Deep Blue Sky

This piece looks back on childhood and a moment of betrayal that resonates forward through time

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The summer sun was high in the cornflower blue sky. Tom stumbled down the concrete steps and squinted, scanning for shade. Aluminium benches ran the length of the school building, cool metal against the warm brown brick. It was recess, and the schoolyard echoed with familiar bedlam. It had rained earlier, and the smell of wet asphalt, faintly acrid, hung in the air. Tom kept an eye on the other kids, grouped in tribes, wary of trouble. He was smaller than the other boys and often a target. He spotted Vasilis walking toward him across the playground and smiled. They sat together on a shaded bench. Wordlessly, they opened their lunchboxes and began to eat.

Tom pushed a small packet of chips toward Vasilis and received peanuts in return. Tom spoke first.

“Do you still think ghosts are real?”

“Yeah,” Vasilis replied, “There’s heaps of proof.”

“Like what?”

“There’s books and T.V. shows and stuff. There was a thing on A Current Affair last night.”

The conversation ranged from dragons to cars, cartoons, and dreams. Vasilis wore glasses and wanted to be an optometrist when he grew up. Tom liked suits and wanted to be a businessman. They were outsiders — Tom, shy and bookish, and Vasilis, overweight and Greek. Neither felt included in the boisterous cut-and-thrust of schoolyard play, so kept to themselves, chatting quietly or embarking on animated flights of fancy.

Tom looked across the playground. A group of older girls was skipping on the far side of the asphalt courtyard. The older boys were playing cricket on the hard-packed grass oval and, in the middle of the courtyard, smaller boys were playing handball. Tom walked over to take a look. An area was divided into chalk squares, each occupied by a boy. Winners went up a square, losers went to the bottom. Tom watched, his back tense. A smaller boy lost a game and walked off to the side, freeing up the last square. Tom stepped into it and readied himself. A sharp shout rang out, and the ball smacked into the asphalt. He won a few games, moving up the ranks before losing and sliding back to the rear.

Tom walked a short distance and surveyed the schoolyard. He saw that a group had formed around Vasilis. Tom trotted closer. The kids were teasing him.

“Hey, fattie!” somebody shouted. They laughed, jogging elbows. Vasilis, red-faced, cringed.

“Hey, four-eyes, didya mum choose yer glasses for ya?” said a freckled boy. Turning to Tom, he continued:

“Is this ya bum chum?”

“No, I’m not,” said Tom, ears burning.

“Come on, then,” the boy countered, “What are ya?”

Tom sensed the challenge viscerally: in or out. He glanced around, hesitant. Vasilis’ screwed-up face contrasted with the excitement of the others. Tom felt as well as saw the power dynamic unfolding. His heart beat faster and his cheeks flushed. He heard his voice call out:

“Fattie! Hey, fattie!”

It felt good. The kids vied to hurl the most cutting insult, and Tom felt the power in it. Usually he was on the receiving end of this kind of treatment, but not today. Today, he was on top.

Vasilis stood and took it all. Running or crying would betray weakness. So he remained, rooted to the spot, flushed, eyes brimming with tears that he roughly brushed away.

Soon enough it ended and with a gleeful “Ciao, losers!” the kids drifted off, leaving only Tom and Vasilis. Tom fidgeted. “Sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean it.”

Vasilis stood, wet-faced “You joined in”. He moved to speak, but instead shuffled away, shoulders hunched. Tom stood by the benches and watched, clasping and unclasping his hands.

The sun hung in the hollow blue sky.

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If you liked this, you might also enjoy the reflective flash fiction Controlled Descent or the stillness poem Predawn Rowers.