An uncomfortable memory - recollections of an unfortunate afternoon

To this day every every time I see her I think back to the incident. I just can't help it - it's just one of those things that always makes me feel awkwardly uncomfortable whenever she appears, silently reminding me of 'that moment'. The awful memory always pops into my head. I suppose I can admit that I feel a bit bad for what I did to her.

A hop skip and big jump ago there I was, a mere teenager. I would play football on my road with my neighbours, we really did have fun doing so. The street had a nice little diverse ethnic mix that added to the overall character. So, our group plus a few other young dudes from around the way would tear around on the concrete kicking a Mitre football about.

One of my neighbours who lived a few doors down was from Yemen. A nice young chap with a friendly family. Like the rest of us - he would usually always be one of the main youths playing on the street. Due to his football ability and physical stature he was affectionately nicknamed 'Little Scholesy' in refrence to the Manchester United footballer. 

From time to time more of his extended family would arrive on my road. Cousins, aunts, uncles - all bearing gifts and local grocery store carrier bags laden with halal meat, dates, herbs and spices.

One warm sunny day in the midst of a reasonable summer a few of my neighbours aunts arrived from Yemen setting worn sandals on my road. We saw them walking from around the corner.

OK, so us exuberant teens were in the middle of an absorbing game of 'Heads  and volleys'. A football game of concentration timing and execution - connecting with the hard leather football with ferocity whenever it fell to our feet. The wall would  thud repeatedly with the sound of a crashing football  remorselessly hitting it. The harder the volley the better - the hapless goalkeeper would flinch and squirm having no chance as we rained in shot after shot. 

Looking back - I have no idea why we didn't stop to let the little Arabian women shuffle past before proceeding again. We just didn't, I didn't - I recall the lovely firm ball falling to my eagerly expectant right foot as I caught it cleanly. I smashed it hard at goal. At goal; and...in the face of 'Little Scholesy's' tiny old aunt who was no more than 4 foot midget and kitted out in a customary opaque hijab number.

Sigh...A terrible commotion then occurred. Oh man - there was a diminutive woman screaming in frenzied Arabic - blood was streaming from her sizeable hooter - add to this her fellow women were there frantically helping  a dazed and manic lady up from the concrete floor. ' Little Scholesy,' her nephew, alongside his cousins were looking at me with a mixture of shock and anger due to the state of their aunt who looked a battered mess due to being pole axed by a hard leather football. Then, there were the other chaps who couldn't help but snigger wickedly at the absurd nature of what had just happened. 

And as for me - I was stood slightly bewildered with that awful feeling of oh no, what have I done bubbling up inside  my body - I suddenly attempted to try and apologise to the little Yemenie female but I was being ushered away. I'm sure I was grossly offending Islamic laws as I was all up in her hijab attempting to 'help' with my apologetic hands too close to a woman for any devote Muslims liking. I wouldn't have been surprised if one of the other ladies had passed out due to my tactile overtures. Looking back, what could I have done in all honesty. Her face was a mess and so was the head scarf. It wasn't good whatsoever. Things had gotten grossly out of hand. 

Let's just say we decided not to carry on playing football in the street for the rest of that day. It just wouldn't have been right. The poor woman was gingerly helped a few metres into her family members home as I sheepishly returned to my house wondering if I should report what had happened to my mum.

As I said earlier - many years have passed since that incident but even though her face and nose healed the mental scars remain for me. She doesn't even recognise my shifty face when I see her about, well she doesn't even look at me. I recognise her though and I'm certain that I will always feel bad for what I did to my neighbours little old aunt.

Demola, TCC