The chalk creaks in agony on the blackboard.
We hate this double English. Still not even
midway into the first period that happens
only on Tuesdays. The minutes grind on
like stilt walkers on my new watch. Amma
brought it on the first day she went to work
in this sad new year after the sea invasion.
We’re rapt in our watches. Ms. Lalitha,
sensing the air decompress in yawns, glares
back with a scowl. Her meticulous eyes
travel from our back row to the middle.
I copy another sentence in nine attempts:
‘A T-s-u-n-a-m-i is when large
sea waves come rapidly past the beach.’
I read it on instinct and gulp air to say
something that dissipated. A bright kid
beats me to it: “Miss, is there a letter T
in the new word? Why is it capitalized?”
The old rattling fan stabs me
a roomful of air. I look down
at the monster, scribbled
in my own book. Knock my right
fist into it first. Then the left one,
harder.
Heads turn around. Ms. Lalitha
clears her throat. “Yes, boys,
that’s what it is called. This T
will always be capital through all
of our lives. It should remain so in honor…”
My neighbor wraps his arm around me.
Samodh Porawagamage is the author of becoming sam (Burnside Review Press) and All the Salty Sand in Our Mouths (forthcoming from Airlie Press). His writing focusses on the Sri Lankan Civil War, poverty & underdevelopment, colonial & imperial atrocities, and disproportionate impacts of climate change on rural & marginalized communities. He works at Hamilton College.