Skeining

I relate a final memory stream that never sleeps.

I was six and unhappy, but not because the fat rubber band I played with had stretched and broken. No, I lost the familiar on this day: my mother's presence in my life for a week.

Well, she would be away from Monday to Friday. She termed it a week. My dad promised to do right by 'his little man.' He would drop me off in the mornings at daycare and fetch me home before dark.

I pleaded to my mum, "Why me?" before she departed.

My mother managed accommodation for my elder sister Mary at my auntie's. Young James was cared for by Gran and Pop.

As Mum packed last-minute items, she encouraged me. "It's time to be a big boy."

She gathered a comb, toothbrush, and toothpaste in a small bag. I felt more Zacchaeus than Goliath.

"It's not like I'll be gone forever," she offered hopefully.

She kissed my forehead and opened the front door to answer a knock. A church lady greeted Mum.

"Who will give me lunch?" I asked worriedly, running my hand along the hall wall.

"Your dad will pack your lunch box and backpack soon," my mum reassured me.

She heaved her heavy bag to her hip. Our front door closed behind her, and in front of her beckoned a lady's bible camp.

My father drove me to something my mother called a daycare centre on his way to work.

He tried to cheer me, "Spring is coming."

I remained slumped and sullen the entire trip.

On a clear August day, he held my hand on a long, straight path to a tall cement building. I understood it was a Monday. I struggled to comprehend how this 'daycare' would care for me.

We entered the building. A large woman spoke to Dad; she knew him.

"He's in good hands, Frank. We run a child-friendly program."

She patted my shoulder.

"How's Legacy?" she inquired, changing the topic quick-fire.

My father and the lady gabbed an over-my-head conversation.

My dad kept putting his hands in his pockets and taking them out.

My father, I learned in time, worked as an accountant for an organisation that supported spouses and children of deceased veterans. He called time on the chat with the lady, patted my head, and waved goodbye.

The woman in a grey dress coldly instructed, "Come with me!"

Her voice changed from caring to strict very fast. I followed on her heels. She pointed to a chair outside an office.

Barking, she instructed, "Wait here."

I rocked back and forth and tapped my shoes on the tiles. I chewed my nails.

A different largish lady dressed in grey instructed, "Follow me."

I followed her wobbling skirt and chunky ankles. She led me to a vast open hall. A giant clock ticked high on the far wall. I liked learning to tell the time. The big hand rested on the twelve and the small arrow on the eight.

The grey lady, more greyish in the shadows, directed me in silence.

Her finger pointed to my bag and a rack of pegs. The endless hooks appeared full of day bags similar to mine. I bit my bottom lip. I spied one empty peg at the end. I hung my bag, retaining my grip on the handle.

"Shoo," she demanded, spreading her chunky fingers, "Shoo, out you go."

To where? 

Broad, open double doors on the far side of the hall offered muted autumn light.

She treated me like the pollen my mother swept off our back veranda, brushing me away.

She followed me and gave an additional, "Shoo, Shoo."

Outside the doors, I confronted joyful noise. Many children shouted in a constant prattle and babble. They played ball, tagging, and hide and seek or staged pretend tea parties. Some boys weaved as marines on patrol. A few swung high on swings or leapt in hopscotch.

I wanted Josh to play with me. In my local neighbourhood, other kids skirted or ignored me.

They slid away, mumbling, "Cat got your tongue," chuckling.

Josh never cared since we threw ourselves into action. We played 'War', where bullets and bombs replaced the need to talk.

An endless wooden bench ran alongside the vast grey brick wall. I shuffled, sidled in the shadows and wilted to the boards. My hands dived into my pockets. Both were empty, with no rubber band or string to fiddle.

Everywhere on the vast playground, kids had fun — together. They played with hula hoops, skipping ropes, quoits or jumped one another in leapfrog.

'Shy' was seemingly tattooed on my face.

'Shy,' the label adults pigeon-holed me in.

I never liked the word, but I resignedly accepted it quietly, not because I wanted to, but because it appeared stamped on me.

I liked to watch as long as I was not alone.

I hid behind my mother's dress when she talked to other ladies while out shopping. I held and peered behind her skirt.

"Oh, he's a quiet lad," my mum dismissed at the mere mention of 'shy.'

"I wish my boy were quiet," other mums often quipped.

Far to my left, the bench remained vacant. To my right, the bench stretched unoccupied. The long seat felt as empty as I did inside. My hands dug deeper into hollow pockets.

I needed Josh.

Alone, aged six, my loneliness dried my throat and shrunk my cheeks.

I stared straight ahead.

Everything close and far blurred, like a canvas with a veil.

Amazingly, a girl materialised as though she had stepped out of a painting.

She sought my attention, skipping towards the bench.

Her hand extended.

"Play with me," she lilted, smooth as flowing caramel inside my favourite treat.

On her open palm, she rested a spinning top.

I slowly pulled my hands out of my pockets and flopped them onto my lap.

She reached and eased my fingers to join her hand.

—I believed Coraline Ruth Pearson to be an angel the first time I ever laid eyes on her.

Above a lavender dress, the sun's atomic halo surrounded her shiny golden hair.

She held a gorgeous wooden spinning top. She wound and spun the top using a coiled string. It whirled and twirled, vibrating on a metal tip. The carousel horse pattern encircling reminded me of the ride at Luna Park.

She let me try to spin the top, but I couldn't sustain a spin beyond a wobble.

She tee-heed kindly.

She taught me, step by step, how to spin the top.

After a successful go, she clapped excitedly.

I stayed subdued.

Between spins, we swapped names.

She said, "You are quiet," as her fingers twisted her honeyed hair.

I panicked, believing she might stop playing and leave.

My fingers rose to my mouth to bite my nails.

"It's okay," she reassured, "my mum says I talk enough for two or three or four!"

I forgot my nails.

I delighted in watching Coral's eyes track the motion of the top.

During the morning break, a brigade of grey ladies marshalled every child on the bench, each with their backpack. One tall lady counted the entire row.

Coral organised a sunny spot for two. At morning tea, I rummaged through my bag under my raincoat to locate a bottle of cordial and plain biscuits inside a paper bag.

"Can I have one, please?" Coral asked, her voice sounding Sunday school polite.

I gifted one to her and felt special, though the biscuits were firm and dry.

My dad, who packed my bag, liked hard biscuits, a legacy of his army days.

After we munched a biscuit each, Coral opened a pretty pink container, revealing a slice of chocolate cake. The cake appeared moist and glistened with a layer of dark cocoa icing.

Her fingers carefully broke the piece in half. She offered me the chunkier portion.

"For my new friend Luke," she said.

My shadow lengthened as I stretched my legs. I feasted on my shadow crisscrossing Coral's as I indulged in the yummy cake.

We played together the entire week. The days they sped fast, each one.

Everyone invited Coral to join their games.

"Luke too," she never failed to condition.

On Friday afternoon, after finishing a game of leapfrog, we waved a vigorous goodbye.

—As a youngster, I returned home. My neighbourhood friend Josh and I played cowboys and Indians; we delighted in water pistol fights and regularly played as Marines versus the Vietcong.

Christmas and the New Year passed as a family. I remember enjoying a summer holiday by the ocean.

However, my first day of school loomed. I baulked at school because Josh and I were assigned different classes.

The dreadful first day arrived.

Dressed in a new uniform, I plunged, facing no escape. I hid behind the lounge, curled in a ball. My mother called and searched the house until she found me and coaxed me out with the promise of making a salted caramel slice for the night.

I shuffled to the car, hugging my backpack to my chest. In the back of our car, I whimpered.

My mum grew cross as we became late. She detested being late, as did my sister Mary.

Nursing James, next to me in the back seat, my sister delivered a death stare.

"Don't be a baby. Big boys don't cry," my mum stated exasperatedly while starting the car.

Concerned James might cry, she instructed Mary to pat his back to calm him.

I hunched.

"Don't chew your nails," my mum scowled, her face lingering in the rear vision mirror as we reversed out of our driveway.

Once we arrived at my school, my mum parked on the street opposite the main gate.

She urged Mary to go ahead.

Mary glared at me—she was late.

My mother focused on lifting James out of the car. She pointed and rushed words at me.

"Quick! Out! Stay on the curb," she instructed me, mindful of the traffic,

"Don't step off the curb!"

Stay on the curb, echoed in my head.

As my mum gathered up James, she repeated her message.

James nestled on her hip. His hands wrapped around Mum's neck.

I didn't want to go to school. I wished to stand on the curb forever.

My mother said, "Stay close while we cross the road and follow me."

Inside the school gates, she strode to the office. I stepped quickly to keep up, my backpack rattling with my drink and lunch box.

My mother knew the school buildings because Mary started here three years ago.

Inside the red brick building ran a long hallway. The morning light disappeared in the internal dimness—my first impression of the school: an uninviting place.

My mum directed me to sit on a chair. Four high-backed wooden chairs were set out. Their hardness reminded me of our church pews. I selected the end chair and played with the straps on my school bag.

My mother talked to a lady behind a glass counter. Then she settled next to me as James lolled in her arms. Eventually, a tall man came out of a door farther down the hallway. He strode the corridor and beckoned to my mother.

My mum whispered in conversation to him. James slept across her shoulder. The man stretched tall like our church minister, Parson Dean.

Suddenly, Mum scooted, waving hastily.

She adjusted James on her hip; he appeared heavy to carry.

The tall man's body blocked the light in the hallway.

"Follow me," he boomed, sounding as stern and intense as Parson Dean.

Sometimes, when Dean spoke on Sunday, my heart plummeted.

I walked behind the tall man, adjusting my backpack on my shoulders; the straps twisted uncomfortably.

—Later in the year, this man was identified as the school's principal, Mr Pritchard, or behind his back, Mr Tall.

He strode and burst through a door at the end of the hallway.

A sign stated, 'No Student Use.'

His hand jerked in a rapid 'follow me' motion.

The sun warmed my skin, yet I felt cold as I wiped a sniffle with my hand.

He paced across a concrete quadrangle. I liked the Four-square game lines painted on it. I hoped to find Josh later to play a game. The tall man marched ahead, and I followed, my legs wobbling.

I realised, stopping, that the Four-square lines were freshly painted.

By the time 'Mr. Tall' considered me, I lagged.

He yelled, "Come here, boy!"

The whip in his voice scared me.

I started to run, to run anywhere. I found speed. I dashed into a narrow gap between the boys' and girls' toilet blocks. The tall man used his long legs and charged toward me, gaining ground fast.

Suddenly, tennis court nets blocked my run. I couldn't see a gap in my jittery, frenzied scan.

I swivelled, attempting to evade him. His broad hands were cast like a net, blocking my escape. He clutched and scragged my backpack. His snatch jolted me, and my neck flung backwards in a whiplash.

His face reddened as he towered over me.

I ducked my head, bent and shrunk in shame. I peeped between hand-shielded eyes and noticed a 5 o'clock shadow. He missed whiskers beneath his chin and Adam's apple.

I thought he should shave better.

My dad shaved perfectly every day!

Momentum stumbled my body into a tennis net. He scuffed a fistful of my school jumper and firmed his grip on the strap of my bag.

He rag-dolled me across the empty schoolyard.

Mr Tall huffed and puffed.

He opened a classroom door, and I stumbled in, or he pushed me inside—a dramatic entrance combined with the clang and clatter of my manhandled backpack.

I froze inside the door; I felt I would crack and shatter.

Mr Tall bustled past me. He whispered to the teacher, a lady, at the front of the classroom. Her hair reminded me of Josh's mum's, dark and braided.

The principal's hand flew towards the ceiling like Parson Dean in church.

The teacher brushed her braid.

My eyes roved everywhere except at the seated children. I shuffled on the spot and grimaced at my shyness.

A clock above the blackboard caught my attention.

Its hands stopped at 8.15.

A massive map of the world scrolled down one wall. I liked maps and learning about far-off places.

The map blurred.

My eyes leaked as I focused on my feet.

Drops plopped on my new black school shoes, a puddle on each.

"Luke," a familiar voice chirped, "Sit next to me."

The words bubbled mellow and reassuring.

My head rose.

I beheld a trove of locks and a pair of sparkling green orbs.

My hands wiped my eyes.

Otherwise, I fixed stationary.

Coral bounced out of her seat without permission and glided to the rear of the classroom.

She clasped my hand.

The finest bestie imaginable constantly graced my life henceforth, skeining through it — as an endless gift. 

Hand in hand with Coral, I stepped forward, guided by her bountifulness.

Coral: my classmate and friend.

Feeling attached, I eased beside her.

I tucked my backpack beneath my chair. I glanced at the teacher and the principal. He crossed his arms tight, and the lady spread her hand on her hip.

Together, they shook their heads in my direction.

I preferred to watch Coral.

Hushed and leaning towards me, she said, "I have cake."

For a long time, her golden smile rippled.