fifty-one : rainbows and the wild wild west
The gates looked different in the orange light of dusk. They stuck out at odd angles, blackberry vines curling through the wire and shaking in the breeze. I stood just inside the schoolgrounds, letting mum smooth down my hair and adjust the skirt of my Rainbow Brite costume while Tony stood beside me with his tiny six-year-old feet in oversized cowboy boots, his mum staring back out down the street. The other kids started to arrive. One with glittering coathanger wings, another with a pair of fuzzy cat ears on her head. A superman, a pirate, a princess. They all came through the gate and chattered excitedly while their parents fussed over them. After an eternity, a teacher walked down to meet us. We fell silent as she spoke, telling us to follow her to the gym where the party would be happening. We felt like grown-ups when our parents left us at the door. Inside, there was music. We were too young to feel the need to stand on opposite sides of the room, and we all jumped around, spun and twirled to the sounds of Peter Coomb singing about newspapers. It only lasted an hour.
My memory of my first costume party, which is also my first memory of dancing. Fun fun fun.
