17 April 2012
Gold Planets
The sun streams into the classroom hot and bright. The smell of grass comes through the open window, reaching out with soft green hands and tickling my nose. The fresh summer breeze is interrupted by the sudden chemical tang of paints. George’s curly mop gleams golden in front of me as he smiles a gappy smile and pushes the tray of paints towards me. I reach out a hand and clumsily grasp the handle of the paintbrush resting beside the plain white paper.
Next to me Laura-Jean is already carefully stroking yellow paint in the corner of her page. I like Laura-Jean. She is my best friend, even though she is annoying sometimes. I smile and then look anxiously at Mr. Stephen as she paints over the paper and onto the table. He is peering over Emma Stafford-Michael’s shoulder on the other table though, and doesn’t notice. Next to me, Pheobe the prefect is carefully drawing around a rubber, making a circle in pencil on her paper. She gives me a smug look and I turn my attention back to my unstarted painting. I look up to the big blackboard on which Mr Stephen wrote the title earlier in big white letters, ‘Planets’.
I instantly knew what planet I was going to paint when he wrote that. My favourite one, Jupiter. Mr Stephen says it’s the biggest and brightest of all of them. I look again at my tray of colours, and wonder which one to use to draw my big, bright planet. He told us to use our 'imagination' and be 'creative'. I’m not entirely sure what they are, but as an example he showed us bright pictures of some paintings by a man with one ear called Van Gogh. It all looked like a big mess to me.
There is one colour that glitters and shines, unlike the rest. I’m drawn to it. Excited now, I stab my brush into the molten pool of colour, and wonder at it as I swirl the bristles in a circle on the page, making a giant orb of that wonderful, shimmering colour. I keep going until I have reached all four sides of the paper, and I have left only four triangles of white in each corner. Pheobe the prefect has stopped her circle drawing and is looking at my paper, her eyes narrow.
“What’s that supposed to be?” She asks scornfully. “It’s Jupiter. The biggest, brightest and bestest planet.” I reply, stung she doesn’t immediately see it. “Jupiter’s not gold stupid!” She laughs, superior as always. “Well - I like that colour” I retort, feeling my eyes sting a little and hating that they are. “And don’t call me stupid.” I add, remembering what Auntie Debbie told me about standing up to her. “Gold’s a stupid colour.” She sneers, and she turns back to drawing her stupid circles. I leave her to it. I know she’s just jealous she didn’t think of using such a beautiful colour. I vent my frustration by sticking my tongue out enthusiastically at her back. Laura-Jean smirks at me, and then copies. We grin foolishly at each other for a moment, united in our dislike of Pheobe the perfect prefect.
I look back at my painting and stare at my Jupiter shaped blob with pride. Suddenly, what seems like a brilliant idea occurs to me. I pick up the paintbrush again and dab more gold onto it. Grinning now, I turn my left hand over. Cautiously, I stroke the brush against my skin. It tickles. But best of all it leaves a shiny golden streak across my fingers. Giggling I repeat the motion until my hand is covered in paint. I’ve made a mess, its all over my dress and on the table, but it doesn’t matter because my hand is the loveliest colour, the same as my planet.
I press my hand onto the wet paint on the page, marvelling at the texture it creates when I pull it away. Now my picture almost seems like its leaping off the paper. Smooshing my palms together, I rub them gleefully, feeling the paint slip and slide. Turning them upwards I nudge Laura-Jean with my elbow to show her proudly what I have done.
Her mouth opens in a comical ‘O’, and for a second I see my glee reflected in her face. She quickly flings her brush down and grabs mine, all set to do the same. Suddenly she freezes as Pheobe the prefect gasps. I turn to face her, and I already know what she’s about to do. “I’m TELLING!” Pheobe declares, looking in horror and awe at my hands. George has stopped painting now, and is looking at me too. Pheobe begins to shift her chair back from the table. She gets up, her mouth open as she sucks in a breath to call to Mr Stephen.
Without warning, anger flares through me, hot and uncontrollable. How dare she spoil our fun? I think furiously.
I saw her stupid, neatly drawn circles. I saw my gold painted hands. And without realising I’d come to a decision, or even stopping to process what I was about to do, I smack both palms down flat onto her paper.
Then as suddenly as it came, my anger goes. It leaves a cold feeling of shame behind, which only intensifies as I lift my palms and see the two gold handprints obscuring all her neatly drawn circles. Pheobe stares at me in shock. “MR STEPHEN!” She bellows, drawing the attention of everyone in the class. “Pheobe, I’m sorry!” I try, but he’s marching over, a look of disapproval already on his face as he spies my paint spattered dress. Pheobe starts to cry, huge great crocodile tears, something she’s been good at since reception, but the teachers have never caught on to.
I know then that I’m in for it, and I say the worst word I know. I don’t know what it means exactly, but Auntie Debbie said it once when she dropped a tin on her foot, so I know people say it when something bad happens.
“Ohh Fuck!”
Gold Planets • Opuss № I