The Beautiful Innocence of Childhood

It was a cold and dim morning, as it had rained the whole night before; and the clouds were still making soft percussion music with the pitter-patter of their drizzle whilst the their sisters, the mist, danced and floated about to the rhythm. It was cold and dim, but it was lively. Her mother draped a shawl over her shoulders and tied it firmly around her neck. It was a lovely shawl made of warm red wool with intricate hand-embroidered patterns of blue and white at the edges, accentuated by the bright yellow tassels that hung all around the hem. She felt like a little Red Indian princess.

She kissed her mother goodbye on the cheek and got out of the car. You listen to what your teacher tells you and be good to the other children her mother told her. She nodded impatiently and got out of the car. Upon closing the door, she turned around and blew her mother three kisses. It was always three kisses: one kiss was insincere, two kisses were not enough, and four times was a ridiculous amount. Three was just right. She blew those kisses in a strange way too; three in a row, one after the other, in quick succession. It was almost comical to watch her. And once her friend caught her at it and she was laughed at for the whole of school that day, making her feel a little silly.

But she did it everyday all the same as it made her mother smile.

She walked into class, with the music of the rain in her eyes and the songs of the mist in her heart. Most of her friends were already there and all of them were bundled up in little colourful sweaters and jackets by their loving mothers. They sat around the floor and regaled each other with fantastic stories of how their little colourful sweaters and jackets came to be in their possession. My mummy knitted it for me, claimed one. Santa gave it to me for Christmas last year because I was a good boy, said another.

My aunt bought it for me when she was in England, she told them proudly.

And the children’s eyes widened in wonder whilst their little mouths formed little O’s and made little O sounds. England they whispered amongst each other. The British boys overheard the conversation and left their important task of building the greatest brick castle in the world to give their expert opinions on the shawl. Yes, that certainly looks English; they said authoritatively and nodded with approval before resuming their roles as head engineers of Castle Grayskull. A little boy opened his bag and fished out a tube of fruit-flavoured chewable sweets. The children divided the treats amongst themselves and everyone was in high spirits. Somebody made a joke and she laughed gaily. She was happy and the world was a beautiful place to live in.

Then, from the corner of her eyes, she saw her approaching, and her happy little heart darkened with dread. The girl was big, and fat, and strong. Where did you get that shawl from she asked.

My aunt bought it for me when she was in England, she told her quietly.

Take it off, you don’t need it, the fat one ordered.

But I’m cold she tried to protest.

The fat one reached out and felt the skin on her arm. No, I think you’re warm enough she said. Now take it off before I make you.

She was big, and fat and strong. She was thin, and frail, and weak. Her father and her mother were both giants among their kind, and genetics predicted her limbs would one day lengthen and she would spring tall and steadfast, and grow to tower above her peers. But many years would go by before that would come to pass. And she was thin, and she was frail, and she was weak.

She removed her shawl slowly and unwillingly. The fat one took it from her and put it around herself. And she spent the rest of the morning, shivering and wanting to go home.

The day after, she was happy again. For her father had bought her a new set of coloured pencils. There were thirty-six pencils contained within the cardboard box instead of the common twenty-four. She could not wait to go to school and display her new prize to her friends. She would make them envious, of course, but she would share it with them when the teacher said it is time to open their colouring books. She was a bit of a show-off but she was never unkind.

She kissed her mother goodbye on the cheek and got out of the car. You listen to what your teacher tells you and be good to the other children her mother told her. She nodded impatiently and got out of the car. Upon closing the door, she turned around and blew her mother three kisses.

Take out your colouring books the teacher piped. With a royal air, she withdrew her amazing box of coloured pencils from her bag. There was a slight commotion when she opened the box and released a spectrum of dispersed light into the classroom, causing a mild, temporary blindness amongst twenty-three pairs of envious eyes.

A little Australian girl walked up to her, and offered to share her bag of chocolate chip biscuits which her uncle had sent to her from her favourite bakery in Melbourne, if she would share her coloured pencils with her. She was going to colour Mother Goose today and the shade of vermillion she wanted for the feathers was not to be found in her own little box of coloured pencils.

She smiled and said okay. The other children came forward and offered what they could in exchange for a shade of blue, a hue of green, or a hint of mauve. It’s my turn on the swing today but you can take it said one. I’ll let you play with my M.A.S.K. toys today exclaimed another. The four yellow walls reverberated with the hustle and bustle of commerce. She would have shared it with them at the price of nothing but she was having fun, and it was fun! She laughed gaily. She was happy and the world was a beautiful place to live in.

Then, from the corner of her eyes, she saw her approaching, and her happy little heart darkened with dread. It was the fat one. There was an urgent silence when she stepped up. I want all the colours she demanded.

Her precious box of rainbows. She packed the delightful little sticks of colour back into their cardboard box slowly and unwillingly. The fat one took it from her and went back to her seat. And she spent the rest of the morning, with a monochrome picture of Peter Pumpkin and wanting to go home.

It was dark, and it was light, and it was another day again. And it was the same as before. Whatever she was given would be taken from her. Whatever she was proud of would be destroyed. Whatever she possessed would be plundered before her very eyes. And everyday, it was the same. Until one day, she brought nothing but herself.

For the whole of the morning, the fat one left her alone. Nothing happened and time meandered by quietly. A sharp ringing of the school bell startled everyone from their Friday stupor, it was time for recess. A little boy gave a yell of glee and ran out of the classroom. The swing is mine today he screamed with joy.

She laughed at him and hastily made her way to the toilet. She had promised the Australian girl she would be her see-saw partner today and she did not want to miss a moment of fun in the playground. We need to get to the see-saw before the other children do so I’ll see you there said the Australian girl and sped off, her legs twinkling under the sunlight. She laughed gaily. She was happy and the world was a beautiful place to live in.

She was washing her hands when, from the corner of her eyes, she saw her approaching, and her happy little heart darkened with dread. Do you know it really, really hurts when somebody twists your arm the fat one leered. Yes, I think it does she replied and hurried to the exit. The fat one blocked her path and told her you wouldn’t know because you have never had someone twist your arm before.

A sharp pang erupted from her shoulders and spread towards her wrists, as her arm was pushed beyond its bending point. Tears welled up in her little eyes but she denied their release. I will not cry, I will not cry, she told herself.

It hurts doesn’t it? And you’re going to be a cry baby.

She said nothing.

When, upon numerous failed attempts to break the dam in her eyes, the fat one finally released her. Take off your clothes she commanded.

She was big, and fat and strong. She was thin, and frail, and weak. She removed her uniform slowly and unwillingly. The fat one smiled in pure malice as she stood there in her naked shame, wearing nothing but her modest Ladybird panties and Bubblegummers shoes.

The fat one sneered and began to caress her fragile frame. She touched her hair, and she touched her shoulders, and she touched the delicate spaces between her neck and her navel. Then, without a word, the fat one slipped her hand into her panties and played with her. It was uncomfortable and she wanted to object, but she said nothing. What was there to say? And what difference would it have made?

Sensing her discomfort, the fat one plunged her cruel, chubby fingers deep into the abyss of her little secret. She squirmed and she wanted to cry out in pain, but she said nothing. What was there to say? And what difference would it have made?

Do you like it?

Silence.

Deeper and rougher went those cruel, chubby fingers.

Yes.

The fat one snickered and skipped off to the playground. And she spent the rest of her life, shaking and wanting to die.