The Mustache
Written by Amalia Litsa
April 2022
“Okay, let’s line up.” The teacher ushered us to the door of the classroom where we waited quietly until she stepped into the hall. We followed the clop clop of her heels down the hard hallway toward the bathrooms. There, our line split, girls on the left, boys on the right. Once we were lined up against either wall, we all sat criss-cross-applesauce on the cold linoleum floor.
It was water break time. Two sips each. Restroom if you need it. “The sooner we do this, the sooner we can be dismissed for recess. No talking.”
I tangled my fingers into a dragon head shape. Hello. I opened and shut the mouth created by my index fingers and thumbs. His pinky eyes looked back at me.
My gaze lifted idly, and I found myself staring at the jeans of the boy seated across from me. They were thick, cotton. They’d make a rather stiff ball gown, but that was the game. Okay, so his white and gray striped shirt with the dinosaur on it would be the bodice of the dress. I suppose the denim skirt part would have to be separate because that heavy fabric would tear at that thin t-shirt material. We could still get a hoop under there though, I mused.
I moved on to the next boy. Hmm… gray corduroy. The ball will look quite dull with all this denim and gray fabric. My eyes scanned down the line of boys. Nearly all of them were wearing graphic tees. Like Care Bears. I imagined them standing in a circle, tummies pushed forward, in a Care Bear stare of dinosaurs, robots, and tractors.
I caught Danny M. picking his nose. Digging for buried treasure, my grandma would have said. He was really going at it. He didn’t see me looking. Danny M. would look like one of the Mario Brothers if he had a mustache, I decided to myself. Too bad his red shirt had a robot graphic on it. Too bad his jeans weren’t overalls. Too bad he wasn’t wearing a red beret with a bill. But in every other way, he was Mario.
“Okay, make it quick,” Ms. Karate said, looking at me. I scrambled to my feet and walked past the columns of classmates to the heavy metal door with the girl symbol on it. Inside, it smelled vaguely of plumbing and pink soap. I liked those smells. I liked how it was a little musty. It made me nostalgic, but I didn’t know for what.
I stepped into the unoccupied stall and latched the door behind me. I flipped up the seat and hovered over the bowl. I remembered how when I was a little kid, I had to hold onto the edges so I wouldn’t fall in. Now I was tall enough to plant my feet on the ground. I waited.
Suddenly, a horrible shriek came from the hallway, followed by some kid shouting, “Ew! Run away! Run away!”
Should I hide? Was there a bad guy out there? My nightmares prepared me for this. I always dreamed that if I were chased by monsters, I’d hide in the ceiling. I could probably stand on the paper towel holders, and pull myself to the top of the stall that way. There was a clear space between spitwad stalactites. That’s where I’d push the tile up, I thought.
I was startled by the loud clang of the bathroom door slamming open. A girl yelled from the doorway, “Danny M.’s got a mustache! Ha ha! Hurry up!” I pushed so I’d pee faster, and then I hurriedly pulled up my pants without even wiping. Kind of like camping, I thought.
I gave my hands a quick pass under the sink water, and then rushed out to the hallway where Danny M. was red-faced and throwing a fit on the boys’ side of the hall. Everyone else was on the girls’ side. Ms. Karate was crouched down, trying to convince Danny M. to get up. “Danny, we need to go to the nurse’s office.” Danny shook his head, his face buried in the crook of his arm. His knees were pulled up to his chest, but he still managed to stomp his feet a little. “Danny,” she pleaded. He wasn’t budging.
Ms. Karate stood, helplessly. “Okay, single file back to the classroom. Everyone line up behind Poonam. Poonam, you march straight to the classroom. Everyone sit at your desks until I get there. Okay? Go. No talking!”
When I glanced back, I saw Danny M.’s face for just a second. There, just below his small nose, was a big, bushy dark brown mustache. Like the one I imagined. Like Mario. My heart sank like lead.
I fell in with the other kids and followed them down the hall, eyes lowered, a criminal blending in.
How do you know it was your fault? Dragon asked.
I know because I imagined it on him, and then it happened.
But it hasn’t happened to anyone else, he reasoned.
Well I guess it doesn’t work for ball gowns, I replied impatiently. Or I didn’t imagine the gowns for long enough to make it work. Then I thought with self pity, I’ll never imagine anything ever again.
That seems sad to me, Dragon said. And then, Do you think he’s okay?
How would I know? I shrugged.
We slowed to a stop as a small bottleneck formed at the classroom door. Someone was wearing light up sneakers. Contraband.
Maybe you can use your powers for good? Dragon offered. Maybe you can make it up to him. What else can you do?
Sometimes I think maybe I can hover, I replied. Not fly, just hover. I weaved through the grid of desks to mine at the back of the room.
Yes. If you truly believe and if you don’t ask for too much, it can really come true. Dragon agreed as I slid into my chair. I rested my forehead on crossed arms. I scooted back in my chair and looked down at my lap. The smiley face I had drawn on my jeans with a blue Bic pen looked back at me. Dragon, is that you?
A few giggles and whispers quickly escalated into a cacophony of sound, and then died at once with the familiar clop-clop. Ms. Karate.
I kept my head down, but I could hear the clop-clop grow louder as she walked down my aisle. Here she comes, I thought to Dragon. The smiley face and I held each other’s gaze in quiet solidarity until a soft pat on my desktop told me I had to sit up. It was an envelope.
Ms. Karate towered above me. “Don’t open this,” she said. “Just give this to your father, please.”
“Okay,” I said, still staring at it.
“Please look at me when I talk to you” Ms. Karate said, firmly. I lifted my chin half-heartedly, but didn’t make eye contact. She sighed and clop-clopped way. Like a horse.
After school let out, I was a giant walking through tiny ant villages all the way home. It was a whole mile. My backpack was too heavy. It was hot on my back. Only two more blocks to my house, but I shrugged it off and sat on the curb. The dirt on the curbside was recently clawed at by tiny little girl hands. Cindy, Tonia’s little sister liked to make dirt cookies, dirt cupcakes. One time when I was walking home Tonia dared me to eat one of them. “It’s good. Tastes like strawberries” she shouted as I passed, unconvincingly. I ignored her and kept walking. Everyone knows cookies don’t taste like strawberries, especially not dirt ones. I probably wouldn’t have even stopped for real cookies, though, either, to be honest. Tonia was a fifth grader.
I unzipped my backpack and rummaged around for the envelope. I found it wedged between Math and Social Sciences. I pulled it out and held it in my hands. I’m not allowed to look.
But you probably should, Dragon said.
They’ll figure it out, and I’ll get in trouble, I protested.
But what if she’s ratting on you? What if Ms. Karate is telling your dad about Danny M.?
I’d probably get a spanking, I said. I felt hot tears behind my eyes. It wasn’t fair. I didn’t mean to.
I thought of Danielle and Felicia down the street. I remembered how one time I was walking past their driveway, and their dad was in the carport. He waved as I walked past and smiled. He held a paddle in his lifted hand. “I drilled holes so it will swing faster,” he shouted at me from where he stood.
At least my dad didn’t have a paddle. It didn’t really hurt to be spanked; it was just upsetting. I always pretended to cry, though, so he’d be satisfied and quit faster. I wondered if Danielle’s paddle hurt though, with the holes. I’d ask her, but I didn’t know her well enough. I wouldn’t know how to bring it up.
“Hey! Give it back!” a kid’s voice yelled. “Jeremy, quit being a jerk! Give it back!”
You should go help, Dragon said.
My eyes widened. No way.
You owe him, Dragon urged.
Owe him? I thought. Who? Jeremy? Owe him what?
I sighed and stood, lifting my backpack by its top handle, still open. Timidly, I walked around to the side of the brick house, same as my own, and unlatched the wooden fence. When I rounded the corner, and saw a big kid looking up at the roof, an aluminum ladder at his feet. I followed his gaze to where Danny M. was kneeling on the shingles. I squinted to see if his mustache was still there, but he was too far away, and at the wrong angle, and anyway I didn’t want him to catch me staring… and anyway I knew better than to stare at people now.
Maybe he’ll end up with a huge unibrow next! I thought to Dragon. I was immediately ashamed of myself and added, It’s not a joke; it’s a real concern.
Focus on the task at hand, Dragon replied.
“Bring the ladder back, Jeremy! I’m not kidding!” Danny M. called down.
“That’s what you get for taking my stuff!” Jeremy called up to Danny M.
Is Jeremy his brother? I asked Dragon. Dragon shrugged.
“Jump down, you wimp!” Jeremy taunted. He laughed. “You’re such a sissy. Quit acting like a little girl and jump down.”
I’m a girl, I thought. Couldn’t do much about it. Except stay away from sports because then they might notice how I throw.
Danny M. sat and swung his legs around so he could scoot cautiously toward the roof’s edge. He rested his calves over the gutter.
The roof wasn’t that high up, but it was concrete below, not grass. There was a patio table, but no umbrella. I thought of Danny jumping onto the non-existent umbrella and gracefully sliding down. The patio table was kind of far away. If he leaped that far, he’d probably just hit the edge, and it would topple over on him.
Dragon concluded, he’s definitely going to get hurt.
I was thankful I hadn’t allowed my imagination to linger on any one outcome for too long.
But you do have to imagine, Dragon said. You owe him. It’s time to be brave.
I took in a deep breath. Okay, I agreed.
They’ll know it was you, Dragon reminded me.
With great power comes great responsibility, I thought. Ignoring Jeremy, I dropped my backpack where I stood and walked to the shadow of Danny M.’s legs on the pavement.
“Hey, who are you?” I heard the big kid say. Ignoring him, I closed my eyes and squared my shoulders with the house. Red and orange colors washed around when I lifted my face to the sun, and I pictured Danny M.’s Crocs precariously dangling overhead.
I’m coming to get you, Danny M., I thought or said—I’m not sure which. I’ll get you down, I promised. A prayer.
I focused and visualized myself floating up toward the warm light, my hands open at my sides. My feet grew light. My flip flops began to slide off. My heels were free, and I could barely feel the ground against my toes. It’s working. The colors turned brown then blue, and I could feel the temperature drop slightly in Danny M.’s shadow as I grew nearer.
“What’s going on here?”
A grown-up’s voice broke the spell. I opened my eyes, but I couldn’t see. They were squeezed too hard and too long, and the world was a jigsaw of patterns. I panicked, looked down, and silently willed my eyes to regain focus.
I was barefoot. The envelope had blown against my ankle.
I reached down and picked it up. Without hesitation, I slipped my finger in the gap of the seal, and tore across the top.
Do they know? About your powers? Dragon worried.
I removed the letter and unfolded it expertly. I zig-zagged my eyes like Dad would have, careening over the big words. After a few seconds, I looked up at where Dragon would have been. The grown-up was crouched down in the center of the yard, holding Danny M. in a tight embrace.
It will be okay, I said with quiet triumph. I picked up my backpack by its top handle, stuffed the letter inside, and without zipping it, pushed through the gate and headed home.
The End
“The Mustache” is copyrighted by Amalia Litsa, its author and audio narrator.
