THICK ICE

Any number of worn out cliches are capable of describing the silence that prevailed but this was different, this silence was encased in ice. Thick ice, the sort that stilled everything. So cold that even the atmosphere in the room was in danger of freezing. Thirty-four kids and not one moved, not even a twitch or a scratch. All except me that is. Why? Because I knew who had done it and that made me rapidly tap my left foot and run sweaty palms down my thighs. 

Right up the back is where I sat. I’d always made a point of it. I liked to be kind of hidden. But that was me in a nutshell, literally, the hard crust providing insulation from the trauma I perceived to be all around me. That was me, born with a fear of talking, that is, anywhere I’d feel exposed. Then, with the spotlight glaring, I’d stammer and struggle to get any coherent words out. 

Quite a while back my father gave me this mini lecture. Not stern, not angry, not demanding but more of an advice thing. It was after a lengthy meeting with Stan Smith. My dad had said, “You know, what your teacher says is true. You’ve ability, real ability, he sees it, but you hold yourself back. To get anywhere in life you’ve got to break out of your shell.” 

There were tears in my eyes as I tried to explain how hard I found it. How all the other kids stared. How even things like when the phone rang at home I’d freeze. Then I reeled off my problems list, a list so long it would reach the moon and all the time I got more and more upset. 

Frowning, my dad finally held up his hand, “Stop,” he said, “I understand all that but you still have to find it. We all have to. To some it’s natural but others, like you, have to hunt for it. You have to somehow search through yourself to find the confidence to speak your mind.”  

Like I said, that was a long while back, now I sat at the back, in a panic, knowing who the culprit was. How the ink on the wall along the corridor got there. He was there, down the front, sitting right opposite Stan Smith. Charlie Trouble. Loud, mischievous, disruptive and shunned by the whole class. And the worst bit… he knew I knew.  

The wall clock hit four-thirty and still Stan stood firm. The ultimatum already nearly an hour past home time and no one had spoken. The air fast approaching that total freeze. There was no way Stan would relent, I knew that, they all knew it but there were only two who could break the stalemate; everyone else was thinking the same thing, it wasn't me. 

I was the only one who glanced at Stan; all other eyes stared at feet and that was the giveaway. He caught my eye. He knew. How he did I don’t know but he did. Maybe a teacher's sixth sense but, whatever, it was definitely my doom. 

I was shaking, sweating, working myself up into a state of near mental collapse. But I had no choice. The whole class was suffering. I had to say. I knew Charlie was on a final warning, one more and he was out. I stared at the back of his head and felt his anguish. I stood, struggling to hold back tears. 

“Well?” Stan snapped. 

But I just stammered, mumbled a couple of words as Charlie’s head swung round. 

“Well? I’m waiting,” Stan continued. 

My voice shook as I whispered, “It was… me Sir.” 

The sudden thaw was engulfed by a communal sigh as Stan said, “Thank you… everyone else is dismissed… Charlie you stay though.” 

My eyes stayed fixed on the floor as Stan approached, “Head up,” he demanded. “Look at me. Now, I know it wasn’t you. Tell me, who was it?” And he looked straight at Charlie. 

I glanced at Charlie still down the front but facing me. “I…” 

“Speak up. Just spit it out if you have to.” 

I took the deepest ever breath and thought hard. Put the words I had in my head into a good order. Steeled my voice and forced myself to say, “It was me Sir, and that’s how it’s going to be… Charlie didn’t do it, I know he’ll likely be excluded if he had but he’s smart and needs to be in school.” 

Stan took a long hard look and said, “If you’re sure.” I nodded, “Then you will clean the wall before you go home.” I was surprised he smiled at me as he went to leave but stopped a moment as if to say something to Charlie but didn’t. 

For me that was the day I grew up. The day the hunting stopped. I moved down the class to sit at the front next to Charlie who, by the way, helped to clean the wall. One more thing, at the same time Charlie lost some of his mischief and seemed to settle down. Maybe it was the shock, maybe the fact Stan had let it go but I like to think it was because he’d finally found a friend.