My New Aerosports

At the beginning of 1988, I moved from Darwin to Sydney. I was about to start at my new school, going in to grade 5. Even though this was already my fifth primary school (that's the life of a child circus acrobat prodigy, folks), and I was used to moving, I felt quite nervous about this particular new start.

What made it bearable however, was that I was going to get a pair of brand new sneakers to kick off the year. I went shopping with my Dad, and after some deliberation, chose a pair of sparkling white, ultra- awesome, high-top Aerosports. They were a very good looking shoe, I can tell you that right now.

So the first day at my new school arrives. I have kept a pretty low profile, just sussing out the kids from a distance. Speaking when spoken to, but otherwise, just taking it all in, scoping out the terrain. After lunch, things start to go awry.

I have foolishly forgotten to go to the toilet before returning to class, after having a long drink at the bubblers. The teacher is standing out the front, talking about some such thing, but I can't focus. The pressure is building, slowly but surely. Can I hold out till home time? Nope. I put my hand up. The other kids look at me, but the teacher doesn't. My hand stays up. He finally sees me. Thank goodness, just in the nick of time.

What's this? He's seen me, but is not acknowledging it. What sort of fool new school is this? "Excuse me", I say. "Excuse me". Nothing. I realise I have to take matters into my own hands, or else things could get ugly. I get up out of my seat, and walk up the aisle towards the front of the class. He'll have to listen to me now. I get to the front, and am met with a hard glare.

"Sit down!"

"I really have to.."

"Sit down!".

Talk about not cutting the new kid any slack. The other kids are stating to laugh. I am getting flustered. This was not how it was supposed to be. The hard yards I had put in during the day were quickly unravelling.

What happened next, valued reader, is difficult to explain, and hard to comprehend. I know what you are expecting me to say, that I couldn't hold on any longer. But no, I did hold on. It was something else that happened, something completely unexpected. There was a sudden rumble below. The stress had taken it's toll. I proceeded to vomit, right there, over the front of my teacher, over the floor, and worst of all, all over my pristine Aerosports.

Havoc breaks loose. Kids are laughing, shouting, horrified. I am crying. My teacher is in shock. Parents are called. I am now sitting out in the parking lot, waiting for my Dad. My reputation at my new school is shot. I am The Vomiter. My sneakers are forever soiled. I continue to wear them for years, but always, just below the surface, just beneath the smell of detergent, soap, bleach; there lingers a smell that will not let me forget, an odour that fills my nostrils and my nightmares.