(gap: 2s) My earliest memory from primary school is painted in the soft, golden light of late afternoon, the kind that makes everything seem gentle and far away. I was only six, my legs still short and my hands always sticky with paint or glue. Our classroom was a world of its own, filled with the scent of crayons and the low hum of children’s voices. In the corner, a battered toy box sat, overflowing with treasures. That’s where I first saw it—a blue teddy bear, its fur worn but its button eyes still bright. It was the twin of the pink one I cherished at home, the one I slept with every night. The sight of it made my heart flutter with longing, as if having both would somehow make me whole.
I confided in my friend, a girl with a mischievous grin and a knack for dares. When I told her about the blue teddy, her eyes sparkled with excitement. “Take it,” she whispered, her voice low and urgent. “Then you’ll have a matching pair.” I hesitated, my stomach twisting with guilt. I shook my head, but she pressed on, her words sharp as thorns: “If you don’t, I won’t be your friend anymore.” The threat stung more than I expected. Friendship, at that age, felt like the most precious thing in the world. My hands trembled as I slipped the teddy into my school bag, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure everyone could hear. I told myself I’d get rid of it before anyone noticed, but the weight of it in my bag felt like a secret too heavy to bear.
When I got home, the air in our house was thick with the smell of dinner cooking and the distant sound of the television. My mother, always so quick to notice when something was amiss, opened my school bag with practiced hands. She was a woman of simple tastes—her hair always pulled back in a no-nonsense bun, her face free of makeup, and her clothes plain and practical. She favored sturdy skirts and faded blouses, the kind that could withstand a day’s work and a child’s mess. There was an unspoken authority in the way she moved, every gesture efficient and deliberate, her posture straight and unyielding. She stood for no nonsense, her eyes sharp and her mouth set in a line that rarely softened. Even her silences carried weight, and when she spoke, her words left no room for argument. Her eyes narrowed as she pulled out the blue teddy, her face a mask of disappointment and confusion. My cheeks burned with shame. I stammered out the truth, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry, Mummy—really sorry,” I pleaded, my words tumbling over each other as I braced myself for the sting of her hand. I flinched, expecting the familiar slap to my legs, but it didn’t come. Instead, her fingers dug into my arm, her grip cold and unyielding, and she dragged me into the living room. The world seemed to shrink to the size of that room, the air heavy with dread. She sat on the sofa, her posture rigid, and I knew, with a sinking heart, what was about to happen.
I had seen this scene before, but always from the safety of the sidelines. My older brother, taller and braver than me, had been laid across Mother’s knee more than once, his face twisted in a mixture of fear and defiance. I had watched, wide-eyed and silent, as he endured his punishment, never imagining that I would one day take his place. I thought I was safe, that my misdeeds would only earn me slapped legs—painful, yes, and humiliating, the red marks a silent badge of shame. But this was different. This was the kind of discipline reserved for the truly naughty, the kind that left you feeling small and exposed.
My voice rose in a wail, desperate and raw. “Please, no Mummy!” I begged, tears already stinging my eyes. The room felt colder, the shadows longer, as if the whole house was holding its breath. My brother burst into the room, drawn by the sound of my pleading. He hovered in the doorway, his eyes wide with anticipation, a grin spreading across his face. He looked almost gleeful, as if he’d been waiting for this moment, eager to see his little sister finally get her comeuppance. The humiliation burned hotter than the fear.
“Lie over my knee, April.” My mother’s voice was sharp, each word slicing through the thick silence. She had a way of speaking that brooked no argument—her tone was clipped, her instructions clear, and her patience famously short. I bit back another plea, knowing my brother would savor every second of my humiliation. But I couldn’t move, my feet rooted to the spot by a mixture of fear and stubbornness. The tension in the room was electric, crackling in the air. Finally, my mother’s patience snapped. “Lie across my knee now, or I will call Daddy downstairs.” The threat hung in the air, heavy and terrifying. My brother’s grin widened, his eyes shining with anticipation. I had no choice. With trembling limbs, I climbed onto her lap, my heart hammering in my chest.
The world seemed to slow as I settled across her knees, the fabric of her skirt rough against my skin. My brother’s face hovered in my peripheral vision, his delight unmistakable. Then, time seemed to freeze. I could feel the heat of my mother’s hand hovering above me, the anticipation prickling along my skin. Suddenly, the first smack landed—a sharp, stinging explosion that sent a jolt through my entire body. The sound was deafening, echoing off the walls, and the pain bloomed instantly, hot and bright, radiating across my skin. I gasped, my breath catching in my throat, but I bit down hard, refusing to give my brother the satisfaction of hearing me cry out. (short pause) The next smack came, and then another, each one building on the last, the pain layering and deepening until it felt like my whole world was reduced to the burning heat on my bottom and the relentless rhythm
