Bruises

Head turned and lost in my world, unaware, I was awakened by an ache on my forehead then, a slight thud. Raising my hand to probe the ache, I traced my eyes over my locker, looking to find the source of the sound. On my locker lay a stick of chalk, obviously not mine, and I didn’t have to look up to know that I had everyone’s attention.

Meeting Mr. Otimkpu’s gaze, I found much more than hate in his eyes, but manifested most outwardly, was the ticking on his forehead, tightened lips, and fisted hands.

“Get Up”

His voice held a controlled rage, so I stood,

“Get Out”

I didn’t hesitate, taking up my bag,

“HOW DARE YOU? Come on, will you stay there. ARE YOU MAD?”

His anger didn’t surprise me, neither did his yell, and his statement was much expected. After all, he scolded us when we’d greet, and shouted us down when we didn’t. So I stood, and I looked him in his eyes, I simply didn’t care, I didn’t cower, and the stoicism in my eyes irked him. I’d known him long enough to know that the longer I stared, not reacting, the greater his anger would be, and I knew from previous experience that he would raise his hands at me. I felt a tug on my skirt, a plea to not be so bold, to not cause his anger to boil, because Nene and I knew that the bruises on the bodies of his wife and children, were not as a result of errands gone wrong.