Young and innocent: ignorant.

I braced myself as the possibility of falling flat on my face edged itself towards my conscience at a rapid pace; there was no stopping that reality. Once a muddy field, now dry under the summer sun and amidst the cool breeze that was so effortlessly refreshing. I threw myself forward in an attempt to land the cartwheel that I had seen so many of my friends achieve before. Why I ever thought such a thing was a good idea, I don’t know. As I tumbled forward, expecting my frail arms to support my entire body, my brain seamed to lose all abilities as the world began to spin and my body refused to compute the desired instructions. My legs were stuck in one position whilst my body slammed into the floor and the difficulty of the cartwheel that once seemed so effortless suddenly dawned on me. Despite the clear-cut evidence of my lacking ability in the field of gymnastics I never stopped there. I dusted myself off and clambered to my feet. Though my fall was cushioned by the soft grass, my ego took mass amounts of damage from the scathing laughs of onlookers. As if that wasn’t enough, I got up to find the Year 5 form tutor staring me down. Her despicable eyes scanned over my figure as she began to take in my eight-year-old stature. I felt her eyes stabbing into my soul as she peeled back every layer of my protective shell and throughout the time I felt the distance between dissipate to nothing. All I could do was lie in wait for the attack.

“Black leggings are not a part of the uniform Miss Harrington,” she barked in her condescending voice.

“ But… everyone else wears leggings under their skirts; especially when doing cartwheels. Plus, I didn’t have any tights to wear this morning,” I returned as I tried to squeeze my way out of the claustrophobic conversation.

“ Well, that is very nice, but such a clause was never written in the uniform agreement. They are the school’s rules not mine. I strongly advise that you take them off before I send your mother a letter home. How she could let you out in such clothes; I do not know.”

I subconsciously rolled my eyes at the load of rubbish that came spurting from her muzzle, but I was yet to experience the fire that could come from the deep depths of her throat.

“ Miss Harrington, get back here right now!”

I turned around now frightened for my life. I was aware of my attitude and the problems that were likely to follow as a result but quite often I could not control it. It was almost like a reflex to the unnecessarily ill-natured people that walk this earth. I only return the junk I am sent. The lesson to learn is…. DON’T SEND ME JUNK. Thank you! Much appreciated.

I paced towards her as I fiddled with my fingers. The last scrap of confidence now flying away with the fairies. I stopped about two meters from her bony, wrinkled figure. Her posture was nothing like that of a ballerina. It resembled something a little closer to the general shape of a banana. Though I felt that the distance between us was small enough she seemed to disagree as the walking crane crept forward sending daggers to grip my very soul. My miniscule figure looked up into the balls of fire that stared down on me and the smell of her breath was enough to knock me out. The pungent smell packed a punched similar to that of Mike Tyson. My life flashed before my eyes, but the fear managed to rope me back into reality and there was no turning back from it.

“Don’t you ever dare to roll your eyes at me again Miss Harrington. Do you hear me?”

I fought the tears away but the acknowledgment of my peers behind me and the rest of my primary school watching was nothing far from a knockout punch. This one was aimed right at my gut and sent my weak figure flying to the ground. I looked behind the evil woman to find one of my classmates watching whilst he bared an unreadable expression. I was at the peak of embarrassment. I had always been vain and my entire life’s decisions have been based on the opinions and thoughts of my peers. There was no denying that, but their opinions also formed the motivation to push me forward and succeed.

“Your mother has certainly not taught you well. I expect better from a young girl. I suggest you drop the attitude. Looks like that can receive a deserving slap when given to the wrong people. Do you hear me Miss Harrington?”

A long pause followed as I nodded my head and the pools in my eyes threatened to overflow.

“I said do you hear me, Miss Harrington?” she spat at me through gritted teeth and a raised voice.

With a sniffle I replied, “Yes Miss Amkae!”

Now I look back I wonder how all that stemmed from me wearing leggings.

I fired back with a timid, “Yes,” as my eyes seemed to sting from the presence of salty water. I made a sharp turn and walked down the field. I passed the boys playing football, whom I joined most days, and the two girls that I had a mixed relationship with. One minute we were best of friends and the next we were like strangers. I never knew what they were thinking.

It was originally their abilities that inspired me to attempt such a move. The cartwheel was unsuccessful; for me at least. I probably should have taken into account the fact that they do gymnastics and I am about as nimble as pole of a stop sign.