Manchac Academy: Chapter 2

“Don’t bother giving me a name. I don’t need a name. Name’s are for those who don’t know who they are. I don’t need a name to tell me who I am! I don’t need a word for what I am! I am bigger than words!” 

That was all I wrote in my graduation essay. I spent the next year after being taken from the swamp secluded in a series of rooms: rooms to learn in, rooms to sleep in, rooms to eat in, rooms to shit in. And if I did a purpose of one room in another my next meal would be smaller or taken away. 

In my early weeks, I vaguely remember being introduced to other creatures like me… but was deemed to aggressive to continue the acclimation any further. For the most part, I was only in contact with one being for those several months, her name was Opal. 

She was as ugly as I saw myself, long hair like mine, oak-like skin, but about three feet taller than me. As I look at it retrospectively, she was my teacher, mother, and friend. She was kind, I suppose. I didn’t hate her, I guess is a better way to put it. But she did smell of peaches… and I hate peaches.

That was my first sentence when I learned language, “I hate peaches.” 

Opal was pleasant on most days, teaching me structured language and physical skills were fine days. I felt I could better understand my new self through these lessons. This tongue had more dexterity than my old one, and I had more versatility in the movement of my new body… well, on land… in the water I was pathetic and nearly drowned several time when running away. 

She told me that behaving like an animal, like an alligator, would not allow a healthy introduction into the human society. Biting, scratching, bumping all were unacceptable forms of anger and affirmation. She had a lot of scars and bruises from my first months, which I have yet to apologize for.

The lesson that delayed my graduation were etiquette lessons. Teaching me how to share things that belong to me, saying I like something when I don’t, and asking how someone is doing when I don’t care. 

“Customs,” she said would, “allow you to transition with ease into your new society. Grow up and blend in with your new world. So you can survive.”

But I didn’t understand how chewing with my mouth closed made a difference to my survival.

She called me #389 and my graduation was my induction into the rest of the school were I would be granted or choose my name. But I didn’t want to choose a name because it seemed useless, a name wouldn’t feed me, help me breathe, open my eyes. I believed I was more than a name.

As my language comprehension progressed Opal would tell the history of those like me, the first sighting of what were called ferus children in 1692, and the creation of Manchac Academy in 1814. When Madame Juliana White gathered a series of children from foster and adoption homes who were reported to have been found walking out of a swamp, naked, and acting without reason.

The academy opened with ten children and since then have seen three hundred ferus people enter and graduate. She built the school near Manchac Swamp, which is where more than half of these children are reborn. The current headmaster of Manchac is Madame Julie White, a name anointed to those who inherit the academy.

I wasn’t to meet Madame Julie White until my graduation into the main academy. Where I would learn, sleep, eat, and shit with other children like me. 

Opal handed me a certificate, “#389, I beg you, pick a name.” I didn’t answer, she placed a pen on my desk, “Remember those stories we read together? Did you identify with any of them? Did any character relate to you?”

I avoided eye contact, which she taught me was rude, my gaze bounced around the room. The dry, creaky wooded floor and ceiling shivered on this cold day. Tall brick walls with dried flowers framed in gold, hung from every wall, most off center. 

Opal adjusted the pen on my desk, “Please, please, pick a name.”

“Desk.”

“Your name can’t be Desk.”

“Paper.”

“Your name cannot be Paper.”

“Pencil.”

“If you don’t take this seriously, I will write down your name is Peaches.” 

I flicked the pen off the desk and with my tiny hands tried to crumple up the certificate. 

Opal, being stronger than me, saved the majority of the paper before I ruined it, “#389, this paper is expensive, look… I’m going to leave this blank and just let you graduate. You understand most language that’s appropriate for your human age, you can pick up a pencil, you can write, you understand that where you eat and where you relieve yourself are two different rooms, you’re kind on most days… this is your last day alone #389. Tomorrow you will go to school.” 

I kept my eyes on my bare feet but something inside me felt soft, a cooling deep in me that had me feeling something for Opal. The way her voice sounded, it made me sad, I didn’t like it when Opal made me sad. She placed her hand on mine, “You’ve grown up a lot these past few months. And even though you took a lot longer than others to graduate, you’re smarter than any student I’ve ever taught.”

I couldn’t understand this connection she was building with me… were we feeling the same thing? There was an uncomfortable stir in me. 

She placed my graduation certificate in her folder and clicked the pen closed. I stood when she turned and I wanted to be close to her, I wanted her to know we were feeling the same thing… empathy? 

I took her by surprise when I wrapped her tiny arms around the back of her legs. She laughed and turned, patting my head, she leaned down and wrapped herself around me. 

She whispered, “You remind me a lot of myself. I had a lot of fear, I had a lot of anger. But I know you’ll work out everything you’re feeling, just as I did.”

I whispered back, “I will try.”

And she sighed, “That’s all I ask for.”

But I meant I would try for her, not for the civilization she wanted me to fit in, or for these children like me. I would try to be human so I may one day become Opal.