My Green Island

I stealthily sipped the alcohol. I was still nine days short of my eighteenth birthday but, thanks to the noise surrounding the table, no one paid any attention to me. Not that anyone cared. Simon even whispered to me that he had faked my birth date on the entry pass. Sure he was lying but it’s the thought that counts. Only Damien kept an annoyingly close watch at me.
The headache was constantly growing but I couldn’t regret coming to this Christmas party. Even though, up until now, I kept convincing myself that the only link between me and those people was karate club, that we had nothing in common outside of the dusty sports hall. Maybe I was wrong after all.
I stretched out to get the carafe with wine when James snickered so loudly, every single head turned in his direction. He was so deeply in conversation with Dan, I didn’t think he even noticed.
‘Come on, every Pole is a whore…’
My hand trembled and if Jack didn’t catch the bottle, I would break it for sure. Not letting it go, Jack caught my arm. The silence was ringing in my ears. I leaned against the table because I was afraid I would fall and got up.
‘Lena, wait.’
I took my glass and emptied it. James was already by my side.
‘Listen, I…’
Ignoring him, I looked at frozen people who I liked, who – in England – became the closest thing to friends I managed. Simon’s Club was the best thing that happened to me in the UK. Or so I had thought.
Simon went red, torn between loyalty towards his assistant and the simple fact that I was the one paying him for the training. Damien added some vodka to his drink, Dan shook his head. Amanda whispered something with her hard, French accent, which I didn’t catch anyway. Gemma was glaring at her fiancée with a weird look in her eyes.
‘I’ll better go’, my voice was dripping with sarcasm. ‘I will save you from the company of a whore.’
‘Lena…’, honest, good face of Jack was turning stone.
‘Bye, Jack.’
‘James!’, Jack nearly yelled. Loud enough for Ash, who had been sitting behind him, to jump two feet into the air.
‘Lena, I didn’t…’ for the first time in his life James had no idea what to say. I ignored him again, pulling on my jumper and heading for the door. James jolted my arm.
‘Let go.’, I snarled.
‘Damn it, just listen to me!’
‘Already have. Now get off me.’
A weird smile lit up his face.
‘Wanna fight?’
I let my hands curl into fists. He was the black belt, I was barely a green. I knew I was no match for him. But it didn’t matter right now.
I was wondering if I had any chance of throwing at least one punch, but truth be told, James was way too fast for me. Gem came up to me and wanted to pat my shoulder, probably wondering who was this jerk she got engaged to. I stepped back. It was worse for me. I fell in love with this jerk, knowing that he would never, ever be mine.
‘Lena, James didn’t…’
‘Gem, James can speak for himself. And he said enough for one night. Drop it. He said what he thinks is true. What can I do about it?’
I wasn’t angry any more, in fact I was beginning to lose it. In a few seconds I would burst into tears. Jack clenched his teeth. He wasn’t exactly sharp-tempered but I knew that once he loses control, a fight will break out. And a bad one, too.
I turned around, snatching my arm out of James’s grip. He grasped it again, tighter. I didn’t hold back my fist this time, because instinct was my only weapon. My punch barely slided down his temple. He blocked but didn’t counterpunch. Instead caught me by my shoulders and shook.
‘I didn’t mean it! Haven’t said that to insult you, I forgot…’
‘Get the hell off me!’
‘I’m sorry! Don’t be so pettish.’
‘Pettish?!’ I shouted so loudly that James did let go off me and stepped back. ‘You called me a whore because you’ve had some cheap…’
‘James, shut up. Don’t make it worse.’, Jack finally decided to speak up. He had been standing by my side from the beginning, ever since I first came to the club, accepting me without any questions or accusations. And that was exactly why I couldn’t believe him now. I knew James and everyone else in the club quite well and I would have never believe that anyone would be able to do that. Maybe Jack’s kindness was a game after all.
Don’t misunderstand me. I have been through every stage of being an immigrant. I had been ignored, isolated, laughed at in school, barely tolerated in the shop where I used to work. I thought that in the club, people, for the first time ever, accepted me. Not from minute one, not without hesitation and time. I had been coming to the club for a year before our relations warmed up, went past the stage of observing from the distance and silence.
‘Jack, stay out of this’, I growled. Gem was going to take my hand, but I snatched it away. I didn’t exactly push her away, but Gemma stumbled and hit the table. Coke spilled on the floor. ‘Leave me alone!’
‘Don’t you start on her!’
This was absurd. An argument between me and James has grown to include everyone. I knew I had to calm. In a group so small every argument would become important. Plus, I didn’t want Jack and Chris, by taking my side, to get in trouble. I wasn’t worth it. Furthermore, James was right, at least up to a point. I knew perfectly well how Poles were seen by English men.
‘OK. OK!’, James put both hands up, a gesture of surrender. His grey-dark eyes glowed. As always, he looked directly into my eyes but I had this impression he was miles away. ‘I am sorry. Really. It’s just… you’re not a Pole. You’re one of us.’
I wasn’t quite sure if this was supposed to move me to tears or make me slap him for this open taunt. James, so full of virtues for which I loved him so, had one main vice: I never knew if he was serious or joking.
I took a step back and my foot in a black boot met the spilled coke. I shrieked, trying to regain my balance. Didn’t work. I hit the marble column with a rumble that a falling goliath wouldn’t be ashamed of. And then I realized it was way too late to wonder: I had just burst into tears.
OK, before you say anything. I have heard everything about me. I was a slut, I was a polish bitch stealing jobs and scholarships that were supposed to be destined for ‘pure’ English. It didn’t surprise me much. After all, in Poland we treat people from east in exactly the same way. I took this on. This was my cross I had to carry; the price I had to pay for my mom’s dream of leaving Poland.
It wasn’t the words or even karate. James. This was the name I whispered to myself at night. If Dan had said it to me, I would shrug, if Damien had – I would laugh, knowing that everything for him was a joke. If I had heard something like that from Simon, I would probably quit the club in order not to make things worse, but it wouldn’t bother me much. Even the same words from Jack wouldn’t have hurt so much. It was all about James. He was the only reason I was crying.
Noise broke out. Gem was kneeling next to me, Amanda was taking care of the spillage. Jack took my arm and pulled me straight up, even Dan looked… moved.
‘Leave it. I have to go. Bye.’
‘Lena!’, someone cried, Jack, I guessed, but no one stopped me his time.
I ran into the icy, evening air, gasping, catching the air into my wide open mouth.
When I got back home, it was nearly ten. My genius, charming sister, Kasia, was yelling on the top of her lungs, calling father names. Mom, just like she used to, shut herself quietly in the kitchen, sipping coffee. Great plan. Maybe except for the fact she wouldn’t be able to sleep. But that was not my problem. Avoiding their blistering glares, I took a bottle of water with me and shut myself in my bedroom. Since we moved to England, since my family started to fall apart, there were only three things that kept me alive: maths, karate and music. Despite my best efforts, I was to tired to solve maths problems, so I shoved the earpieces in my ears. I turned the volume up, until the decibels started to bombard my eardrums. The only thing I got from this was a headache. A moment had to pass until I realized what it was that I needed.
I jumped out of bed and shrivered with cold. Cheap life of immigrants was a subject of many jokes but it had long stopped being funny to me. I could get used to wearing clothes from charity shops, saving money even on food, reducing flights back to Poland. Yet there was one thing that annoyed the hell out of me - cold. In my house the steady temperature was around fifteen degrees, whereas I considered the ideal one to be seven degrees higher. I gave up and came back to bed, pulling the cover over my ears and falling asleep - this time almost instantly.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 16.12.2011

Alle Rechte vorbehalten