I had always been awkward to the point of comedic. Not that I actively went out of my way to be funny, mind you. It was simply my low self-esteem combined with my implicit belief that I was ugly – I detested the huge blob of a nose I had inherited from daddy dearest – that gave rise to my proclivity to trip, stumble, falter and foil … repeatedly.
In Grade 10, things worsened when I realized that I was really no good at studying. I was an intelligent student, yes, able to answer class questions and submit meritorious assignments, but when it came to exams, I was Loser Number 1.
“Hidaya, why don’t you just study for the exams, like all of us do? Then you won’t be so stressed and break out in zits when it’s exam times,” my best friend, Shamiel Dollie, advised me one day.
I looked at this cocky son of a gun in disbelief and said, “I study! Really, I do. It’s just that I can’t for the life of me remember what I studied when I get the exam paper.”
“Maybe you need a better method. Have you thought of changing the way you study?” Shamiel asked me as if he were some fancy school counselor. I was incredulous that this Master Cheat was giving me advice on how to study. Everybody knew that Shamiel thrived on cheat notes, even though he was naturally intelligent.
“Listen, the only subject I feel the slightest bit comfortable with to sit an exam for is English, as you know only too well. I’m horrendously useless at Math, as you know, and I’ll probably fail, again. I have no option but to cheat, man!”
“Fine, I give up! We’re writing Geography tomorrow. Did you at least start on it?” Shamiel asked me, sending my already high blood pressure into outer space.
“Bye! Go home! I forgot all about it so I’m going to start studying now,” I exclaimed, escorting Shamiel out of our house.
Geography happened to be one of my favorite subjects, mostly because I adored our young teacher, Mr. Trew, who liked to sign our books with “Yours, Trewly”. Corny? Yes. Cute? You betcha!
I had an entire term’s work to study; by 3 AM I knew it was a lost cause. I couldn’t remember all the facts about contours, escarpments, longitudes, latitudes, topography, topology. And I couldn’t sketch a map if you held a gun to my temple and threatened to shoot me dead if I didn’t do it. Death would be an easier choice.
I looked at my notebook stuffed with useless facts. Without allowing myself another second to consider what I was about to do, I tore two pages of notes dealing with Climatology out of the book. I would use them to cheat from during the exam.
The next day, I was a bundle of nerves, far clumsier than ever before. Once I was seated at my exam desk – Shamiel sitting just behind me – I dropped my pencil case. Predictably, it cracked open, spilling the contents like entrails across the floor. After collecting the last item, I sat down under the watchful eye of the invigilator. The notes burned against my chest, where I had stashed them in the inside pocket of my school jacket. I was relieved that the invigilators never searched us as we entered the exam venue.
“Pssst! Pass them to me!” Shamiel demanded in a harsh whisper an hour into the exam, after he noticed I was cheating from some notes. I checked to see where the invigilator was; she was gazing dreamily out of the window. Swiftly, I pushed one of the sheets towards Shamiel. Then disaster struck. Instead of him grabbing the sheet, it fluttered to the floor, falling to the space between our desks. To worsen matters, at that exact moment Mr. Trew entered the room to see if we had any queries about the exam.
I wanted the world to end in nuclear strikes, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions! Any calamity that would spare me this shame, for like an eagle-eyed angel, Mr. Trew instantly spotted the incriminating page on the floor. His eyes met mine, then purposely shifted to the invigilator. Mr. Trew started a conversation with her, affording me the chance to scrape the page back to me with an outstretched leg. Shamiel could forget about getting my help!
The utter chagrin I suffered followed me home, trailed my every move, shadowed me for the next three days like a hound from hell determined to mark me as his own. On the fourth day I knew I had to come clean. I approached Mr. Trew’s office hesitantly, a young lad going to meet his doom. Surprisingly, I didn’t stumble once during my trudge of trepidation.
“Enter,” Mr. Trew said in response to my knock. “Hidaya, what can I do for you?” he greeted upon seeing me. His friendly manner and warm personality only served to compound my guilt and confirm that I was a cad of the lowliest order. I knew I simply had to blurt out the truth in one go, like pulling off a Band-Aid in one jerk. I forgot that it still hurts, no matter what.
“Mr. Trew, I wanted to apologise for having cheated in your exam,” I said, eyes downcast, shoulders hunched. “You can fail me, sir. I deserve it.”
“Hidaya,” Mr. Trew said my name warmly, his tone forcing my eyes to meet his blue-eyed gaze.
“You’re not the only one who cheated,” he revealed. “But you are the only one honest enough to have admitted it. I think you’ve learned an unforgettable lesson. Knowing you, you’ve probably been putting yourself through Hades and back. Forget it, Hidaya. Go home,” Mr. Trew instructed me.
My admiration for that man was that day elevated to heavenly heights. I have never forgotten him, nor his kindness.
And I never again cheated.
Image: Ben Mullins (www.unsplash.com)
