“The Bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn”

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” – ATF I (Aptitude Test for the Future I), Question 1.

When I was five and a half years old, I thought whatever I wrote as the answer will be realized in the future. Therefore, I responded with the only answer I had then – “I want to be a doctor.”

The question paper was awfully misleading. Colorful borders, rainbows and teddy bears decorated each and every question posted. None of the six year olds (or soon-to-be six year olds) knew this test would affect their lives in ways they could never imagine or picture – in their world of purple trees and green skies.

The second question came rather sequentially, unlike the others that followed.

“Why is that so?” – ATF I (Aptitude Test for the Future I), Question 2.

Relating this to the previous one was not even considered as a mental chore for a 6 year old. It was printed in the same color – bright orange, as if shouting out to everyone that our futures will be as represented. Further emphasizing the idea was the smiley sun extravagantly positioned above the 3 lines for the required answer.

As much as I could remember, I was radiating happiness and aspiration when I composed my answer to the “Why”-question.

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A few months later, I was “given” the chance to transfer into another school.
However, it was not till the start of a new quartern, on the first day of school, before I realized none of my friends from Peanut Buttercup underwent the same transfer.

I did not know if it was a blessing or not, but many of my old classmates lived in my neighborhood.
Very early into the morning, about 7am, the sight of parents hustling their children into vehicles was not a bizzare “Good Morning!” greeting.

Being overtly self-conscious, I could not help notice that in contrast to the dreary brown of a uniform that I caught myself draping in, kids of the same age were sporting pastel green T-shirts beneath their denim overalls. Focusing real hard at my eye level, I could not find any speck of brown amongst the playful jiggles of green and blue; not even if with my regular 20-seconds-comb through my past comrades.

I tried very hard to stifle my sobbing, employed extreme methods included hands over mouth and nose – which almost led to something pretty much fatal.
But, the very thought of everyone huddling together in the new (colorful, cosy and cheerful looking) group room, deciding on a new ice cream flavor for the group’s name, triggered a series of turbulent sobbing that inevitably led to loud wails. Unlike the days when she usually took the seat beside my father, my mother sat to my right on that day. She blotted my face, strewn with tears and their trails, with Kleenex, while tapping my upper right thigh through the chunky brown cloth that grazed my skin with every extra consolation from her. My father, who appeared to have settle down on a comfortable armchair, did a one-eighty from the driver’s side of the car and gazed at the two ladies on the passenger seat.

“Hey princess, Daddy was just like you.” He grasped my hands with the larger version of his and flashed the cheesiest grin right in front of me. This “million-dollar smile” of his, rumored to have won my mother over (my parents were the only gossip mongers for this), was pushing his cheekbones all the way up; and the bones in turn, nudged his glasses a little higher then they should have been.

” I went to Asclepius, but I kept all my friends from Guatama while meeting new people in school.”
You would think my father was very heartening.

I would have thought so, if he was not clasping my hands so tightly – with his clammy ones.
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Published on: 15 Nov 2007
Rating: For all ages
Author: Orangeline (ICC)
Orangeline says:

“This idea was stuck in my head although there isn’t any proper plot and character-mapping for this title. I will continue to brainstorm for this title.”