Carry Me Down by M. J. Hyland Page B

burst,’ I say. ‘It won’t happen again.’
    ‘I don’t understand,’ says my mother.
    The nurse suggests possible causes – nervousness, anxiety, trouble at home – and my mother denies each one. I begin to feel ashamed.
    The nurse blames the fact that I’m an only child. She asks my mother if perhaps I am lonely.
    ‘He is not lonely,’ says my mother. ‘He has the company of his parents and his grandmother who love him very much.’
    ‘And my cat,’ I say.
    The nurse ignores me and holds out a piece of paper for mymother to take. My mother looks at the piece of paper but doesn’t take it.
    ‘You should read this,’ says the nurse. ‘And maybe John should take the day off today. He can start again on Monday.’
    But then it occurs to me: taking the day off school is a terrible idea. It would give my classmates more time to think up torments. I should go back in and behave as though nothing has happened, as though I don’t care. Even better, I will make it not exist. I will act. It won’t have happened.
    ‘I want to go to class today,’ I say.
    The nurse tucks her chin into the folds of fat in her neck. I look past her and out the window. Joseph the Tinker is walking his piebald horse across the field. I want to wave, but he probably wouldn’t see me.
    ‘It’s up to you, Mrs Egan. He’s your boy.’
    The break-time bell rings and my mother reaches out for my hand but I don’t let her hold it.
    ‘Are you sure you want to go back today?’
    ‘Yes. I’m sure.’
    We stand to leave and the nurse follows us out. ‘Mrs Egan,’ says the nurse, holding the same piece of paper, ‘you’ve forgotten this.’
    My mother shakes her head. ‘We won’t need it,’ she says, ‘Sister … I’m sorry. I’ve forgotten your name.’
    My mother has met the nurse before but she forgets names deliberately. It’s her way of making unpleasant people feel inferior.
    The nurse looks at me as though it is my fault. ‘My name’s Sister Carmel,’ she says.
    My mother takes my hand and we walk down the corridor to classroom 5G.
    I look up at her when we are outside the door. My classmates are standing behind their desks: it must be a spelling test, and I would like to win it. ‘Why am I an only child?’ I ask.
    ‘You ask me that every time somebody else talks about it.’
    ‘I want to know again.’
    ‘You’re an only child because I wanted you to be the only one. Is that all right with you?’
    I wait for her to say more, but she turns and walks down the corridor without saying goodbye, without kissing me.
    As soon as I sit at my desk, the whispering and laughing begins. Mandy, the girl on my right, sings, ‘Wee, wee, wee, all the way home’ and the boy on my left joins in. I look at Mandy until she stops, and the boy stops soon after. Jimmy, the redhead, puts a ruler against the crotch of his pants and makes a pissing sound. I look away. Miss Collins doesn’t call on me during lessons and Brendan doesn’t turn in his desk to make funny faces or pass signals.
    When my classmates tease me and whisper things against me, I use a new trick. When Miss Collins speaks, I repeat what she has said three times in my mind. When she says ‘The Tuskar Rock is a dangerous low-lying rock six nautical miles north east of Carnsore Point on the south east of Ireland and the lighthouse was lit for the first time on the 4th June 1815’, I say the same thing in my head three times and promise I will never forget it.
    I know I haven’t the brain of a scholar and that, if I did, a good memory would come naturally. But I can make myself clever. There’s no reason whatsoever why not. So I practise. When I read a sentence in a book, I read every sentence three times, close my eyes after each one, and repeat the sentence in my mind. This trick is not only good for my brain, it helps me to ignore the whispering and teasing, and it helps me not to think bad thoughts. The more I do it, the more I begin to see that it will help me