The room had the smell of fresh paint.
There was a brightly coloured carpet and rows of empty white-glossed cubicle shelves. Walls had been knocked through to make a more suitable nursery.
Along the corridor was a small room stacked high with all the nursery equipment that had been stored there until the renovations were complete.
‘We have to move all these boxes into the nursery,’ the bright voice of the nursery teacher proclaimed.
‘Okay,’ I said rolling up my sleeves. I liked the sound of ‘we’. It would be fun working together to put the room straight.
I was going to be working in the nursery one morning a week. It was a whole new experience for me. It was the first time I’d ever stepped through the nursery’s doors.
‘So if you could just bring the boxes in and put them in the middle of the room,’ the nursery teacher said, ‘then we can decide where to put things,’ she added indicating her teaching assistant.
‘No problem,’ I said a little diminished.
‘Now I want you to put things just here,’ the nursery teacher said. Indicating the bull’s eye coloured circle on the carpet and walking to indicate the exact spot. She evidently doubted whether I was capable of discerning the centre of a room.
‘Okay.’ I said nodding. ‘I’ll do that. It’s a good idea. After all I don’t know where things go. I’ll start getting the boxes.’
I wished I hadn’t worn my best new clothes when I saw what I’d been asked to move. The storage room had been piled up to shoulder height with boxes.
I was dwarfed.
There were also some awkwardly shaped items that had been placed perilously on top of it all: grubby play mats and dirty plastic toys. The sight could have won a prize at Tate Modern!
It would have to be dismantled with care if I wanted to survive and not have ‘She was crushed by Sticklebricks’ written on my tombstone.’
I sighed and picked up the first of many boxes. They varied in weight. Some were deceptively light filled with the ethereal faery effects of nursery education: glitter, sequins and sparking shimmering stuff. Others were heavy with the earthy weight of nursery stories, fables and tales.
I carried them along the corridor, inwardly grieving as I heard the bubble of noise from the children in the reception class and heard the teacher’s voice as he directed the lesson. I was no more than a passing shadow.
The pair in the nursery were debating where to put a teddy bear. Finally, it found its home on a shelf as I lowered another heavy box of books to the floor.
Over time boxes were beginning to spread out from the bull’s eye of the carpet.
‘Where are my teabags?’ the nursery teacher suddenly asked in a strident voice the next time I re-entered the classroom.
‘I don’t know.’ I said. There was no reply.
I lowered the heavy box of wooden building bricks to the carpet.
‘I wonder where my teabags are.’ she said again in a flustered manner as on my next visit I lowered the box holding the heavy wooden pieces of the train track to the ground.
‘I haven’t seen them,’ I replied brightly.
Again, I was ignored.
The classroom assistant was valiantly attempting to keep up with the job of decanting the boxes I was bringing in.
The nursery teacher on my return had found her tea bags and now held a hot steaming cup of tea in her hands as I staggered in with the toy garages. She stood and watched thoughtfully sipping her tea.
The next box was lighter full of dressing up clothes.
‘Ooh,’ said the nursery teacher. She took a small scarf from the box and held it up; then she left the nursery with it, went down the corridor, past the room which I was steadily dis-embowelling and began chatting in the office. Half an hour later she returned, passing the storage room once again still carrying the scarf, and walking past me without a word as I staggered out backwards from the room with the next heavy box.
On my return trip to the nursery I could sense resentment as I lowered the box to the floor.
Each box I brought in with its grubby innards was spoiling the pristine look of the freshly painted nursery. My Tate Modern sculpture of piled high boxes were evidently not at all to their liking in its new arrangement.
As I struggled down the corridor with yet another box, the Headteacher walked past me without a glance or a word, and I realised I had slipped into invisibility.
The Head was standing chatting amicably with the others as I staggered in.
I was aware of them attempting to focus on me as something just on the peripheral edge of their vision: something barely discernable, as I eased the heavy box full of paint materials to the ground,
‘Paints go over there,’ the nursery teacher said sharply pointing to the far side of the nursery. ‘Put the paints on that shelf?’ she added addressing me like a servant.
With a servant’s reticence I complied as they stood and watched.
The three of them were continuing their conversation about the colours of fabrics when I next returned and attempted to ease a small cupboard to the floor.
‘Now that goes in the home corner,’ the nursery teacher said in a sharp tone breaking off her conversation with the Head. ‘Can’t you put things where you can see they need to go?’ the nursery teacher added tetchily.
The Head teacher was eyeing me critically.
Back aching, clothes despoiled, hair pulled from its grips I staggered across the room with the item to where I imagined the home corner to be.
‘No, that’s not the home corner,’ the nursery teacher said with exasperation. ‘It’s over there.’ If she had had a whip in her hand it would have cracked on my back.
All three watched with narrowed eyes as I manoeuvred the item to the correct position. I wiped the sweat from my eyes when it was successfully positioned and smiled at them, but they had turned from me and had resumed their discussion of fabric colours; the nursery teacher idly twirling the soft red scarf around her delicate hand. ‘I want bright primary colours,’ the Head was saying.
Exhausted, I brought my last box into the room. I was no longer able to stand straight.
‘I have to go now,’ I called.
The classroom assistant smiled. Thankfully she could still see me.
‘I’ll see you next week,’ I called brightly.
‘Bye,’ I called. And left in the silence that surrounds the invisible.
There was a brightly coloured carpet and rows of empty white-glossed cubicle shelves. Walls had been knocked through to make a more suitable nursery.
Along the corridor was a small room stacked high with all the nursery equipment that had been stored there until the renovations were complete.
‘We have to move all these boxes into the nursery,’ the bright voice of the nursery teacher proclaimed.
‘Okay,’ I said rolling up my sleeves. I liked the sound of ‘we’. It would be fun working together to put the room straight.
I was going to be working in the nursery one morning a week. It was a whole new experience for me. It was the first time I’d ever stepped through the nursery’s doors.
‘So if you could just bring the boxes in and put them in the middle of the room,’ the nursery teacher said, ‘then we can decide where to put things,’ she added indicating her teaching assistant.
‘No problem,’ I said a little diminished.
‘Now I want you to put things just here,’ the nursery teacher said. Indicating the bull’s eye coloured circle on the carpet and walking to indicate the exact spot. She evidently doubted whether I was capable of discerning the centre of a room.
‘Okay.’ I said nodding. ‘I’ll do that. It’s a good idea. After all I don’t know where things go. I’ll start getting the boxes.’
I wished I hadn’t worn my best new clothes when I saw what I’d been asked to move. The storage room had been piled up to shoulder height with boxes.
I was dwarfed.
There were also some awkwardly shaped items that had been placed perilously on top of it all: grubby play mats and dirty plastic toys. The sight could have won a prize at Tate Modern!
It would have to be dismantled with care if I wanted to survive and not have ‘She was crushed by Sticklebricks’ written on my tombstone.’
I sighed and picked up the first of many boxes. They varied in weight. Some were deceptively light filled with the ethereal faery effects of nursery education: glitter, sequins and sparking shimmering stuff. Others were heavy with the earthy weight of nursery stories, fables and tales.
I carried them along the corridor, inwardly grieving as I heard the bubble of noise from the children in the reception class and heard the teacher’s voice as he directed the lesson. I was no more than a passing shadow.
The pair in the nursery were debating where to put a teddy bear. Finally, it found its home on a shelf as I lowered another heavy box of books to the floor.
Over time boxes were beginning to spread out from the bull’s eye of the carpet.
‘Where are my teabags?’ the nursery teacher suddenly asked in a strident voice the next time I re-entered the classroom.
‘I don’t know.’ I said. There was no reply.
I lowered the heavy box of wooden building bricks to the carpet.
‘I wonder where my teabags are.’ she said again in a flustered manner as on my next visit I lowered the box holding the heavy wooden pieces of the train track to the ground.
‘I haven’t seen them,’ I replied brightly.
Again, I was ignored.
The classroom assistant was valiantly attempting to keep up with the job of decanting the boxes I was bringing in.
The nursery teacher on my return had found her tea bags and now held a hot steaming cup of tea in her hands as I staggered in with the toy garages. She stood and watched thoughtfully sipping her tea.
The next box was lighter full of dressing up clothes.
‘Ooh,’ said the nursery teacher. She took a small scarf from the box and held it up; then she left the nursery with it, went down the corridor, past the room which I was steadily dis-embowelling and began chatting in the office. Half an hour later she returned, passing the storage room once again still carrying the scarf, and walking past me without a word as I staggered out backwards from the room with the next heavy box.
On my return trip to the nursery I could sense resentment as I lowered the box to the floor.
Each box I brought in with its grubby innards was spoiling the pristine look of the freshly painted nursery. My Tate Modern sculpture of piled high boxes were evidently not at all to their liking in its new arrangement.
As I struggled down the corridor with yet another box, the Headteacher walked past me without a glance or a word, and I realised I had slipped into invisibility.
The Head was standing chatting amicably with the others as I staggered in.
I was aware of them attempting to focus on me as something just on the peripheral edge of their vision: something barely discernable, as I eased the heavy box full of paint materials to the ground,
‘Paints go over there,’ the nursery teacher said sharply pointing to the far side of the nursery. ‘Put the paints on that shelf?’ she added addressing me like a servant.
With a servant’s reticence I complied as they stood and watched.
The three of them were continuing their conversation about the colours of fabrics when I next returned and attempted to ease a small cupboard to the floor.
‘Now that goes in the home corner,’ the nursery teacher said in a sharp tone breaking off her conversation with the Head. ‘Can’t you put things where you can see they need to go?’ the nursery teacher added tetchily.
The Head teacher was eyeing me critically.
Back aching, clothes despoiled, hair pulled from its grips I staggered across the room with the item to where I imagined the home corner to be.
‘No, that’s not the home corner,’ the nursery teacher said with exasperation. ‘It’s over there.’ If she had had a whip in her hand it would have cracked on my back.
All three watched with narrowed eyes as I manoeuvred the item to the correct position. I wiped the sweat from my eyes when it was successfully positioned and smiled at them, but they had turned from me and had resumed their discussion of fabric colours; the nursery teacher idly twirling the soft red scarf around her delicate hand. ‘I want bright primary colours,’ the Head was saying.
Exhausted, I brought my last box into the room. I was no longer able to stand straight.
‘I have to go now,’ I called.
The classroom assistant smiled. Thankfully she could still see me.
‘I’ll see you next week,’ I called brightly.
‘Bye,’ I called. And left in the silence that surrounds the invisible.
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