School fruit by Rosie Balyuzi
Every day at primary school we were supposed to bring in a piece of fruit to eat at first morning break. This particular morning of 1979, when I was six we were out of fruit. Dad was an apple fiend so I guess he ate the last one leaving me without. But it was no big deal.
At school, as break neared, I felt left out. I lacked a piece of fruit. I was not as rich as the others. I went by our grey plastic work trays we were each assigned, with our names on, Emma, Nina, Lee, Elizabeth. Elizabeth’s tray had such a feast of an apple just looking at me. It was big and red and shiny, very, very shiny. So I took it.
Elizabeth naturally found she had been robbed. She cried painfully. So Miss Gordon, a bit of a big funky woman I recall, big smocks and hippy hair, clapped us to attention.
‘No-one will be going out to play until the person who took Elizabeth’s apple speaks up.’ Silence. It was a self-conscious silence, a horrible silence I had never felt before.
I said ‘Miss, she can have my apple!’ Jesus. How clever and devious and kind was that? All rolled into one.
Miss Gordon beamed. ‘Rosie, that is so kind of you, everyone can you see what she has done, thank you.’ Playtime on, with Elizabeth happy, Miss Gordon happy, me happy.
But was I?
In moments the thief became the hero. Surely I was cut out to be a politician. This is my earliest memory of being such a fox. I took the forbidden fruit and fell out of paradise. I did. I was not really very happy at all.
So Elizabeth I am sorry. Part of my mind has been sly ever since. But I am healing that. This is my confession. Maybe you will be listening. Find me on Facebook and I will buy you a whole shiny bag.
