Freckles, Part 2

The thick plottens, as my Mum used to say.

The year is 2010. My life has taken an... unusual turn. At age seven I declared to my parents that I had every intention of making bullfighter my career. It turns out things were not destined to be so cut and dried for me.

In fact, the map that I had drawn on Cory’s face all those years ago resembled our school grounds. What this meant for us, we didn’t know at the time. But we both knew that we were more excited about going to school the next morning than we had been at any other time that year. Except that day when the canteen had done American hot dogs.

So that morning Cory and I walked to school together. Of course my Mum rang Cory’s house and told his parents about what we had been up to. I’m pretty sure she had implied that it was all my idea too. My Mum always thought that kind of stuff was my idea. She was right. Cory’s mum, not my biggest fan to begin with, gave me a particularly filthy look when I knocked on the door to collect him. I knew she’d come around to me though (she never did). When Cory came to the door I could see that his mother had seen fit to subject him to another scrubbing session. His face looked pink and sore, which meant she had probably had a go this morning as well as last night. Not that Cory’s Mum had experienced any more success than my Mum had for her efforts; Cory’s face remained a living example of my artistry, albeit a slightly faded example. It made me glad Mum had never thought to check under, say, my T-shirt. My body remained adorned with every single one of Cory’s creations. I could imagine my barbarian ally under my shirt sleeve bringing me strength.

The looks, gestures and whispers from other kids started even before we got through the school gate. Cory was today’s show and tell. We were in different classes that year (for the first time, but not the last, once it was recognised that we could get up to more mischief together than separately) but I was considerate enough to seek out most of his classmates, the ones that mattered at least, and by that I mean the ones who were most likely to tease him. I told them that his facial markings were the first step in our plan to get Cory adopted by ninjas. If they were to tease him, these kids were told, I couldn’t guarantee that they would be swiftly and quietly murdered... but I couldn’t guarantee that they wouldn’t, either. For me the day passed uneventfully. I spent it gazing around my classroom and out the many windows, trying to gain some inspiration. What was Cory’s face-map trying to tell me? No matter how much I strained my brain I couldn’t come up with anything.

After school Cory and I met on the playground swings to compare notes.
“Did you see anything unusual today?” I asked him.
“Yeah. I saw everyone in the class staring at me all day,” Cory muttered. I sensed a sulk coming on.
“So you’re popular now. No need to thank me. Anything else?”
“Oh, yeah, my teacher pulled me aside at interval and asked if I was being bullied. That was a fun conversation. I don’t think she believed me when I told her we did it for fun,” he said, real confusion showing on his face. How could that not be considered a fun activity? "Other than that, nah, nothing.”
“Dumb.”
“What if it’s not really a map of the school? Maybe we made a mistake.”
“Do you really think that?” I stared right into his blue eyes, searching for the truth. “Do you know what I think? I think this is the furthest thing from a mistake possible. We did something completely right, maybe for the first time in our lives.”
Cory’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah. Why does the best thing we’ve ever done have to involve messing up my face though.”
“That’s just the way it is, man. You’ll be right,” I threw Cory a reassuring grin, although I didn’t feel reassured. It was then that I noticed a particular set of freckles in on Cory’s right cheek. It wasn’t perfect, but if you looked at his face front on they almost formed... an ‘X’. And that ‘X’ was right where we were sitting, on the swings.
“What are you boys still doin’ here?” a voice called from behind us. “You waitin’ to be picked up?” It was Mr Tonkin, the caretaker. He was really nice to us kids, when we saw him. He was often out on the field, mowing, weed-whackering or pruning. He probably would have offered to call someone for us if we were left waiting.
He pulled off his sunhat and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Cory and I both gasped. For some reason, before today we had never noticed how many freckles Mr Tonkin had. We looked at each other and my best friend tipped me a little nod.
I spoke up. “No, we’re okay, Mr Tonkin. Hey, this might sound a little bit weird, but...”

END OF PART 2.