Sparrows

By zaara khayer

When I’m lying down in my rickety, second hand bed, I think to myself while staring at the whitewashed ceiling, when did it start? What was the beginning? Was there even a beginning? Surely I had one. I remember my English teacher Ms. Wickham told me every character had a backstory. Every superhero had an origin, every wizard or sorcerer needed some exposition. Or was I just some background character, someone no one even knew was there. Sometimes it felt like that. My eyes moved to my window and there they were again. 

They kept singing and playing their trumpets. Their shiny brown coats shivered and jiggled as they twirled and tweeted. The sound of whacking interrupted my thoughts.  I can hear my father swatting and complaining as he did so because of the plethora of mosquitoes buzzing around the house. 

I quickly turn in my bed and a hundred small creaks and squeaks follow. One of my worst fears was my father catching me awake. A scolding would immediately be in order, a lecture would be heard throughout the whole neighborhood  about how I constantly neglect my health and fail at my studies. But they didn’t stop singing. The sparrows didn’t understand when to be quiet. But that’s ok. Dad couldn’t get them. They would just flutter away with their dainty wings like they were never here, leaving me behind. Slowly I heard his footsteps receding, my heart instantly slowed down. 

It suddenly clicked for me. 

Not everyone had to start at the beginning. 

So I didn’t. 

The sounds of school bells ringing suddenly flooded back to me. The sea of blue uniforms rushed back, I remember that while every other kid had crisp, clean and new uniforms, I was the only kid who didn’t match. I was the drop of gray in the sea of blue. The birds in my stomach fluttered around so hard my stomach hurt. I told them so many times to be quiet, but they wouldn’t listen. I remembered my father screaming at me that I was lucky to be in this country at all, let alone have a uniform.

It was so hot that day. The merciless sun beat down on the land that day, incinerating the trees and the nests inside them. My mother had packed me an extra water bottle, she said she didn’t want me to faint and then not be able to do my studies. Not because she was worried about me being thirsty, but because she was expecting a good report card. 

But I would drink the water anyway, the sparrows needed it. 

I walked alone that day. I secretly hoped my father would walk me, but he didn't. But then again, I secretly hoped a lot of things that didn't happen. I felt all the double lidded eyes burn into my back, the murmurs and whispers speaking and bleeding into the whole school. Where I went, people cleared out the way like they were worried they would catch whatever disease I was carrying. 

I wanted to die that day. 

The sparrows didn’t sing that hot morning, they knew better than that. It was so silent. I wanted to run away and cry without the shouts and yells of my parents. But I didn’t. I recall the distant memory of staring down at my lunch like a lifeless ghost. It was a small portion of rice with a measly piece of chicken to accompany it, which was at least 3 days old. The smell of fresh, piping hot food wafted up to my nose. The feeling of jealousy and anger clouded my vision in the form of fat, salty tears. I knew I was teetering on the edge, threatening to fall off at any moment. Not that it would make a difference.  The hand which caught me from falling into the abyss was actually not a hand at all,  it was a smile. 

“Is anyone sitting here?” I look up and stare at his face like an idiot. The birds set off again, bouncing off the walls of my stomach like they had a sugar rush. His voice sounded more beautiful than the sparrows. I immediately noticed his big blue eyes. His beautiful brown locks fell to his chin, concealing his ears and a part of his left eye. A few freckles were generously sprinkled against his cheeks, all in the right places. His teeth were unnaturally white and perfect, they reminded me of the cover boys on those magazines modeling perfumes and hair products that we could never afford. 

‘No, it’s vacant,’ I managed after an awkward silence. The sparrows were incessantly chirping now. Shut up, shut up, shut up!

Did he notice my accent or my strange clothes? He sits down, opens his lunch bag and lays his intricate lunch, all of which I didn’t recognise besides his sandwich. I think I felt myself blushing. I didn’t feel hungry anymore, I ignored my lunch and just sat there, staring. After a few bites he asks me, “What’s your name?” His eyes, which were bluer than blue, sparkled, awaiting for an answer. He smiled as he asked this, revealing his dimples. 

Shock crept over me like a snake, strangling my throat, the sparrows were scared now, cowering. No one could ever pronounce my name correctly. The swallows quickly scurry up my throat and blurt out, “John. Just call me John.” 

‘Nice to meet you John, I’m Lachlan.” Lachlan, the words were more precious than my own name, which would never be revealed to Lachlan. He shakes my hand which resembles a malnourished noodle. The sparrows were soaring. 

That was my beginning. 

Another memory comes oozing back, it’s details seeping into my brain. It was much more recent. I remember listening to Mr. Dickson with his pudgy face trying to explain puberty to a room of 23 twelve year old boys. The girls had been separated to another classroom for which I was grateful for. It was 2 years since that first lunch with Lachlan, I was graduating primary school this year. Mr. Dickson moved his cumbersome body to each side of the whiteboard, pointing and explaining to diagrams and photos. As he scrolled through the slideshow, the sparrows got more and more restless. Was I nervous, or confused? 

‘Can you believe this stuff, it’s far out,’ I heard Lachlan whisper to me. He was grinning, showcasing his cute dimples. He looked so beautiful in the light, the sun shone down and hit his hair which revealed a slight red tint. The sparrows start pecking at my brain. 

‘Yeah, totally,’ I say, as Lachlan flashes that smile again. He moves his hand and shifts his body closer to mine. Our arms touch each other and my whole body gets an adrenaline rush. By accident, I flinched a little, and I immediately regretted it. I pray and hope he didn’t notice it. 

‘As you get older, you will find yourself having different types of thoughts and feelings. This may include desires or romantic feelings. Now you can have these feelings towards anyone, and it’s perfectly normal. Girls, boys, your best friend…” Mr. Dickson kept talking but I didn’t listen. 

Girls, boys, your best friend… Lachlan. My stomach was screaming now. The sparrows were uncontrollable. They were giddy, with desires and… no. I stopped myself. This was wrong. What was wrong with me? 

But… maybe it wasn’t so wrong, Mr. Dickson said it himself. 

I feel something on my hand and as I glance down, I see it’s Lachlans. He’s holding it. His fingers intertwined with mine. My eyes dart to Lachlan’s face and I see his freckled face blushing, his dimples as clear as daylight. I feel the blood rushing up to my cheeks and ever so slightly, I inch closer to him. I realized something that day. I was different, and it was ok. The sparrows knew it too. 

A burst of light blinds my eyes as the door flies open. It’s dad, his pupils were replaced by roaring flames instead. A scorching air diminished the land, destroying the trees as the animals fled. The earth was silent as my father stared at me. 

‘I knew it! See, I told you he was awake,’ he growled to my mother who was also standing beside him. This was it. 

‘What are you doing Ján Ha? You know you have your entrance exam tomorrow,’ the words fly out of my mother’s mouth faster than a bullet train. 

‘This stupid boy won’t learn, he needs the belt,’ my father’s voice cut through me like a knife. No, not this time. I get up from my bed as my parents glare at me. This time I would not silence the sparrows. They gave me strength, Ms. Wickham gave me strength, Lachlan gave me strength. 

I would say it with the sparrows, without fear, and with hope.

‘Mom, Dad, I’m gay.’

The sparrows sang that day, louder than ever.