—
Hiya!
AND SO THE weekend gets dusted off. On Monday we’re off to school again, which is just the way things are, one day after the next after the next. It’s a bit like folding T-shirts, when you think about it. Folding-folding-folding is not so different from wheels turning-turning-turning.
The bus driver honks his horn. He sticks his head out of the window and yells at a man on a bike.
“You think you own the road or what?”
The man on the bike yells back, “You think you run the city?”
“Hey, Yasmin,” says Reeni. “Look at that!” She points at something outside the bus window.
I look where she’s pointing, but I don’t see anything so great, and anyway, I am still all tangled up in slogans and taking things literally. Maybe I am taking the dove story too literally, as if every word is true. Maybe instead I should be looking for some other meaning in it. What have I missed in that story?
“You missed it,” Reeni says.
“Are you reading my mind?” I ask her in surprise. “I was thinking maybe I didn’t get it but how did you know that?”
Now Reeni looks puzzled.
“Get what? What are you talking about? I was trying to show you the poster for the new Karate Samuel movie.”
“Is that all?” I say. “I thought you were going to help me work out the story in this book.”
“How can I help you work out the story in your book when I haven’t even read it?” Reeni says.
“Reeni, you can’t read it,” I say. “I have to give it back. Today. Remember? I’m reading one book every day — ”
“Fine,” she says. “Don’t share. You never share.”
“I do,” I protest. “I share a desk with you in school. I share this seat with you in the bus and when you come over I share ...”
I stop to think what it is I share.
“Everything,” I end up.
Reeni gives me the kind of look that tells me she is not impressed.
“You should see Karate Samuel’s round kicks,” says Anil. He is trying to change the subject to stop Reeni and me from arguing. I don’t like it, either, but who started it? Not me.
“Karate Samuel is just a movie star,” I say, turning pages. But now the words are bumping up and down. The bus has turned under the flyover by Gemini Studio and is going gada-gadaa over the potholes, past the circle where the lights have stopped working and a policeman is dancing around, trying to control traffic.
“Hiya!” Anil’s karate hands fly past my face, quick-block punching. I manage to catch the dove book before it falls down.
“Stop it,” I tell him. “Have you lost your marbles?” The minute the words are out I wish I could take them back but it’s too bad, because you can’t hit Delete that way.
Anil looks puzzled, so I rush to explain. “Not real marbles. It means, Don’t be crazy.”
Now I want to hit Delete-delete-delete, and I can’t. What have I done? Will Anil be upset because I called him crazy? I don’t want both my friends to be angry with me.
But Anil only says, “What’s wrong with being a little crazy? It’s fun!” And he trades air-punches with the boy sitting across the aisle.
“Birdie, little birdie, do you know my sad story?” the bus driver sings as we turn into the schoolgrounds.
Is he singing about those doves?
No, he seems to be singing a sad song because he is happy, which makes no sense at all.