Talking Big
TALKING BIG
Then
Teddy was telling a story about a girl he was seeing. He was red-faced and excited as he relayed how far he had got with her, leaning into the group to emphasize his point. They all knew he was exaggerating. Kian imagined that if any of it was really true, Teddy would be cooler about it, less excited, more satisfied.
For late May, it was more muggy than sunny. They had their jackets off, shoved into their backpacks, and had undone their ties so they hung looser around their necks. There wasn’t long left until the summer holidays and life was good. As Teddy continued, going into more graphic detail because he wasn’t getting the reactions he wanted, Ahmed said, “Shut up, man.” It was said in a jokey way, but Kian could sense he wasn’t really joking. Of the four of them, Ahmed was the quietest. He was also the most religious; though he didn’t mind most of the shit they did, he drew the line in particular places.
Teddy’s face grew an even darker shade of scarlet. Kian felt a bit bad for him. He laughed to enforce the fact that Ahmed was obviously joking, and Koyer joined in, slapping Teddy on his back.
Teddy and Koyer walked ahead, while Ahmed and Kian hung back. “Why do we hang out with him again?” Ahmed asked, his dark eyebrows furrowed. His lips were curled into an almost-smile though. His face was oval shaped and thin, and he had a wisp of a mustache that he had let grow. It was the most impressive facial hair of anyone in their class.
“You know he’s all right,” Kian said. “He can just be annoying sometimes.”
It had always been Kian, Koyer, and Ahmed since primary school. Though when they’d moved into high school, Teddy had joined the group. He fitted in for the most part, though maybe Kian only thought that because he liked him. Ahmed shrugged, defeated.
A red car driving past them slowed down to honk its horn three times before the passenger leaned out of the car window to shout “Wankers!” at them. Both Ahmed and Kian shook their heads and laughed, thinking little of it, thinking it was better to laugh about it than take it personally. Though, briefly, Kian imagined how great it would be to have his own car and drive his friends around. No one would call them wankers then.
He heard Koyer shout, “Fucking dickheads!” and turned to see that Koyer had stepped forward onto the curb. He stuck his middle fingers up at them, waving them in the air, before adding, “Don’t run away next time, pussies!”
Teddy laughed, loud and raucous. Kian wished they weren’t like this sometimes. He looked to Ahmed, who had a similar grim look on his face, like he was questioning his friendship choices.
The smile on Teddy’s face dissipated when the vehicle suddenly stopped in the middle of the road to reverse at speed toward them. Kian and Ahmed continued walking, possibly pretending that they couldn’t see what was happening, despite their quickening hearts. Teddy and Koyer, sadly, did not get the memo and squared up to the people in the car.
“What did you say?” the passenger called. He was a chubby lad, at least eighteen, with short strawberry blonde hair and a scowl imprinted on his pink face.
“I said,” Koyer began, elongating each word, “fuck off.”
At this, Kian and Ahmed stopped, accepting that they were in this whether they liked it or not. Kian dragged his feet back to his friends, though he stood some distance away. This hesitation made him feel small, cowardly even, but he wasn’t the one that wanted this fight.
The passenger spat out of the window, eyes practically bulging out of their sockets. He reminded Kian of an American Bully dog just as they’re about to attack.
“You think you’re a big man, do you? Get out the car then and let’s talk,” Teddy said. It was clear to Kian that Teddy didn’t think they would leave the car, because often in such an argument—which rarely happened—they wouldn’t. Why would two men want to fight schoolchildren?
When the two men did exit their vehicle, all four boys took a step back, their stomachs suddenly dropping like a lift with a cut cord.
“Fuck’s sake,” Ahmed muttered to Kian. “We have to help them now.”
The driver got out of the car, a ripped skinhead with tattoos on his neck, with the passenger who they’d been arguing with following. The latter was smaller, softer, and less intimidating, though he looked like he could fight.
“Who do you think you’re talking to?” the driver spat at Teddy.
“You—you started it,” Teddy said, his voice wavering now, less confident.
“I’m out now, let’s talk,” the passenger said, clenching his fists, which made it obvious he didn’t mean actually talk.
“Go on then,” Koyer said, fists raised. Koyer was so angry, so ready to fight all the time. Kian knew there really would be no calming him down now.
“Fucking Paki,” the driver said.
What happened next went by in a blur. The passenger went for Teddy and the driver for Koyer. Kian pulled the skinhead off Koyer before he could punch him, yanking him away with all his might. The driver elbowed Kian out of the way and knocked him to the ground, winding him. He felt like he couldn’t breathe properly, instead drawing short intakes of breath as he lay there. His elbow grazed the concrete floor, the sharp pain barely registering due to the shock.
Other people from their school had gathered around to watch the fight. He could see them from the corner of his eye, their cheers and gasps background noise.
The skinhead then punched Koyer square in the face and he fell to the ground. He turned to Kian, laughing, picking him up by his shirt.
“You shit-faced prick touched me ?” he shouted. A bead of spit landed on Kian’s cheek and despite everything that was happening he couldn’t stop thinking about it sitting there, feeling cool against his skin.
Kian’s heart was beating out of his chest. He knew it was a clichéd phrase, but it truly felt like it was going to jump out it hurt so much, even more than his ribs where he’d been elbowed. He was scared, and so ashamed of how scared he was. The skinhead had his arm raised, drawn back, ready to hit Kian when, from behind, he heard a familiar voice say, “What’s going on here?”
Mehdi. He felt such relief. He was let go and he landed on his feet, stumbling in the process. The skinhead said, “Mehdi, mate, how’s it going?” his voice softer, more jokey, with a touch of fear.
Kian straightened up his clothes, realizing his shirt was ripped down the front. His first thought was how was he going to explain this to his mum.
Looking around him, he saw his friends in similar disarray. Their clothes ripped. Koyer’s nose bleeding. Ahmed with a black eye. Teddy gripping his mouth in pain. He had got off lightly by comparison.
“That’s my brother,” Mehdi said, pointing to Kian. He was with his friend Marshall, who was just as big as him, muscled, and tall. Together they towered over the boys from the car, even though they were probably younger than them.
“It-it was a misunderstanding, mate,” the passenger said, stuttering.
“I don’t think it was,” Mehdi said. “You touch my brother and his friends and think you can get away with it. No, no, no.” His eyes were serious and unwavering in their stare. He looked so different in that moment to the Mehdi Kian usually saw, who was often making jokes and laughing.
Unlike the previous scrapping, uneven punches, pulling of bodies—a mess of a fight really—what happened next was clean and terrifying. Mehdi punched the skinhead squarely in the face so hard that he fell to the ground instantly. Marshall grabbed the passenger by his coat and slammed his face into the back of the car. They then proceeded to kick them both on the ground, despite their whimpering, despite the many witnesses around them, despite Kian shouting at them to stop. It was like Kian wasn’t there at all—or that Mehdi had left his own body and it was someone else doing the beating. It felt like there was a stranger defending him and ignoring him at the same time. Kian was powerless to stop what was happening, or the speed at which everything had escalated.
“Go home,” Mehdi told Kian after it all. “And don’t tell Mum or Dad.”
Kian realized then that he had been frozen to the spot as he’d watched it happen. When he and his friends walked back home, their legs heavy with each step, they said nothing, not even Teddy. Spinning around in his head was the new thought that maybe if he had defended himself properly, instead of being so weak, his brother wouldn’t have had to step in.
Maybe, if it hadn’t been for Kian, Mehdi wouldn’t have been sent to prison at all.