I had a new gym bag. My grandmother made it. It had a drawstring and it was black. It hung on a black iron peg with my coat. The row of hooks on the wall reached out at me like traps to be caught on and hung. I heard the birds singing outside where I wanted to be. The place had a special smell, one I ever after associated with school; warm rubber fading to wool, a hint of polish, gym shoes. It made me feel nauseous. Even now as I conjure it I sense a mixture or suffocation and nervous impending terror.

I had been given a desk that was red, my favourite colour back then but it was the sparkles that drew my attention. The stairs to the upper room had a sparkle, little stars trapped in concrete. I felt sick to the pit of my stomach as I climbed the sparkling stairs. I kept my eyes down and stared at my feet stepping on little stars. My laces had come undone and I didn’t know how to tie them. I was ashamed of being so stupid. I had tried to learn but the laces always escaped. They were going to draw attention and all I wanted right then was to find a cupboard and hide. There was no cupboard out there on the sparkling ascending stairs. I had to go on.  I did find a place to hide. I took a long time to come out.