Theme: identity

In my previous post, I mentioned (okay, really banged on about) this supposedly amazing story I wrote for a competition two years ago. Here it is:

Life of a Wannabe Pirate

I've often wondered how others view me. I know how I view myself: brave, strong, loud and at times caring. It's always puzzled me that I have so few friends.

I know what Massimo would say: I'm fierce, arrogant, loud and at times a violent friend. At least we both agree I am loud. I learned at a young age to turn up the volume of my voice since no-one could hear it and haven't quite managed to turn it down since. Teachers used to complain they could hear me long before they ever saw me.

Some people think children take after their parents in terms of personality and I think there might be something in that. My mum is also a strong woman; she had to be in order to carry on with her life once my biological father left her pregnant with me. She's also good at planning: she married my stepdad Jeremy before I was born so we could have some stability, I think. Jeremy openly loved Mum ever since they were at school together and though Mum rejected him many times, Jeremy's persistence produced positive results for everyone.

I don't know anything about my biological father other than he didn't want me. It was through Jeremy that I learned to love everything about pirates, from the way they dressed to their pilfering lifestyle because Jeremy committed himself to reading me a story every bedtime. Thanks to him I know all the greats like Captain Hook, Long John Silver and Sinbad. I feel drawn to the world of sea, ships and swashbuckling. I can recall asking for a pistol and cutlass on my sixth birthday and being disappointed with the plastic models Jeremy produced.

Jeremy and I used to pretend we were pirates, often kidnapping Mum and holding her for a random of cookies which she would then have to produce herself. Playing pirates is one of the best memories from my childhood, I was happy when I dressed up in my 'Captain Vivian' costume and waved my flimsy cutlass around.

At first, I had been worried about the other kids at secondary school thinking I was weird for appreciating piracy as much as I did. I needn't have worried. On my first day I met Massimo and the first thing he said to me was,

“Ho there, I be called Massimo. Who be you?” He even used a deep voice, though I think his foreign accent helped him pull it off completely. He had recognised my bandana and hooped earrings as filtered pirate-wear.

I was amazed to find someone who loved pirates as much as I did. The two of us quickly became friends; practising our pirate talk and discussing imaginary mutiny at break and lunch. Other students didn't really understand us and a boy a few years ahead of us tried to bully us. He wasn't handsome nor was he physically fit and his uniform was crumpled like tissue so he was easy to dislike.

“Swash buckle this!” he had said, while shoving Massimo so hard he fell over. When the ogre laughed, I could feel my cheeks burn red. I darted forward and kicked his shin with all my might, then did it again when he howled. I punched, whacked, bit and scratched that horrible boy until he gave in, snivelling that he was sorry.

No-one at school ever laughed at us again. Our classmates mostly left me and Massimo alone, though they quickly smiled whenever I caught their eye. Massimo was convinced they were all afraid of me but I didn't see how that was possible. I was a scrawny eleven year old girl – what could I do to make them scared? What few friends I did manage to gain in my time at school winced when I spoke and spoke tentatively to me. I once asked them why they didn't talk much and their response was they didn't want to make me angry. I laughed at that.

“That's not quite what I meant when I told you to tell me about yourself,” Mr Tamar cuts me off. He looks quite put-out behind his large spectacles. “I don't think you're what we're looking for. I'm sorry, Miss Rackham-Kellie.” He mispronounced my surname. They all do.

“It's 'Rack-EM' not 'Rack-HUM',” I correct him irritably. He doesn't apologise for the mistake and looks at the door behind me. I take the hint and rise from my chair with an air of superiority. I refuse to react to Mr Tamar’s dismissal. I didn't want the stupid job anyway. I pick up my plastic cutlass from the desk between us and slide it through the buckle of my trousers. Walk away from Mr Tamar as calmly as I can.

I'm halfway across the room when I realise I have to leave Mr Tamar something to remember me by. I do a half-spin and pull out my pistol, wishing I could shoot him. My pistol is only plastic however, so I make do with throwing it as hard as I can at him. Mr Tamar yelps and dives underneath his desk for cover. I belt out a hearty laugh and jump on top of the desk, stamping down on it with my heavy boots. I brandish my cutlass in the air as I gleefully kick papers off the top as well as the white telephone; it smashes against the thick oak wood door just as it's being opened.

Massimo rushes in and drags me off the desk, yanking me towards the exit and apologising profusely to Mr Tamar. Once outside the office, Massimo shakes me, asking what the hell I thought I was doing. All the other interviewee hopefuls have vanished from the corridor; the sounds of a fight probably sent them running. What wimps.

I look into Massimo’s azure eyes, knowing I don’t care how others view me. No-one's opinions matter but mine – it's that kind of thinking that probably leads to Massimo thinking I'm arrogant.