In this memory I’m about eleven. I’ve just finished my weekly group lesson at a local music school, and now stand with my two best friends in the hallway. Our mothers are nearby, busy talking.
The building that houses our music school is old and dilapidated. As I chat with my friends, I notice that the wall paint is coming off in several places. Some cracks are wide, and the dried paint sticks out like an old piece of skin.
Without thinking, I poke my finger between the paint and the wall. Immediately, the dried paint breaks into flakes and falls off.
“Look, the paint comes off!” I call out to my friends. “How fun is that!”
Together, we start peeling off the dried paint from the wall. One of my friends takes out her bus pass and uses it to remove the paint even more efficiently.
We are completely absorbed in our new project when our mothers finally stop talking and realize what we are doing.
“What on earth are you doing?!” They grab us away from the wall. “This is not your home, and you’re destroying the wall paint!”
“We aren’t destroying anything,” my friends and I giggle and protest. “We’re cleaning up the wall!”
We continue having fun with our clean-up project for the weeks to come.