Psych

8. Aftermath

When the annoying, dying robot finally cried, Sineas could hardly wait to place his foot on the pavement outside the school premises. He quickly packed his books and stuffed them in his backpack and headed for the classroom door. He flexed his shoulders boldly as he made his way to the exit of the school building. His salvation was only a few metres away. He had made it halfway towards the door when he found himself facedown on the hard floor. He felt his wisdom tooth shake in gripe. He reached his index finger into his mouth to check if it was still in place as the multitude of spectators laughed.

‘And the freak show continues.’

He looked up. It was a boy about twice his size. He was wearing the school sports jacket; blue with yellow sleeves. It was covering a white t-shirt. Sineas thought the boy strangely looked like his father when he laughed, revealing an uneven set of teeth. He had short, black hair and a hardened face; the face that seasoned athletes usually have. Sineas sat up and reached for his bag. A hand was in his face.

‘Clarissa, let him alone. He can get up on his own,’ Sabrina said. Doreen was giggling beside her.

Sineas pushed Clarissa’s hand aside. He got up and continued for the exit. His steps were much quicker now. All he could hear was the amusement of the school echoing behind him.

‘So, how was it?’ Aunt Janice asked him as soon as he walked through the door. It was as though she had set a trap for him. She looked straight at him from the sofa.

‘It was great,’ he replied tossing his backpack beside her. He turned around and made his way towards the kitchen. He poured water into a tumbler. He was smiling. ‘I made a lot of friends. We talked and laughed and we ate rainbows sprinkled with fairy dust for lunch.’ He tossed the tumbler back into the sink and went back into the living room. She patted the spot beside her on the couch thrice. He made a very heavy sigh as he dragged his feet on the carpet. He slumped in beside her.

‘Tell me what happened,’ said Aunt Janice.

He leaned his head back. ‘Everything. The kids there are…’

‘Mean?’

He made a short laugh. ‘No, the word I was looking for is cliché. It was that same old “let’s all bully the new kid” routine you see in the movies. I bet tomorrow someone will want my lunch money,’ he laughed again. ‘And the girls there are oozing lust and stupidity.’

She rubbed his shoulder gently. ‘I think it’s time to visit Doctor Jacob again,’ she told him.

‘Really?!’ he sprang up like a cat thrown into the water. ‘Aunt Janice, that’s a little hasty, don’t you think?’

‘Navigating high school can be a little tough, Sin. You need someone to talk to.’

‘That’s why I have you, Aunt Janice, isn’t it? Besides, I’m way past my father’s death and my mother spending more than ten years in the Looney bin.’

‘We have to be sure, son. Things like that aren’t easy to get over. You need to keep spilling all your emotions out at Doctor Jacob’s feet. Let him take all your pain. And to add to that, this new uncharted territory you’re in now with kids your age…’

‘Then get me out of it, Aunt Janice.’

She got to her feet, ‘Sin, Sin. This discussion is over. You will continue to see Doctor Jacob and to go to school.’ Her expression had changed so swiftly. It went from compassionate to irritated in mere seconds.

Sineas caught a glimpse of her frown as she quick-paced into the kitchen. He took off his leather jacket and threw it to the far corner of the couch. He gritted his teeth and slowly rubbed his face in his hands.

Clarrisa’s house was almost similar to Sineas,’ but then again, so did all the houses in Malrich. The major difference between her house and Sineas’ was the interior. Her family was not very rich but they were not poor either.

As soon as she walked through the door she headed straight to the living room which was to the left, a few steps after the door. The flat-screen was obviously on as she headed for the three-man sofa. She could hear the anchor man jibber-jabbering about the usual stuff: climate change, global warming, inflation. Things only adults were allowed to worry about. She placed her books on top of the coffee table just in front of the TV. She could smell something good in the kitchen just to the right of the living room. She went for it.

Clarissa’s mother, Yvonne Sherman was already setting the china on the kitchen table. She was a middle aged woman of thirty-five but she was at least twenty-three, according to the lustful stares of the young men in the neighbourhood. Just like her daughter, her brown hair was pinned to her back, exposing her lush blue eyes and sharp nose.

‘Hey, sweetie, how was school?’ she asked but kept her eyes on the table as she systematically laid one plate after another.

Clarissa placed her hand sluggishly at the edge of the table. ‘Not bad.’

‘Good, now come help me set the table.’

Her nose stood up. It took two whiffs in the air. Her face turned green. ‘We’re having spinach again?’

Mrs. Sherman smiled, ‘And what’s wrong with spinach?’

‘It’s nasty, mom. When I was in the living room I could swear I smelt carrot stew. Thanks for deceiving me.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with a little green in your diet, Claire,’ she said whilst wiping her hands on her apron.

‘I like a little green in my purse, not my stomach. A little green I was promised in a raise of allowance this month,’ she eyed her mother sideways impishly as she walked up to the sink.

Her mother laughed, handing her three forks.

‘Dad’s not here yet?’ Clarissa asked.

‘Sweetie, you know your father is married to that damned job of his. He’ll be here probably when the cock has crowed thrice.’

Clarissa’s father, Ivine Sherman, was a freelance mechanical engineer. His expertise in the art had granted him a rather large fan base in not only Malrich but other neighbourhoods as well. Mostly white dominated neighbourhoods. His demand and reputation refused to let him arrive home early. Clarissa’s mother however was a hairstylist and owned two well known boutiques, one in Malrich and another in a neighbourhood called WindleDrive about a few minutes drive west of Malrich. She had decided to secure the trademark, “Sherman hair”. She had always been fascinated by German hair and she thought people would see the pun. They never did.

‘Something on your mind, Claire?’ Mrs. Sherman asked her daughter. She had noticed a reminiscent and distant expression on her face.

‘No, not really.’

‘Clarissa..?’ she pried, her body blocking her path to the refrigerator.

She sighed in defeat. ‘It’s just…there’s this new kid in school…’