“A Girl Called Fatarika”

“A Girl Called Fatarika”

The bouquet of urine was coming from my clothing because our washing machine was broken, and I shared the bed with my 2-year-old nephew who pissed in a saggy diaper all night. I looked down at my feet on the floor of the bus. My sneakers were tattered and there was a hole in the sole of each shoe. I sighed looking at my brown, thick, legs -- legs that looked like trees wearing supposed-to-be-white, gray sneakers. My skirt was a festive yellow color with a pattern of white anchors -- one of two skirts that I owned. My gray cotton shirt was oversized, and it was covered with my navy-blue jacket. The jacket, thankfully, covered my withered hand even if it could not close in the front because of my stomach and a broken zipper.

“Tweedly-deedly-dee, tweedly-deedly-dee

Tweedly-deedly-dee, tweedly-deedly-dee

Tweedly-deedly-dee, tweedly-deedly-dee.”

There were two kindergarten girls behind me gleefully singing Rockin’ Robin at the top of their lungs and slapping hands.

I suddenly noticed the top of a head and a pair of eyes. The little boy sitting in front of me was peeking at me.

I was 16.

I was riding in a bus full of kids from 4 to 11 years old to Southampton Elementary School.

But I was big, even for 16, and I was in 5th grade.

At Southampton Elementary, they were scared of me, but not too scared to throw food at me, laugh at me, and point and yell, “Fatarika!” as they ran for their lives.

We were driving through the good neighborhood now. We had started in the projects, Gilpin Court – where I lived with my auntie, but after a long 35 minutes we were amongst the houses – nice ones. This neighborhood had yards – back and front – featuring two story houses with ivy crawling up them. They all had roses and shrubbery in the front. The best part was the porches with rocking chairs that looked like you could rock, drink lemonade or even cranberry juice, while laughing and talking with friends and family – happy.

The bus stopped again right across from a big ole’ house on a hill, and we picked up these three kids: two girls and a boy – must have been new – never seen them before. All I noticed was that all three had necks like pencils. They walked past me and stopped to stare at me – like they were seeing a monster. I scrunched my face up and said, “Whatcha’ lookin’ at?” low and menacing – I sounded like a lion. Their eyes widened, and they ran along. I snickered to myself.

When the bus finally got to the school, I let all the kids off first; then I did my shuffle toward the front of the bus – the musty pee-infused smell from my clothes so strong that it was gagging even me. As I walked past the bus driver, out the side of my eyes, I saw her lip curl.

Suddenly, I turned and looked at her. She was a small woman – much, much smaller than me.

I could tell that she was realizing that right in that moment as I gave her a wide-eyed look.

“Good morning Fredrika,” she said nervously – suddenly turning on her Southern charm and showing all her teeth with the smile she flashed at me.

I grunted in response, thinking, “Why break character?"

I looked up through my eyes and started laughing and then started rocking side to side. I called this my Crazy Girl act.

Her smile dropped and she was shaking.

“Fredrika, you have to get off now,” her voice got really high, but she tried to sound calm.

Then, “Get on out now! Go!” sounding like she was shooing a dog.

“Roof!” I said, getting into it – voice deep and loud.

She was shaking now and grabbing her walkie.

I just turned around and got off the bus, shuffling slowly. I could imagine her on the bus crying and begging for help on her walkie.

Pencil Neck #2 here. I remember our first day of school in Richmond, Virginia. We had arrived only three days before from Shorewood, Illinois. Everything was still in boxes, so our mother had bought the three of us: Belinda, Craig, and me – Melissa - binders with Snoopy covers. Usually, we never got the fancy things. Like, if we needed a binder, we got the solid one, not a cool one with a picture of Wonder Woman, Donny and Marie or The Bionic Woman or something. These Snoopy binders were a first for us, and I loved it.

I remember we were nervous. It was the actual middle of the school year, and we were starting today. We were so scared and nervous that we ended up singing, “You're the One That I Want!" from “Grease” and trotting back and forth dancing and laughing for the whole 10 minutes that we waited for the bus! Then the bus was finally coming, and we straightened up.

Just as we had been told, it was the “Owl” bus. The owl picture was in the window. The bus stopped and the bus driver opened the door. She had a beehive hair-do, and she had a pleasant look. She smiled, but this was not like our Shorewood bus. The first thing I noticed was that some of the kids practically looked like babies –with those chubby baby hands and faces still, and next, it was loud in there – some kids were popping up like popcorn and singing soul songs.

Us three were supposed to sit together so we were walking to the back where there were some empty seats. The bus was already moving, and we were trying to keep our balance and then someone whispered, “Fatarika gon’ get you!” and pointed. We three looked at who the finger was pointing at – and it led to a big girl with two bushy puffs of hair on her head who looked like she had been rolling in mud, she was so dirty. She was missing a hand, and she took up an entire seat. She was staring at us and squinting her eyes at us. We stopped, scared to walk pass – believing she was “Gon’ get us!” like the boy was saying. We stood there frozen, vibrating as the bus lumbered along.

“Roar!” she said.

All three of us started running to that empty back seat like our lives depended on it. We sat down, breathing heavily and all thinking the same thing, “Fatarika is a monster.”

Belinda said, “Don’t worry. When the bus stops, just don’t look this time—don’t stare. Just get off the bus.”

That is exactly what we did.

Now we were lost though. Craig was supposed to be in kindergarten, I was supposed to be in second grade, and Belinda was supposed to be in fourth grade and there we were spinning around having no idea where to go.

“Would Belinda, Melissa, and Craig Edwards please report to the office,” there was an announcement calling for us, but we had no idea how to get to the office. All of the other kids were scattering around, no big hurry to get anywhere.

We were actually now huddled together holding hands and walking no place pretty fast when there she was again, Fatarika. We had two things to be worried about now. We were lost and Fatarika was standing in our way. Belinda was the oldest so she spoke up, “Excuse me Fatarika,” she said very politely, but her voice was quiet and trembling.

Suddenly, Fatarika reached out both hands – the missing one turned out to just be weird -- and pushed all three of us at once, and we tumbled back hard -- hitting the floor. She loomed over us with her fist balled up, but then there was a teacher pulling her back as we tried to scramble off the floor.

We were crying. Our Snoopy binders and supplies were all over the floor. Fatarika was being held back from us.

In the office, they had comforted us and calmed us down. Now we were in a room: Us, the principal and Fatarika.

The principal had black hair, wore a green dress, and black high-heeled shoes. There was a big window behind her huge, wooden desk. She was not smiling.

Fatarika sat in a seat looking down.

“Why did you push them Fredrika?” the principal said.

She sounded tired and a little mad.

Fatarika turned to look at us and balled up her eyes when making eye contact.

“They were picking on me!”

The principal turned to look at us – looking us up and down…maybe to see if we were the picking on type. She sighed.

I know we were all confused because all we knew about Fatarika was what we learned between the bus ride and the push. We hadn’t said anything to her except, “Excuse me Fatarika.”

Belinda spoke up, “We did not pick on her. We never said anything about her at all.”

Fatarika put her head down then, her shoulders slumped, like she was giving up. I didn’t know why, but I felt bad; I hated seeing someone get in trouble.

The principal looked at Fatarika, shaking her head.

She dismissed us.

Thankfully someone finally took us to our classes.

After that, Fredrika never looked at us again.

For years, I remembered a big, terrible girl. Then eventually it dawned on me. I wondered about her. I found myself curious and worried.

Decades passed.

Today I went to Google and typed in, “Fredrika, Gilpin Court, Richmond, Va., 1979.”