This is a short story I recently wrote about one of my earliest memories.
The rain was clattering against the window pane. I was watching the droplets dance across the glass like ballerinas tottering onto a stage. Sometimes the raindrops merged together to form one giant droplet and the weight carried it faster across the glass than the others. Puddles were beginning to form revealing the hidden dips in the road and pavement. Small streams flowed into the nearby gutters as each raindrop signalled a dreary day ahead, yet nothing could deter me from the overwhelming excitement that I felt.
I was so excited to be starting my first day at school. For so long I had watched my big sister make her way down the street and across the road to Big school. I remembered how grown up Fiona looked in her smart school uniform, wearing a brown leather satchel across her shoulders. She used to walk with our neighbour Laura who lived two doors down from us, but now she was walking hand in hand with me making me feel safe and looked after.
Walking excitedly through the narrow gate and down the concrete path we made our way through the throngs of children to the infant’s cloakroom. Fiona pulled the big heavy doors to let us both through. They were the kind of doors that stayed open of their own free will if you pull them hard enough. I took a huge step into the cloakroom and felt incredibly overwhelmed by the noise of thirty-odd children bustling around, excited about being back at school. Some of the younger ones were less enthused about leaving their mummies and added their wailing and whimpering to the rising din.
“Now, children,” a voice bawled over the resounding noise. “Please make sure that you take your shoes off and put your plimsoles on inside the school as the ground is very wet and muddy outside.” I gazed up at the aging woman belonging to the bellowing voice. She reminded me of my Granny Beck. She had short black curls with strands of silvery grey pinned up at the sides with kirby grips. The teacher’s bosom dropped towards her round middle to form one large mound in the front of her body. She wore a purple paisley patterned dress and a black knitted cardigan with a very light white dusting on each of her shoulders.
Not wanting to be late for her first day back, Fiona said a quick goodbye as she headed towards the junior side of the school. Before long I realised that the din had subsided and all the children had formed a line in the classroom and were heading out of the door into the enormous school hall. I quickly made a dash towards the rest of the children but soon remembered what the teacher had announced earlier about changing into plimsoles. My heart began to race as I looked down at my feet. I was wearing my tatty red leather boots. They were scuffed at the toes which gave them a shabby chic look. The rubber soles were flat with a hefty grip to them just right for autumn wearing and they had a black industrial looking zip up the inside of the leg all the way to my calf. I remembered the trouble my mum had that morning pulling the zip up over my chubby ankles and several layers of socks. The boots felt vacuumed to my feet. There was no way I was going to be able to take these off on my own.
Huge waves of despair and anxiety flooded over me as I felt paralysed to the spot. I could see through the indoor windows uniformed lines of children obediently filing into the school hall for the first assembly of the year. I knew where I was meant to be, but my obedient instinct took over forcing me to find no way out of this dilemma. My eyes began to sting and my chest began to heave as floods of tears gushed from my eyes and sobs of grief pumped from my heart. All the uncertainties and unknowns of this new place began to fill my mind. I felt totally alone.
In my bewildered state I glanced through the same window again and saw all the children sitting primly in their uniformed rows. A very important looking man at the front of the hall was standing talking to the children and glanced towards me imprisoned in the Infant cloakroom. I saw him speak to a child in the fourth row from the front. A slim blonde little girl stood up from her row and made her way to the end of the line. Through my tears I could make out the kind face and grown up walk of my big sister. Fiona was coming to help me! A huge wave of relief flowed over me as my sister came through and unzipped my boots. I was no longer alone. Fiona helped me put on my plimsoles pushing my feet hard into the the stiff heel. I forgot my tears and anxiety as my big sister took hold of my hand and lead me into the hall. My sister’s grasp felt firm and reassuring. I felt looked after. An overwhelming sense of assurance washed over me knowing that so long as my big sister was with me, then everything was going to be alright.
