Sarah Jordan fortto@yahoo.com
English Inventive Writing Assignment #1 
THE SWINGS

The first time he spoke I fell in love.  The twang of his accent was 
music to my ears, and not only that, his words were intelligent.  This 
guy, new to my school, actually spoke!

He moved here about a month ago, and barely said two words in the 
history class we shared.  He came across as a reserved and shy guy who 
just sat in class randomly writing things in his notebook.  But today, 
he was avidly paying attention to the topic being discussed, post 
apartheid South Africa.  Every comment that was made seemed to strike a 
cord within him.  Someone said, the whites deserved the treatment they 
were getting, and they should be hauled away.  And that's when it all 
started. 

"What makes you think they had a choice?  The whites are descendents of 
European explorers from 500 years ago," the new kid retorted at the 
class in general.

 "I was saying, after repressing blacks for hundreds of years, the 
whites are getting what they deserve," the first kid said.

"Being forced out of homes, getting turned down from jobs, having to 
abandon our families and friends, and everything we have ever known, is 
that what we deserve?  It's not our fault the Europeans were stupid and 
mean to the blacks hundreds of years ago. They didn't realize it was 
wrong then.  Now its known to be wrong.  Don't make assumptions unless 
you have all the facts", the new kid said.  The bell rang, and he 
disappeared towards the lobby.

"Wait!" I yelled.  I had too many unanswered questions for and about 
him that would keep me up all weekend.  I finally caught up with him.  
"Jonathan, right?"

"Yeah.  If you don't mind, I'm going to miss my bus."  He walked ahead.

"No, wait.  My name is Val.  I'm in your history class.  You seem to 
know a lot about today's discussion, and you have opinions I agree 
with.  I can drive you home if you stay and talk."  I spoke fast so he 
wouldn't walk away.

He turned around, "What do you want to talk about?" he asked, looking 
mildly annoyed.

I smiled.  "I want to know why you feel so strongly, and why you 
haven't said anything else in class, and why you are smart, unlike the 
majority of the school, and where you got that sweet accent."  I 
laughed and blushed after that last question slipped out, though he did 
smile, which made him even more adorable.

"I feel this strongly from experience.  I'm quiet because I don't like 
to intimidate people with my intelligence or my accent, which I got 
from South Africa, hence the experience."  He held the door.  "Would 
you like to talk somewhere more conformable?" 

"Sure, thanks.  Where do you want to go?"

"I'm new here.  I don't know.  You choose," He said following me.

"How about the park? The elementary kids aren't out yet."

"Okay" he said in his sweet accent. 
 
Driving over to the park he kept asking how I could drive on the right 
side of the rode, and shift with my right hand, and not get confused.  
Once we got to the park I drove to the park's playscape.  "Why are we 
in the children's part?" he asked.

"I'm a kid at heart."  I skipped toward the swings.  "This place has 
swings that are high enough for me."  He sat next to me, and we began 
swinging high in the air, laughing like little kids.  "Why did you 
leave South Africa?"

Once my question hit the air he slowed down.  So did I.  "We were 
forced to, in a way.  Since the apartheid ended, the economy has been 
horrible.  I don't mean to sound raciest, but the blacks have no idea 
what they're doing.  They have no experience, and they won't take 
advice from us, fearing we will continue apartheid.  My parents kept 
getting laid off, continually moving to find a job to support five of 
us.  So they moved here."  He had stopped swinging.  "Most of my family 
is still there.  We live here with my aunt and uncle, who came last 
year.  They don't have much money, and their house is small for nine of 
us.  My parents got jobs last week, so we hope to get our own house 
soon."  He smiled for the first time since I spoke.

We sat there in the silence of the park.  "I'm sorry," I finally said.

"I don't want sympathy, I want a normal life."  He got up and started 
walking.  I followed.  "I need some sense of normal.   I've never known 
what that is, or I don't remembered it."

"Nobody ever has a 'normal' life," I said.  "Everyone has problems.  
Unfortunately, you are having more right now; moving to a new school 
and a new country.  I would like to help, if you'll let me." 

"How can you help me?  Can you give my family a house?  Can you take 
away the nightmares of my past?  Can you take away the looks I get 
whenever I speak?  You're the first person not to laugh at my accent 
since I moved here."

"Just ignore people who go to our school, they don't know anything," I 
said.

"Easy for you to say.  You fit in like you're one of them."

"Trust me, I'm not.  My friends and I are made fun of for things we 
can't change"

"How could someone complain about you?" he asked, staring into my eyes. 
"You're perfect; the accent, the name, the dress, the music."

"I may sound and look like everyone else, but I wear what's 
comfortable.  My music is definitely not what everyone likes. I hate 
anything with a drum machine.  You think I never get made fun of for my 
name?"  He looked confused.   "My full name is Valentina, elementary 
school was hell, kids still laugh when a sub messes it up."

"So everyone in school gets put through hell?" he asked.  

"If they don't, they're either incredibly lucky, or boring", I said, 
smiling.  

We spent the rest of the day sitting on the grass, talking.  When we 
got home, I understood him a lot more, and he, me. I wanted to know 
more about him and his experiences, but there will be other days for 
that.