Day 17

Miffy

I remember my school being very grey for definite, and smelling of Parma Violets ' a kind of sweet you used to be able to get in packets for 15p. The walls were so thick you couldn't hear any cars going past whatsoever, which strikes me as odd, and it must have been a boarding school because I don't remember hardly anything about my mother or father. My class was tiny. In fact, I may even have had one-to-one tutoring. No, wait. There were at least two other kids. Boys. I remember talking to them. No, even that's wrong. What I do remember, and now very clearly, is when one of them left, and why. The teacher had gone out for a while and this boy had drawn a height chart on the wall with a pencil. The height order went: him (let's call him Danver), the other boy (for the purposes of the anecdote his name was Fembs), and the lowest pencil mark, which was me.

"We can see who grows the tallest, said Danver, as he scritched graphite into the wall. "I'm gonna beat you two. I'm gonna grow THIS tall! (and he leapt his arms apart from their clinch to full stretch)
"Well I'm gonna grow THIS tall! shouted Fembs good-naturedly, grabbing a broom from the corner to extend his own wingspan.
"I'm gonna be as tall as THAT building! I joined in, pointing at a photograph of a far-off structure we had learned to be famous for its height. "And my arms will be as long as twenty billion brooms!

The door opened, and someone taller than any of us came in. I can't remember much about them, save that the Parma Violets smell died abruptly at their entrance. Whoever it was noticed the height chart immediately. Danver's pencil dropped from his hand.

"What is this?
"It's ' it's to see how much we've grown. We were gonna mark on the wall -
"You shouldn't be drawing on property that isn't yours. Do you realise how serious this is? You're a nasty little vandal.
"I'm sorry. Danver looked close to tears. It was really weird, seeing a kid so tall for his age about to cry. "I didn't mean to. I just thought we could see how much -
"You're going to come with me, the stranger said, taking Danver by the collar. "We're going to see the head about your destructive behaviour. Little boys who damage school property do not deserve to be at school in the first place.

"Hey! That's not fair! I heard myself saying, though God knows where the courage came from. I keep schtum like a pro, which is partly how I've survived so long.

I felt the gigantic shadow shift over me like that of a speeded-up sundial.
"I think somebody else would like to see the head ' this time a horrible little girl who is rude to other people and butts in where she is not wanted. Probably came up with the idea for this little scribbling escapade too. He leaned in towards me and began slowly extending his huge arms towards me.

"No! I cried, and scattered to the back of the classroom.

"How about you? The stranger turned suddenly to Fembs, who had gone as white as a soap advert. "Are you going to be troublesome as well? Or are you going to let us take your friend to see the head as he deserves, like a good pupil?

Fembs threw up in his mouth a little. He told me that later. This was taken for a sign of co-operation.

Danver was led out by the man, mouth wide, eyes wide, accusing us of betrayal. I cowered by a desk. Fembs stood, leaning on a microscope, mute. The door clicked shut and we turned to each other.

"Do you think he's coming back?
"Course he is. It was only drawing on a wall. S'not even pen. We could rub that off. Why'd they go so weird about it?
"Dunno. You sure he's coming back?
"Don't be stupid. Stop freaking me out, you baby! They're just going to tell him off. He'll only be five minutes.

But Danver didn't come back, of course. I still have no idea why or what happened to him, and the more I mull it over, I begin to think that the school seems less and less like a school. We were just told it was one, and we believed it, as eight year olds do. It's like being told a dog will bite you if you go near it. You avoid it like the plague even if it looks friendly, because whoever told you, well, you trusted them.

Someone I trusted must have been the one to tell me that grey building with its façade of lessons was a school. And hey ' what school actually makes you see the school nurse every day? No, it's like a calfskin-bound book. The more you rub at the rough parts of the memory, the more it crumbles into red dust. I remember everything perfectly from the age of eighteen, which is when I was sorted out with a flat by a friend, but nothing else will stay in focus when I try and remember it. Where the hell was I all those years and why am I only now asking this?

Right, fuck it, I'm off to a hypnotist or something. You can be careless, but unless you've been in a coma, there's no fucking way you should be misplacing years like left hand gloves.