't know." I felt my aunt's gaze sharpen while a drop of sweat began to cross my forehead thinking she had realized my lie.
Then she turned toward the nurse and said: "Do you know who did this to him?" the nurse replied: "We are investigating the matter," she replied, hoping that answer would calm my aunt.
With an exaggerated throat clearing, she began: "Can I take him then?" and the nurse said: "You must fill out some forms first." Exasperated, my aunt followed the timid nurse while the clatter of her heels was lost in the hallway, but before leaving she directed a smile at me and told me: "I'll be right back, honey; I'll return and we'll go."
With a final sigh, I lay back down on the stretcher and waited for my aunt to return.