The front door creaks on its rusted hinges as I carefully pull it closed behind us. The chipped paint and scratches on its surface tell stories of years of wear, and the metallic clink of the lock sliding into its place echoes faintly down the crowded street. Outside, the morning light spills across the wide main road, highlighting the uneven cracks in the pavement and glinting off the rain-slicked asphalt. The air is heavy with the mingling scents of vehicle fumes, the perfume of unwashed sweat, and the sharp tang of spilled gasoline. I tighten my grip on Ernie’s hand as the surge of foot traffic sweeps around us, each passerby brushing past with a hurried pace that feels like it might pull him from my grasp. It’s important not to leave the door too far ajar and invite strangers to push their way inside and help themselves with anything they want. There are always people on the street where the ‘job’ they are walking to is the house of anyone leaving their door open for too long. The door locks and I put my keys into my bag. Holding my brother’s hand, we wait for a gap in the foot traffic and make our way off the front step into the crowd heading north along the road.
The sun is beginning to rise, casting a hazy orange glow over the distant rooftops, but here on the ground, the light is filtered and dim. The crowd moves like a living organism, flowing with practiced disorder, each person weaving deftly to avoid collisions. The cracked asphalt beneath our feet is littered with discarded wrappers and cigarette butts, glinting dully under the growing light. A firm shove from behind propels us into step, our pace matching the hurried rhythm of the masses towards our school. It takes us about an hour of walking at this pace to reach school each day. I am sure I once appreciated the exercise, but now it’s just a count-down timer to being late with all of the potentially dangerous hold-ups along the way.
Walking with the crowd now feels mechanical, almost hypnotic. The buildings flanking the street rise like jagged teeth, their windows darkened by grime and curtains of dust. A tangle of electric wires weave overhead, their shadows forming an intricate web against the facades. The occasional shopfront breaks the monotony, dynamic billboards flickering outdated advertisements. It is a harsh, unforgiving environment, yet the city pulses with a powerful energy that pulls us all through this same routine.
Even when people are walking in the safer neighbourhoods, they unfortunately can’t bring out our phones to message friends, listen to music, or finish off a last bit of homework. It only takes one person in the crowd to snatch their phone out of their hands and even if they see who it is, there is no way to quickly go against the direction of the crowd and to catch up with them.
I turned to Ernie, his gaze focuses directly ahead, despite the bustling figures around us. His small frame seemed out of place amidst the towering adults, and I tighten my grip on his hand to provide him with reassurance. “We won’t be able to walk to school together like this for much longer”. He nodded and let out a “yeah”, his face betraying little. “With me finishing school at the end of the year and looking for work full-time”. More nodding with silence. I decide to change the conversation. “Have you made any new friends lately?”
“Everyone is really nice to me… I don’t need new friends though. I just want to make the football team and kick some goals,” he replied, his eyes lighting up with a rare spark of enthusiasm.
That's right—he has football tryouts at school tomorrow against all those older boys. I hope he doesn't get disappointed if he doesn't make the team. "I don't have any classes late afternoon and will come along and watch the end of your tryouts," I offered.
“Thanks” he replied with a genuine smile. Our conversation faded into silence after that. Ernie is a quiet, easy-trusting boy and I have to make sure he doesn’t get hurt too badly when he learns the harsh truths of the world.
As we walk through one of the rougher suburbs, the crowded street began to thin as people enter their places of work along the way. The narrow sidewalks give way to broader, uneven stretches of pavement dotted with faded chalk drawings and crumbling steps. The air here was different—heavier, carrying a sour undercurrent of neglect.
Roselyn and her group come into view up ahead. Dom’s swagger is unmistakable, his loud laugh punching through the ambient noise like a sledgehammer. Sabina fusses over Sam’s shirt, tugging it out from where it had been tucked into his jeans. I notice that she didn’t untuck his jeans from his socks, so she has a long way to go to improve his fashion sense. Some days they are dating and others quite distant. It seems like it is more affected by whether Sabina feels like she wants him as her boyfriend that day. If he wasn’t such an idiot, I might feel sorry for him. Sam seems to like being included and if he doesn’t care how Dom treats him to be a part of that group. I guess not caring how his girlfriend treats him is no different.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Dom and Roselyn were talking to each other before my sister’s sharp voice pierces the morning air. “Ernest, come and join us! Dom is talking about football tryouts tomorrow.” I started to panic inside. I thought that Dom wouldn’t play this season, being so close to finishing school. He must be expecting to fail everything and have to repeat the year. It makes sense. He doesn’t do the work or listen when he does attend class, and he won’t have this sort of power over others when he leaves school and has to be an adult. “He wants to know what position you’ll be trying out for and to give you some pointers.”
Ernie began to move forward eagerly, his face lighting up at the prospect of joining them. I put my hand on his arm and look him in the eyes sternly as he turned to face me. “No Ernie”. My voice is calm but firm, and the unspoken warning in my eyes is enough to make him hesitate. He glances back at me, his hopeful expression dimming. He would have loved the chance to gain the approval of his sister’s older boyfriend and to talk football, believing it to be harmless… but I can’t allow him to be drawn into that group of derelicts too… Dom will have to find someone else if he wants more puppets.
Needless to say, I wasn’t the most popular person there right now. I try adjusting my pace to lose them, speeding up and slowing down, but they match my stride, determined to keep mocking me. Dom’s laughter rings out again, louder this time, and I feel the weight of their taunts pressing down on me like a physical burden. In the end, I had no choice but to endure their criticism and sarcastic remarks for the rest of the walk. At least they are targeted at me and not Ernie. He looks a bit uncomfortable, but a lack of speech wasn’t a change from his comfortable state anyway.
The buildings around us loom taller, their cracked walls and boarded-up windows casting long, foreboding shadows. A group of homeless people sat slumped against the walls, their hollow eyes scanning the crowd with disinterest. The ground around them is littered with crushed cans and scraps of paper, a silent testament to lives spent on the fringe. I try not to make eye contact with any of them. They don’t usually trouble students because we don’t have any money either, but they get bored, and I never want to give them a reason to pick a fight with me.
My thinking is interrupted when I hear my name being repeated in my sister’s posh English accent. It is a part of her routine in making fun of me. “Victorrria… Victorrrrria.” She wasn’t very good at the accent. It didn’t stop her though. Now for the uncool teasing. “Are you going to spend lunch in your library today Victorrria?” I am starting to feel a bit nervous. This isn’t from the teasing. I can ignore Roselyn’s sarcastic voice for hours without hearing a word she says if I want. No, this is something else… is someone following us? I turned my head around both ways suddenly, scanning for anyone watching us or looking with a violent stare directed at us. As we pass by more homeless people, I try to check if someone is watching us, but I can only manage quick, fleeting glances. Anything longer feels too suspicious and likely to frighten Ernie.
The brief eye contact I made while checking for someone who could be following us was almost enough to cause trouble as it is. It is close to impossible to tell for sure if someone is following us in crowds like this on the street, so carefully holding Ernie’s wrist, I tug him forward as I pick up my walking pace. That brings more insults this time from Dom.
“Haha, look at how scared she is of you Rosy. Holding onto Ernest as if she’s protecting him from something, when really, it’s his touch keeping her calm from fright!” That comment hurt a bit from the truth that rang in it. Ok, I’m definitely protecting Ernie from Dom and his manipulation, but there was something calming about not being alone and having Ernie there with me.
We walk off, distancing ourselves from their group all the way to school. The slap of my shoes against the pavement feels deafening against the muffled roar of the city, and my heart pounds in rhythm with my steps. The school gates finally come into view, their chipped paint and sagging hinges a welcome sight. The building loomed ahead, its brick walls streaked with soot but standing solid and resolute. Relief washes over me as we step inside. As much as I am looking forward to the freedom money that a real job can bring, I enjoy school. I am able to learn new things about the world and to spend time with my best friend Claudia.
Ernie smiles up at me, his innocence shining through despite the hardships we faced. But even as I returned his smile, the unease lingers—a shadow I can’t quite shake.
