Stammering resistance

"It was Stanney", said Marie and her friends pointing towards me as a bunch of furious boys surrounded them. I froze in fear as the angry mob of my school seniors looked at me. I could feel the time slowing down and an instant increase in my Cortisol levels. These students are trying to take revenge for something which happened earlier in the day. My mind just retraced the horrible events which occurred earlier in the day. 

Our school days were divided into seven sessions of 40 minutes each. The third session of that day was physical education. The students had to go to the playground and actively participate in a sport of their choice. In our class, boys generally played soccer. Midway through the game, I fell and hurt myself. So, I decided to get back to the class. A group of girls also decided to get back. As I turned towards the corridor leading to my classroom, I saw one of our seniors coming out of our room. I don't think he noticed the girls or me as he turned and walked in the other direction. I quietly went inside my class and sat down. 

The physical education session ended, and the students came inside the class. As usual, Jim was the only person who asked me how I was doing. I nodded to him as we sat down for the English session. I don't know if it was the pain from the fall or the brewing up frustration in me; I preferred to be outside the class than inside. The monkeys which were jumping on the Banyan tree attracted my attention.  Ms Davies, our English teacher, started her lecture. 

All of a sudden, the students in the first row started to make some noise. "What's happening there?" she shouted. She doesn't like students even turning their heads when she is teaching, let alone make noise.  Josh, Rajiv, Matt and Brad stood up and collectively said, "Our pencil cases are missing. It also had our lunch money."  Then, two more students joined them with the same complaint. 

A worried Ms Davies went near the students and started enquiring. She wasn't sure what was happening as it doesn't look like the students were lying. There was a buzz in the classroom as everyone checked their belongings. 

"Does anyone know what is happening here?" asked Ms Davies. My heart pounded, but I couldn't stop myself. "I might.", I said as I stood up. I told her what I saw when I entered the corridor during the previous session. 

"Did you see him take anything? What is his name?" she inquired. 

"No, Madam. I didn't. I just saw him leave our classroom. I also don't know his name. I know that he is our senior from year 8.", I said in a trembling voice. 

Ms Davies looked at me with derision, something I am used to at school. It was only interrupted by Marie standing up. She said, "Madam, I know him. His name is Paul. I saw him leave the classroom as well." Ms Davies was instantly happy. She thanked Marie for her immense help. 

As she turned, she stopped at stared at me. The scorn in her face sent a message to me, one of being utterly useless. "Sit down.", she said with a voice of disgust. "Why did I even stand up first?" I thought to myself. She turned around to the students who have lost their belongings and assured them that she would take care. 

As I recapped the events which happened earlier in the day, I felt knots forming inside my stomach. It looks like Ms Davies has acted on her promise as I saw the senior boys gaiting towards me. I was thinking of my fate as they reached close. In the distance, I could see Marie in tears. 

"This is Stanney. He is the one who complained," shouted Shilpa, as she pointed at me. She is one of our class representatives. 

"Did you complain to the teachers about Paul, you filthy insect?" asked one of the seniors. I realised the question wasn't genuine. My response isn't going to make any difference to their reaction. 

The question did to me something which has become a frustrating familiar reaction of my neurophysiological system. Such situations disconnect the flow of instructions between my brain and vocal cords. In hindsight, I think the high levels of Cortisol suppress my ability to speak. The instinct to fight or flight is primitive in all species, while humans evolved the ability to communicate through language long after. That is probably the reason why humans struggle to speak cogently when the stress levels are high. By now, the Cortisol levels in my body had utterly suppressed my ability to utter a single sentence correctly. 

I wanted to say I didn't know who Paul was. I don't even know his name. All I told the teacher was I saw Paul get out of my class.  I stammered my way to 2 words, "I. I. I did.." and repeated the exact phrase three times to ensure I have heard myself.  I stood my ground but was stammering every word. 

"Let's crush his neck", said one of the boys as his hands started to choke me while the others held my hands. The pressure of my neck brought tears to my eyes. They escorted me in that same fashion towards the staff room area.  Marie walked behind us with a group of her friends. It is nice to have friends who can come with you. I kept stammering and resisting as I walked into the room. Strangely, I still couldn't find the person whom I had seen coming out of the class. All through the walk, the boys kept threatening of breaking my bones and making every day at school miserable. 

Finally, the boys took me to a room next to the staff room. Inside the room was an outraged teacher. The boys had taken their hand off my neck before we entered, but the effect of it had got me all teary. I went in along with Marie and her friends. 

"Did you see Paul stealing? How on earth did you blame him?" screamed the teacher. 

I picked all the courage, energy and strength to stammer my way to a few sentences. 

"I don't know who Paul is. I saw a student come out of our class during our physical education session. I never said I saw him steal. I can identify him, but I don't know his name. Marie identified him as Paul.", I concluded. I turned around to see Marie and the girls look at me with utter despise. 

As this discussion was happening, Ms Davies walked into the room. She spoke to the other teacher in private, after which we were all sent away from the room. The teachers warned the senior boys to never get near us. I wasn't sure what happened but was happy it got over. My heart raced, my palms sweated as I trembled my way out. Marie stayed back to be consoled by Ms Davies and her friends. Naively, I assumed that the issue was over, but the problem resurfaced from unexpected counters. 

I wasn't a stranger to being despised, maligned or ill-treated by some of my classmates and teachers. However, what happened the next day took it to a new level. The first two sessions went without much drama. The third session was Mathematics, and in walked Mrs Wallace. She loathed some of the boys in our class. I joined the list a few weeks back. She turned to Shilpa, who was our class representative and enquired about the previous day's incident. She was especially concerned for Marie. Marie was a teacher's pet. She was excellent in academics and obeyed the instructions of every teacher to the word. 

Shilpa walked to Mrs Wallace and narrated the events, which was very different from my recollection.  In Shilpa's narration, I had betrayed the truth and Marie. I listened to her in shock as she accused me of not standing by my words, blaming Marie when the senior students approached. According to her, I had backflipped on my original statement, and when put under pressure, I put the entire responsibility on Marie. 

As she went on, I wondered what the reaction is going to be. She isn't wrong with one point. I didn't mention to the staff yesterday that Marie was the one who identified the person's name. However, the rest of the story attributed mal-intentions and cowardice to me. 

"Stanney, stand up!" shouted Mrs Wallace. I was sure she has decided to humiliate and punish me in front of the class. 

"You are an utter disgrace. You make up stories, can't stand up for truth and your classmate. Apologise to them immediately.", she screamed. 

I could hear the giggles around my class. As I stood up, Jim said, "Just apologise and end this. Don't do anything stupid." I was prepared to do that, but when I did open my mouth, I said the opposite. Anger and resistance took over as I stammered, "That story is not true. I didn't do wrong. I won't apologise." Strangely, this action reinforced Shilpa's story even more. 

"Get out of my class and don't come in for the next one week." shouted an angry Mrs Wallace. 

"I won't apologise." I continued my stammer and walked out of the class showing my resistance.  Resistance, the trait which has followed me all my life.