The Boy in the Back

Rufus was six when his mom died, leaving his dad devastated and single to raise him alone in a small house next to Cornerstone Academy. At first, Dad managed, he had Rufus show up to school on time, shirt buttoned, hair combed, a grin on his face. Being steps from the playground helped. In the months after her passing, Dad would still prepare some breakfast, a bit of bread or jam, leaving it out before work took over. But then he got promoted to head of operations at the factory. His boss, a man who lived by “Every worker steal, and I won’t let them steal from me,” demanded the team start at dawn, squeezing extra hours without extra pay. Dad chose to leave an hour early out of fear, barking orders to team leaders before the whistle blew, waking Rufus still groggy and rushing out. Alone, Rufus turned to instant porridge, sometimes spilling milk on his shirt or leaving fat stains from cold leftovers, heading to school like that with no one to notice.

But it didn’t take long for things to be noticed. Those fat stains on Rufus’ shirts from porridge spills or cold leftovers stuck around, and his pants picked up brown mud streaks when “Monster,” their Great Dane, bounded through puddles to greet him at the gate. Kids started pointing, giggling at the marks. “Grease Boy,” they’d whisper. His homework came back smudged by food, dirt, whatever stuck to his hands. He tried hard, but it was never enough. By the end of grade one, the teachers’ lounge buzzed with chatter about bright kids and troublemakers. Rufus landed in the second pile.

Ms. Faith Palmer arrived at Cornerstone as the new grade two teacher, green but eager. Most teachers there had decades under their belts, so her slot felt like a gift. She stood at her classroom door, welcoming the new batch, when Mrs. Baker pulled her aside. “Watch out for Rufus,” she said, nose wrinkled. “Bad student. Forgets everything, messy work, and honestly, he smells! It is like he’s skipped a few baths. I kept him in the back, alone. You’ll see that works.” Faith nodded, unsure but trusting the veteran. When Rufus shuffled in, announcing himself with a quiet “Hi, ma’am,” she pointed to the last table. “That’s for special kids,” she said. He sat, stained pants and all, staring at the shiny bags of his classmates, waiting patiently alone for the class to begin.

Months rolled by, and nothing shifted. Rufus stayed quiet, his desk a scribbled mess, his clothes a canvas of spills. Faith kept her distance, her mind set by Mrs. Baker’s words. Then came her birthday. Grade two kids live for it as the gifts piled up like treasure. David’s mom sent a cake, Mary gave a scarf, John and Alice, the twins, offered chocolates, all wrapped in neat and flashy birthday paper. Rufus slid a greasy brown paper bag across her desk. Faith forced a smile, expecting leftovers or some odd scrap, but unwillingly accepted it. She opened the others first, stalling, until curiosity won. Inside Rufus’ bag: half a bottle of fancy perfume, a 24-karat gold bracelet with the words “Forever yours – Mom, love Rufus and Dad” engraved on the inside of it, and a note written in big, shaky letters: “Dear Ms. Palmer, This bottle of perfume and bracelet was my mommy’s and mine. I’m so happy it’s your birthday today! I want you to keep it. Love, Rufus.”

Faith’s chest tightened. She saw her own school days and remembered being labeled “slow” and “fat,” a chubby girl mocked for her size, her waddle, her sweaty rolls under a too-tight uniform. Kids sneered, teachers sighed, and every jab left a sore spot that festered years later, a quiet ache of being less-than. She’d buried it, thought she’d moved on, but here was Rufus, stained and small, and she’d pinned “Grease Boy” on him like they’d pinned “Fat Faith” on her, just harsher, bigger, a whole classroom’s worth of distance. She’d mirrored the hurt, not stopped it. Tears hit her fast, and she walked to Rufus, lifted him from his chair, and hugged him tight. She sobbed, loud and messy, until the other kids, confused but soft-hearted, piled in, arms around them both. Rufus spoke softly in her ear: “It’s alright Ms. Palmer, everything is alright, don’t cry, please don’t cry.” This just exacerbated the sorrow, and it cracked her open. She stopped seeing “Grease Boy.” She saw Rufus.

Time moved on. Faith tutored him after school, taught him to iron a shirt, sit tall, respect others. She even marched to Dad’s factory once, gave him a talking-to that left him more scared of her than his boss. Rufus changed, first slowly, then all at once. By high school, he’d outgrown the stains. One day, Faith got an email: “Hi Ms. Palmer, I finished matric with seven distinctions, got the dux award – top student. Your assistance in our lives - tutoring me, guiding me, even that talk to Dad - all of it changed my life, and you did it. Grade two with you turned my life around. Off to university now, I’ll keep you posted.”

Seven years later, she parked at Cornerstone, locked her car, and turned to see a sharp young man beaming, a woman beside him. Rufus. He hugged her, tears in his eyes, introducing Grace, his fiancée. “Dad died last year,” he said, voice steady. “Remember your birthday in grade two, what I gave you?” Faith nodded and stated: “I have it framed above my bed,” waiting on Rufus to speak again as she did not want to let them know that that bracelet is a remembrance of the own hurt that was laid down that day and the forgiveness she received from him that day. It is there to stand as a daily reminder above her bed to never judge too soon. Rufus smiled. “Me and Grace would want you to wear it at our wedding, for my mom’s sake. But more because you acted more like my mom from that day and therefore, we would like to have you as my mom, at our wedding,” he uttered. Faith cried again, quieter this time, and nodded in acceptance while embracing both of them and remembering the words: “It’s alright Ms. Palmer, everything is alright, don’t cry, please don’t cry.”

The Ambassadors take on it - you can never bend reality; it will always find you. We slap names on people – dirty, dumb, done – before we know them is like skydiving without checking the parachute, you never know how hard you’re going to fall. Rufus taught Faith, and me, you can’t twist life’s truth. It finds you. I’ve labeled, been labeled, felt the hurt both ways. Where are you today, what are you doing to yourself and to other people around you? Say sorry, even just to yourself, and start fresh. A New Life awaits you, just ask for it and then dance into it, the change will be granted to you, because of your humbleness. Believe it, I did, and it is still working. Tomorrow’s a new stage.

At NewLife https://n-life.co.za my “Insights” and “New Life Stories", is where I dance past that now, asking you to share this site with others that need it and to share with me your stories of courage and strength.