The Cool Kid

The Cool Kid

Tshegofatso Matlaletsa

Human history is the long terrible story of man trying to find something other than God which will make him happy.

- C.S. Lewis

Copyright © 2020 Tshegofatso Matlaletsa

Published by Tshegofatso Matlaletsa Publishing at Smashwords

First edition 2020

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage or retrieval system without permission from the copyright holder.

The Author has made every effort to trace and acknowledge sources/resources/individuals. In the event that any images/information have been incorrectly attributed or credited, the Author will be pleased to rectify these omissions at the earliest opportunity.

Published by Tshegofatso Matlaletsa using Reach Publishers’ services,

Edited by Garth Elliott for Reach Publishers

Cover designed by Reach Publishers

P O Box 1384, Wandsbeck, South Africa, 3631

Website: www.reachpublishers.co.za

E-mail: reach@reachpublish.co.za

Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Introduction

Hi, my name is Taylor. Taylor Moleko Cannaba. Sole son of Jerry and Noluthando Cannaba. My mom is of Zulu origin and my father is Coloured.

I’ve written this book for all those who feel down, depressed and demotivated. Those who feel that life is unfair and believe that they are not good enough or born for a purpose. Those who are convinced that the only way to survive in this world, is to conform to societies’ unethical and evil lifestyles. Those who choose to give in to peer pressure and adopt dishonourable ways of life to fit into social groups that may not even be worth their talents and potential.

This is my life story. It is a story driven by what the majority of today’s teenagers have to go through to be seen or classified as cool by their peers. From the first page, you will see that I had low self-esteem. You will realise that, like so many, I too was a lost soul amongst billions, searching and lusting for glory and recognition. I was an average teenager with average teenage desires. The long and short of it is this: I have been there, done that, bought the t-shirt, the tracksuit and moved on.

I’ve written this story while resting at my place. That may not make any sense, but I am. As I stand in the long queue of people awaiting their final judgements, I look back at my life and acknowledge that I’ve made loads of mistakes. Mistakes that have destroyed lives and the futures of countless victims. I’ve seen a number of people suffering harsher fates than mine. They are suffering as a result of being part of a life that traps you, with escaping almost impossible. A life where people compromise themselves and choose to live fake, scripted lives for peer recognition and acceptance. A very dangerous life!

Obviously, I can’t tell you what those are because that would ruin the surprise, however, if you’re like the people I’ve just mentioned, I hope that my story becomes the hand that pulls you back into the light before you foolishly enter into the dark place that I once regretfully entered.

As I said, I’m not writing this in reality, so I don’t know how it’s going to get to everyone. But I do hope, it touches at least one life. At least! It will be highly celebrated if it touches more souls that had allowed other people’s expectations to dictate their lives, who feel they have to conform to society’s dark ways to be accepted.

This is my story…

Chapter 1

It was going to be just another day at school for me. I had nothing serious or spectacular to look forward to. My mom had been calling my name for the past twenty minutes and she was starting to get irritated. Every morning when she called, I’d clutch hard at my bed sheets, hoping that I wouldn’t have to let go until I was satisfied with the amount of sleep I’d had.

However, this never seemed to work. My warm blankets and duvet always found a way to slip from my grasp and I’d have to get up. Every day I climbed out of bed feeling drained and tired, things I thought I wasn’t supposed to feel after a good eight hours of rest. Okay, maybe all eight hours weren’t exactly restful. Not when I’d spend half of the night thinking about Erick and his group and how inferior they could make me feel.

They made me feel weak, like I was a nobody. Maybe it worked because, in my opinion, I was weak and felt like I was of no use to anyone. Most of my schooling career I considered myself a failure.

I wish I could somehow change that. Even though I’m in Grade 10, with only two years left until high school is over, I still want to climb that social ladder and prove to myself and to others that I’m not a weak person. I am not a sissy or a cheese boy, as is often said about people who obey orders and show discipline. The dream is to change my lifestyle and belong to the popular cliques and be recognised by my peers. Problem is, I don’t know how to go about it.

I had already snoozed my alarm clock three times. Each time I hit snooze, it would stop and then start ringing again after five minutes, knocking me from my sleepy trance. This meant that I was fifteen minutes late. I tried snoozing it one more time, but my mother saw what I was doing, walked into my room and turned on the light.

Taylor, it’s time to wake up now. You’re running late, she said.

I took a deep breath, trying to get myself together to answer her. Okay, Mom. I’ll be ready for breakfast in fifteen minutes.

Better make it ten, you’re running late! Much later than you think.

She walked out of my room when she heard the bacon she’d been frying sizzle a little louder than it was supposed to. I thought about dozing off again, but immediately blocked it out and jumped straight out of bed. I hated to see my mom annoyed.

Time to get dressed. I had ten minutes to be ready and the last thing I needed was my mom shouting at me for not having enough breakfast.

Exactly ten minutes later I was seated at the kitchen table with my parents. As usual, Dad had his head buried in the morning paper while Mom fussed over my untidy appearance. As Mom fixed the knot in my tie, Dad finally put the paper down and mumbled about the state of the country with a serious look on his face. It didn’t really surprise me much. He’d always been serious about the triple challenges facing South Africa; unemployment, poverty and inequality.

He took a deep breath as he folded his paper in half and said, I feel sorry for this boy’s parents.

Uhm what do you mean Dad? I asked inquisitively.

A boy was found dead outside his mother’s gate from a drug overdose. By the looks of it, he was trying to reach to his mom for help, but it was too late. It also looks like he goes to the same school as you Taylor.

My mom immediately froze. Her naturally worrisome spirit was gearing up to freak her out. Honey, don’t you think we should take him out of that school? I mean this should be motive enough right? she said, giving my dad a serious look.

Ha-ha, no way honey! Taylor needs to learn self-discipline. I won’t simplify my son’s life and be overprotective, only to live with regret when he later fails in life as a result of not learning life’s lessons that teach him right from wrong. The time will come where he will have to resist temptations and I’ll feel responsible if he succumbs to them because I chose to shield him from reality when it was most important.

But Jerry… she protested.

I’m sorry love… he interjected. ...but my word is final. He turned to me. Taylor, promise me that you will never fall victim to drugs my boy. Promise me.

From the look on his face, I could tell that he was serious. More serious than when he sat at the kitchen table analysing articles.

I gave him the textbook response parents expect to hear. There was really nothing more to say other than agree to his request. Plus with the look he gave me, there was no way I would even attempt to joke about it. He quickly grabbed his stuff after my mom reminded him how late I was going to be for school and headed to the garage.

Five cars were neatly parked in a row – each costing way more that of the average car. Way more!

It always baffled me how he could afford them all. I mean he was a businessman sure, but all he owned was a restaurant and a small trucking business. He had investments in small businesses here and there, but I still couldn’t understand how he was able to buy all of these machines. Just two cars had cost him over R5 million and they were only two-seaters.

I knew very little about business, but what I did know, is that a small restaurant and a trucking business couldn’t earn enough revenue to buy cars worth R15 million in total, let alone one R5 million car. On top of all that, we lived in a three-storey house with six bedrooms and two kitchens. Why on earth did we need two kitchens?

Our house was situated in Greenville, a rather rich suburb where wealthy businessmen and politicians resided. Here, residents erect high walls with the hope of keeping their business hidden from prying eyes. Kids stay locked inside and are told to entertain themselves with expensive toys bought by their parents. They are taught at a very young age the ins and outs of their parent’s respective businesses, in hope that one day they will take over from their parents and make a success of what their parents started. This was my hood!

We got into the car that Dad had finally chosen, and we drove off. The place we drove to was what millions of parents had subjected their poor kids to. A place where useless subjects and concepts would be forcefully drilled into our heads, in hopes that one day we would miraculously make them useful. A place where kids like me didn’t belong – my school!

My school was a place where boys worried more about sex and girls than they did about their grades or their plans for the future. It was a place where girls wore make-up early on or wore clothing that showed off way more skin that it was supposed to. Of course, those very same filthy habits drove the boys’ lust and hormones insane.

We arrived at the school, Greenville High. As I said before, this was a place where kids like me didn’t belong. An institution where a scrawny kid with glasses, unless it was those large trendy ones, weren’t considered cool. Kids like me were never allowed into the popular social groups, the cool kids. And being a part of them was all I had ever wanted.

The cool kids in my opinion, were the peak of all things glamorous in high school. The most feared, most respected and most wanted. They were the ones who could get any girl they wanted, charma boys - the ones who would somehow bunk and smoke their way through school.

It’s what made them who they were; the drugs, the attention and the attitude. Life to them was all about girls, parties and drugs (especially marijuana).

In spite of the fact that their lifestyle was against all that I was supposed to have stood for, I still lusted severely for what they had. The confidence, the respect and the power they had. It was all I had ever wanted to feel throughout my high school years that I kept failing at time and time again.

It was just another day at Greenville High School, filled with boredom, boredom and more boredom. School to me was a constant reminder that I had failed when coming to my teenage hood. A reminder that I am not streetwise, one of the most needed characteristics to survive in this era.

I stepped in and as usual, I was greeted by two of my friends at the entrance. They always seemed to cause a scene, even when doing something as simple as saying hello.

Hey Taylor, I managed to figure it out. You know, the physics homework. The concept of electron configuration is actually quite simple. All you have to do… my one friend droned.

Bro, don’t you have anything else we can talk about? I said cutting him off. I understand all of that electron configuration stuff. There’s really no need to talk about it again, I finished, feeling rather gloomy about my failure at being a popular teen.

Oh, of course you do bro. Sorry I asked. Well did you at least remember to do your math homework? You know Miss Creswell never really takes well to kids not doing her work.

Bro can we please not talk about school stuff. Not today. Please, I begged.

His name was Katlego. He was the first friend to welcome and accept me when I arrived at the school. He was, however also the quickest of all my friends to get on my nerves. All he ever talked about was schoolwork, homework and more work.

Sometimes I would think that Katlego was gay because he never ever talked about girls or how much he just wished he could be with them, not like all the other normal guys in the school. Instead, he just went on and on about schoolwork and about how our math teacher hated him because he could never score 90% for maths on his report card, even though he’d study for like three hours a day.

As usual, school that day was expected to be as boring and as unstimulating as all the other days. I’d walk to my classes already knowing almost every answer to the questions my teachers would ask. I’d go to lunch break and just stare into the distance, eavesdropping on all the groupies calling my group of friends ‘a bunch of weirdos’ or ‘a bunch of nerds’. They’d take their time laughing at the fact that I was able to answer every question in class, rather than congratulating me on it.

For some reason, it was unusual for people to work hard and try their best. My peers found it irritating and somehow amusing when I raised my hand to answer questions in class. They saw me as a show-off, a nuisance and a nerd.

It was break time. The first one of the day. Time for students to rush to the tuck shop, hoping to get there before the line got too long. As I always carried R50 in my pocket I would join the rush to avoid the long queue. Kids like me were called cheese boys. I guess my parents were unaware that a quarter loaf of bread, with atchar and fried potato chips - skhambane or Kota as they call it - was R12 and a bottle of coke was also R12. That gave me R26 to spare every day. I’d normally give most of my change away to smokers, who constantly hustled for a few rands to buy cigarettes.

I arrived at the tuck shop rather late with the crowd going insane. As always, on one corner a group of girls were talking to each other loudly, and another corner sat Erick and his posse rolling joints to smoke later that day.

The tuck shop area wasn’t just a place of business, it was where 50% of the school would come to spend a portion of their breaks.

It was loud and most of the time, the lady working there could hardly hear what her customers were asking for. Fights would often break out because someone shoved the other a little too hard. Before you knew it, knives and scissors would be pulled out and I’d be left hoping that I wouldn’t see blood that day. But luckily, most of the time I wouldn’t.

I was standing in the queue, desperately hoping that the bell would ring only after I’d bought my food. Most of the time, it felt like I’d have to go to class with an empty stomach. The tuck shop lady was very slow, especially during the first break. But even so, I’d wait.

As I waited, I could sense, due to the sound