Once Upon A Karma (Karmic Krystal Book 1) (12 page)

“It doesn’t matter now, though, because she apologised to me for saying it.”  I take a deep breath, just as Mrs Richmond had done after she apologised and, as I do so, I feel lighter and more refreshed.

“Did anything happen to her when she called you stupid?” Dad asks.

“Yeah, it was kind of funny.  Everybody was talking loud and she demanded we all have to put our hand up if we want to talk.  Then her hand went up in the air and wouldn’t stay down,” I tell him.  “After she apologised for calling me stupid, though, her hand finally came down.  The rest of the day was good.  We did colouring in and the teacher showed us some of the alphabet.”  It is then that I remember the permission slip.  “Daddy, before I forget, I need you to sign something so that I can go to swimming classes at school.”

“Okay,” he smiles, pocketing the permission slip for later.  My dad then takes a piece of paper from his other pocket and unfolds it.  It is the same piece of paper that I had written my name on today for the teacher.

“Krystal, do you know what this says?” he asks.

“It says my name, Daddy.  It says Krystal.  You know that.”  As I say this to my father, his face grows slightly red.  Once again, I feel fear radiating from him.

“Sweetheart, this doesn’t say ‘Krystal.’  It says ‘KARMA.’  You wrote ‘KARMA’ with runic letters.  Who taught you how to do this?” he asks.  His statement about runic letters confuses me, as does his question. 

“I didn’t learn them.  I just know them.  I have always known them.  It is my true name,” I say.  “The Goddess told me so.”  My statement brings a wave of silence into the yard.

After a few minutes of pondering, Dad says, “I am going to show you a different way to write your name, okay?  The way that I teach you is the way I need you to write it when you are at school.  Can you do that for me, Krystal?” 

“NO!  I don’t want to write it a different way!  This...” I point to the paper, “This is who I am!” I snap at him angrily. 

“Okay, okay!  I won’t push,” he says, raising both hands in the air as if surrendering to a policeman.  “When the teacher showed you the alphabet, today, did you know any of those letters?”  I nod slowly in response.  “When you are reading and writing words – but not your name – do you think you can remember to use those letters?  Those are the letters we use when we are reading.  I want you do really well in school for me.  Can you do that for Daddy?” he asks.

“I will be great, I promise.” I lean over and hug him tight.  “I love you, Daddy.”

“I know, honey.  I love you too.”

Mindy barks loudly, possibly to tell us that she loves us both.  We go back upstairs, only to find that the dishes have been washed, dried and put in the cupboards.  I feel lucky to be a part of such a happy home.

Within a week of school starting, all of the students in my class have returned their permission slips to the teacher, giving full consent to attend the weekly swimming lessons.  Each week, we will be required to bring our swimming bag which contains a towel, our swimming costume, soap and a bathing cap.  I am a little bit apprehensive about being back in the water after the near-drowning incident, but Mrs Richmond assures me that there will be many people there to ensure nobody drowns.  This instils some confidence in me, but not much.

After arriving at the swimming pool for the first lesson, I sneak into one of the empty dressing room and change into my purple swimming costume, purchased brand new just last week, along with a purple beach towel, purple swimming cap with tiny white five-pointed stars.  Since the swimming pool today is outdoors, I also put an orange t-shirt on which Dad has packed as well.  He told me he doesn’t want me coming home looking like a baked lobster, so I figure I had better wear it.  My swimming bag is a giant fluffy version of my school library bag.  It is orange and has my name stitched onto it with blue ribbon.  My true name.  I can’t help but smile at all of the trouble my father had gone to for me to have the perfect swimming bag. 
Nobody can ever mistake this bag for being theirs! 
I hang my swimming bag on a hook behind the showers, along with my towel. 

All of the students are excited to be swimming in the outdoor pool on such a warm day.  Well, that is until they realise that they have to walk through a narrow walkway with four freezing cold showers wetting us on the way out.  But although the showers are cold, the sunshine on the other side is warm and feels good on my skin.  Throughout the year, we will be taught to float, kick with yellow floating boards in front of us, dive and more.  Today, however, is just getting into the water to where we feel our comfort levels end.  Most of the students are able to walk into the pool until the water is up to their shoulders.  One student puts one foot in the water and then runs back into the change room because it is too cold for his liking.  As for me, I go as deep as my waist.  Any deeper scares me.

Lifeguards and their assistants get each of us to try and float by inhaling, holding our breath and relaxing.  It is at this stage that I know what a rock feels like on the bottom of a pond.  Today is not my lucky day.

A few weeks pass and we are transferred to the indoor pool.  I am tempted to sneak into the steam room and spend my swimming lessons there instead, but since my school teacher and I had become so familiar with each other on the first day of school, I know that my absence on any day will be missed.  Walking over to the edge of the pool, I dip my toes into the water at the stairs.  I expect it to be cold but am pleasantly surprised to find that it is warm. 

“Excuse me, Mrs Richmond… is the water in this pool warm because people have peed into it?” I ask.  Part of me is expecting her to yell and get angry, just like she did on the first day of school, but she smiles and shakes her head.

“All along the side of the pool are special water filters that keep the water warm, Krystal.  Those filters also keep the water clean,” she says, before looking at all of the students and saying sternly, “One of the most important rules of the pool is that you are not allowed to pee in the water.  If you need to pee, get out of the pool, walk up the stairs and carefully walk to the toilet.  If you run on the side of the pool, you will not only put yourself and others at risk, but you will also no longer be permitted to attend swimming lessons.  Is that understood?”

“YEEESSSSSSS, MIIIISSSUS RIIIICHMOOONNND,” comes the drawled response from the students.  I wonder to myself when they will start answering the teacher at normal human pace, rather than at sleeping zombie pace.

On non-swimming days, we learn how to pronounce the letters of the alphabet and how to recognise the rules of the English language:  ‘I’ before ‘E’ unless after ‘C’, all names of people, places, weekdays and religions start with a capital letter.  Mid-year, the school starts ‘religious studies’ and students are broken up into two groups:  Catholic and non-Catholic.  Since I am neither, I take my books and sit outside.  Mrs Richmond follows me and asks me why I had not gone to my respective group.

“I did.  I am outside with Nature.  She is my Goddess,” I respond, smiling.

“So your family is what… devil worshippers?” she asks, almost knocking me over with her sworded words. 

“You associate Nature with evil?  Wow, and here I was thinking YOU were the adult between us,” I reply, staring at her in disbelief.

“If you do not follow and obey a Christian God, you are indeed evil on many levels.”

An angry voice immediately shouts inside my head, ‘
NO!
’ before Mrs Richmond falls backwards onto her butt.  The voice inside my head was a familiar one.  It is the same voice that had told me of my true name… the voice of the Goddess herself. 

“You really are insane, you know that?” I exclaim loudly, pointing at her in fierce accusation.  The staring contest that follows for the next couple of minutes reminds me of the first day in her classroom.  Discouraged by her ignorance, I start to turn away from her.  It is then that she finally gets back on her feet, dusts herself off and calmly walks into the classroom.  The eyes of the students and the priest are now following her every move, unsure of whether she will be sitting in for the rest of the class or will have some insults of her own to voice about me.

In front of the priest, she screams to a classroom full of five year old students, “All of you filthy little bastards had better fear your God and his book of fear or be burned, every one of you, at the stake and be sent to the fiery pits of Hell where your pain will be for eternity!”  The priest stares, mouth open, shocked into silence by Mrs Richmond’s insane and abusive ramblings.  When she starts laughing loudly before cackling like a chicken on steroids, the priest gains back enough composure to pick up the wall phone in the classroom and dial the office for emergency assistance, advising that one of the teachers had just gone completely off the grid when it comes to sanity. 

Before the hour of religious studies class ends, the principal comes to our classroom and hands out pieces of paper which need to be urgently signed by each student’s parent and returned to the office the next day.  On the bus at the end of the day, I hand the paper to Leena, asking what it says.  When she reads it, her eyes open wide and she stares at me.  “So the ruckus was from
your
class?” she asks incredulously.

“Huh?  My class didn’t do anything wrong today.  The teacher just lost her mind, before swearing, laughing and clucking like a chicken.  The students and the priest were not doing any ruckussing,” I answered, a little bit annoyed.

“
Ruckussing
is not a word,” Leena says, giggling.  The paper says, “If you wish for your student to be excused from religious studies, please indicate below with your reasons.  Please also state which parish your child belongs to.  Parish?  We didn’t get this sort of thing when I started at the school.  Whatever happened in your class today must have really made an impact.”  As soon as the bus stops at our house, Leena comes up with an idea.

“Daddy, please put all of our names on it.  This religious studies thing is, so far, only for those in grade one, but if they decide to extend it to all classes… I want to be in the library with Krystal, studying our own Wiccan religion, or even sitting outdoors in Nature and studying,” Leena says, really pushing her point home.  Without having to be asked twice, Dad signs the paper with our names, giving the reason that we are of the Wiccan faith, just as our ancestors had been for many thousands of years before us, and no school is permitted the right to forcibly change our beliefs.

“If there are any problems, go to the office and call me at work immediately.  I will come there myself and sort it out,” he says.  My heart swells with pride at my father’s words.  My dad, however, is livid that they had tried to do such a thing without notifying parents in the first place.  Thankfully, the phone call becomes unnecessary.  As soon as the note is handed in at the administration office, Leena, Tania and I are advised by the school secretary that we will be able to spend the hour of religious studies either in the library or outdoors with Nature each week for the rest of the year.

Mrs Richmond does not return to the school and is replaced with a substitute teacher, Mr Howard, who is to be our teacher until the year’s end.  He is very polite to all of the students in our class.  Mr Howard reminds me a lot of Mrs Tucker from last year in kindergarten, in that he adores the students and the students adore him.  The substitute teacher continues our lessons exactly where we had left off, with the rules of the English language.  He even tells us that some letters inside words are completely silent, but we do not have to worry about that until next year.

As the year draws to an end, excitement starts to buzz for all of the grade one students as our final swimming day approaches.  Instead of a two hour field trip, it will be a full day swimming carnival, since all of the students will need to be graded individually.  With parents in attendance, the kids who are about to do the test are extra nervous.  They will be tested in alphabetical order of the students’ surnames, starting with ‘A’.  As my surname is Hunter, I will be assessed after Jason Astley, Maree Clark and Suzy Harris.  With everybody gathered at the outdoor pool, Jason is first to be called.  I watch as he dives correctly from the side of the pool before having to ‘rescue’ a small brick from under the water in the shallow end.  He then has to swim with the brick and lift it to the edge of the pool.  After this, he is handed a kick board and is asked to kick the length of the junior pool, which was a whopping twenty-five metres in length!  I start doubting myself at this stage, wondering if I can do all of these things and pass in front of so many people.  I look among the group of parents in the small make-shift grandstand who are proudly watching their kids.  At first, I am unable to find my dad, but then he stands up and starts waving at me. 
I won’t disappoint you, Daddy. 
Smiling, I wave back.

Just as Jason finishes his swimming portion and passes the kick board to the lifeguard, I feel a cry for help coming from the water, even though the pool is now empty.  At first, I catch a glimpse of what I think is a leaf, floating towards one of the pool filters but then I notice the tiny ripples.  Without having to think twice, I dive straight into the pool, swimming as fast as I can to the ‘leaf with legs.’  The lifeguard starts to yell at me from the edge of the pool, as does Mr Howard, but I am undeterred.  If this living thing is pulled into the filter, it could be crushed to death.

“It is not your turn, young lady.  Now, get out of the water at once or you will be disqualified from testing as a reward for your antics!” the lifeguard continues shouting at me.  He then pipes down when my father taps him on the shoulder from behind, giving his ever-so-famous warning look. 

When I reach the creature, I can feel it hanging on to life by a thread.  Fifteen centimetres in length, it is a giant cockroach.  These animals are not filthy like the ones found inside dirty abandoned houses, but are a revered piece of nature which brings balance to the undergrowth.  I put my forearm under the length of the creature’s body and lift it gently.  Knowing that it will not live for much longer unless I can intervene, I swim sidestroke as quickly as I can, keeping the cockroach on my arm and holding it out of the water so that it can get some much needed oxygen.  Once I reach the stairs of the pool, I climb out and walk over to one of the trees behind the grandstand.  I close my eyes, absorbing the water from the cockroach’s tiny lungs, before transferring the water into the roots of the tree.

“I ask you to give this animal strength, just as the water given to you from its lungs is a will give you strength.  Nurture each other.”  I then look solely at the giant cockroach.  “And you, mister, stay away from the swimming pool in future, please?” I request, before releasing it into a pile of leaves at the base of the tree.  I feel the creature’s strength increase, its health improve and its gratitude at being rescued.  “You’re welcome.”  Smiling, I walk back to the pool, only to find a large group of students and parents staring.  Only one of them looks happy:  Dad.

“What the heck is wrong with you, girlie?  This is a swimming test, not a circus!  You fail!” the lifeguard shouts at me.  This brings on a lot more shouting from both the parents and the students.  It takes a moment before I realise the shouting is not directed toward me, but rather to the lifeguard.  My father finally brings the crowd’s shouting down to a silent mumble here and there.

“This is a swimming test, you say?” Dad asks the lifeguard.  When he is met with silence, my father continues.  “My daughter just dove into the water, swam freestyle to save the life of an actual living animal – not a brick – and then swam sidestroke while carrying her drowning victim out of the pool.  Are you really sure you want to fail her after all of that?  What if it has been your son or daughter drowning?  Would you not want my daughter near them to help if you were unavailable?  Is that what you are saying?  Is that what you are teaching to these children?”

“She broke the rules.  It was not her turn,” the lifeguard says angrily.  The shouting resumes in protest, from the students and the parents.

“You want my daughter to learn that she has to wait her turn before saving a life?  A living thing would drown in that case.  If you are clear in your conscience, go ahead and fail her.  But pray that you or somebody you love never needs saving someday.” Dad replies, matter-of-factly.  “Test or not, she just passed with flying colours.”