Ah, ah, ah. Iqbal rushes to me
with genuine concern. "Eh, eh, how are you? Are you okay? Eh, cannot
be so painful, right?" Someone waves and points outside, the rest
run to their places and sit down. "Sorry lah, sorry. Teacher coming.
Hah, crying already? You so crybaby, don't cry, teacher will be here.
Please? I'm sorry. Cikgu dah nak sampai ni!"
I push him off and move back to my seat just as the
teacher walks in. He hit me in the eye. It hurts. Of course I'm tearing.
It is natural, a reflex: I can't control it, can I? I might go blind.
The little idiot tried to blind me. See, everything's blurry. I can't
see with this eye anymore. I'm blind in one eye. I shall have to wear
an eye-patch. You have blinded one of my eyes. I'll take care of you.
And yes, I did take care of him. It was all so simple.
Iqbal was always reckless. We were rushing to the lab, and in that
race down the stairs, he must have tripped, and went tumbling down,
just missing Khairul, tumbling down, down, a small, comical boulder,
flinging books left and right, ending at the last step with a thud,
a single exercise-book fluttering down and landing on top of him.
I tried to hide my grins.
He returned from the hospital a week later with this
thick plastic thing around his neck and his right arm in a cast. Pity
he isn't permanently paralysed, but since I am not blind, after all,
I've had my revenge, and I am satisfied.
Iqbal leaves soon. His family is being relocated.
His defeat is merely symbolic, but I'm thankful for it. Finally, finally:
at his departure I shall be, for the first time in my life, to everyone,
a whole person.
