A Winter’s Tale

Note: Edward and Beth are tow of the main characters in an old story I started and need to finish.  The original is written from Beth’s POV but here I try to write more form Ed’s.  If you want to read more about them you can go here and here.  This one was written in response to the Sunday Scribbling Post. As always comments, advice, criticism welcome.

It was only two o’clock in the afternoon but already the sky was darkening, the month of December in the East of England was a time for staying indoors, curled in front of the television your hands wrapped round a hot chocolate.  Instead Edward was playing football in the park and despite the chill in the air he was hot, his brown hair damp with sweat.  The football he’d just kicked spiralled way past goal and rolled into the woods and he paused to catch his breath, as Ben ran to fetch it.
“Bad luck,” a familiar voice said and he spun round and jogged towards the edge of the makeshift pitch.
“Hey stranger,” he said to Beth with a smile.
“Hardly a stranger you saw me two days ago,” she replied, shifting the books she held from one arm to the other.
“Feels like longer, been to the library?” Edward asked grinning and raising his eyebrows.
“Hey,” Beth waved a hand at the pitch, “you have your fun I’ll have mine.”
“What did you get?” he asked craning his neck to see the books she was cradling, “A Winter’s tale, Beth come on!  It’s the first proper day of the Christmas holidays and you’re doing school work.”
“Actually Dad’s taking me to see it in London as my Christmas present.  I wanted to read it first.”
Edward rolled his eyes, “all the shows in London and you choose Shakespeare, you’re such a geek.”
“Well I know you’d rather see Cats,” Beth said and Edward scowled, glancing nervously over his shoulder.  His fondness for musicals is something he’d rather not broadcast.
Beth laughed, “Don’t worry noones near, your secret is safe.” She began to hum memories, smiling at him.
“Ed, you playing?” Ben’s shout cut across the frozen air and Edward turned shaking his head.
“No I’m off,” he said reaching down to extract his coat from the pile on the sidelines.
‘You’re not playing anymore?” Beth asked surprised.
The words “I’d rather be with you” were on the tip of his tongue but Edward bit them back, “Nah, it’s getting dull,” he said instead.

They began walking in the direction of the estate where they had been neighbours all their lives.  The air was sharp with the kind of cold that made you long for a roaring fire.  It had put a flush of pink in Beth’s normally pale cheeks.
“You want to walk to the beach?” Edward asked looking away from her. Beth glanced over and shrugged.
“How about up to the stones?  Better view.”
“Sure,” Edward agreed the thought of being with her outweighing the vague sense of unease the stones always stirred in him.  Of everyone he knows Beth is the only one who doesn’t hurry past them when she takes the cliff path.

They climbed the steep path up to the top of the cliff and Beth perched on one of the stones. After a nervous glance over his shoulder Edward sat down beside her staring out the sea.  It was as grey and grim looking as the sky, little white peaks forming on its surface.
“So you want to come to town and help me do my Christmas shopping tomorrow?” he asked.
“Ed!  It’s three days away you haven’t started?”
He grinned at her, “I know, I know it’s why I need help.  We could grab lunch there,” he added temptingly.
“At the Pizza place?”
“You always want to go to the Pizza place,” he grumbled.
“Well I like it and they do fantastic cheesecake.”
“Yeah okay then,” he agreed.
Beth grinned at him, “Great and I’ll have a book for my present please,” she added.
“I have your present,” Edward said without thinking and felt her glance of surprise and tried not to blush.
“You do?”
“Um,” he answered studying the tops of his battered trainers.  In fact he has two presents; the silver star necklace he bought two months ago at a craft fair his Mother dragged him too and the book he rushed out to buy the same day, unsure whether he could actually give her the necklace, unsure about her reaction.  He still hasn’t decided which he’ll actually give her.
“So what have you been up the last two days?” he asked trying to deflect her attention.
“Oh reading, writing, nothing much,” Beth said but Edward, who knows her so well, heard something else in her voice.
“What?” he asked turning to look at her and Beth dropped her eyes, tracing the lettering of the books piled next to her.
“You know in The Winter’s Tale one of the characters is called Perdita?”
“Yes,” Edward said, even though he hadn’t.
“It means lost one, I just . . . sometimes I feel like that, like I’m completely at sea.  Y’know?”
“Yeah,” Edward said and Beth glanced over slightly taken a back, she hadn’t expected him to agree.
“You do?”
“Of course,” Edward paused searching for the right words, “Sometimes I think things or feel things and it’s like I must be the only person going through it, the only person to ever feel that way, or think that way.”
“Oh,” Beth whispered, “But do you think everyone feels that way?”
Edward frowned, ‘I think they must. It’s just no one talks about all that stuff because it feels stupid or embarrassing or it’s just hard to give anyone that much access to your thoughts.” He glanced over at Beth who was frowning staring out at the sea.
“So what’s bothering you?” he asked quietly.
“Oh, well,” Beth hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with her hair, “well I- Oh.” She broke off her eyes going up to the sky.  Big fat flakes of snow were drifting silently down.
‘It’s snowing,” she said, holding out her gloved hands to catch the flakes, turning to Edward with a smile of delight.
Edward stared back, taking in her sparkling eyes, flushed cheeks and the snowflakes catching on her golden hair.  In her stripy hat and scarf she looked like a gap advert and he suddenly wanted to kiss her so badly it was like a physical need.
“We should go,” Beth said standing up and reluctantly Edward joined her, sighing an internal sigh at another opportunity lost.
They began walking back towards the village, “Oh the play,” Beth said glancing in confusion at the books in her hands, ‘I thought I . . .hang on,” she said and ran back up the slope.
At the stones she bent and retrieved The Winter’s Tale, as she straighten a silvery light caught her eye and for a moment she stood mesmerised, then Edward shouted her name and it vanished. With a confused glance at the stones she turned and ran back to him and together they headed for home.

Scandalous

Inspired by the Sunday Scribbling Prompt – Scandalous

Suffolk, England. 1939

He threw back the rest of his drink and tried to concentrate on what his Great Aunt Celia was saying, something about the relief his Mother felt about having him home.  He strove to keep his eyes on her face, the blue eyes inquisitive in the lined skin, but it was impossible, they kept roaming over the crowd looking, searching.  Somewhere to his left he heard laughter and turned towards it, he caught a flash of pink dress and brown hair and then his view was obscured.
“Excuse me Aunt Celia,” he said, suddenly unable to stand another minute in this crowded room with her so near and yet so completely out of reach.
Placing his glass on a side table, heedless of the condensation running down the side onto the antique wood, he stepped out of the open doors into the warmth of the night.

Walking fast he headed towards the river, his childhood refuge.  When he and his brother had planned his reintroduction to the family they’d thought this party would be the perfect occasion. The happiness of tonight deflecting his Mother’s rage at the scandal he had caused by leaving University in Cambridge to fight in Spain.  It had all been going well and then she’d arrived.

He stopped leant against the gate and dropped his head onto his folded arms. He was confused, scared, angry and alive. So wonderfully and fully alive, as if he had been living a half-life but only realised it when she’d smiled at him for the first time.  He played back every word of their conversation, saw in his minds eye the way her hair curled, the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed, the slightly off centre teeth that made her smile so perfect.

Realising he would soon be missed he turned back up the path both eager and reluctant to return to the party.  As he walked a flicker of pink caught his eye from between the branches of the willow tree and he altered his course at once, heart racing.

He slipped through the branches and stopped; she was leaning against the tree.  His mouth went dry, and he stood rooted in place, watching her. She was twisting her ring round and round her finger; the diamond glinted in the moonlight.  Looking up she saw him and started visibly.  For a moment he thought she was going to flee but she remained where she was.  He approached her slowly, as if she was a firework that had failed to go off.  Leaning beside her he pulled his cigarettes form his pocket andoffered her one.  She shook her head.

“Do you mind?” his voice sounded odd to him, higher than usual, the tension clear in it.

She shook her head again and he lit one. He tried to think of something to say but failed. He could have commented on the party, on the people there, on the weather even.  But he wanted to say something extraordinary, something she would remember, something that fitted the moment.

The silence grew, taking on an oppressive quality. He was absurdly aware of her, the shallow sound of her breathing, the rise and fall of her chest, the moonlight on her pale skin, and the heat form her arm resting only an inch from his.  He finished the cigarette and threw it to the ground, extinguishing it with a twist of his foot.  Pushing himself away form the tree, he had resolved to return to the party.  He opened his mouth to say good night and his eyes meet hers. The words died on his lips.

“It isn’t just me, is it?” he finally whispered.

“No, it isn’t”

Then she was in his arms her mouth pressed to his.  He knew first kisses should be tentative, soft, sweet.  There was nothing sweet about this kiss; he wanted to devour her. His hands slid over her, pulling her against him, holding on tight.  He wanted to absorb her into him and keep her there forever.  She responded in kind, her mouth greedy, her hands tangling in his hair, running down his back, pushing as close as she could, as if nothing were satisfying enough.

When they broke apart they were both panting. He was exhilarated and terrified and saw answering emotion in her eyes.  Then she turned and fled across the grass away from him.

He leant back and tried to light a cigarette but his hands were shaking too much.  He closed his eyes.  He had known her for less than three hours and yet he knew he loved her. He also knew that on Saturday she was marrying his brother.

To be continued . . .

It was a dark and stormy night

Something for Halloween, comments, suggestions, improvements, are as always, welcome.

Beth was huddled on the sofa knees drawn up to her chin, head buried in a cushion.  The ghostly flickering of the television cast an otherworldly glow over her fair hair.
“Is it over?”
Edward could just hear her muffled voice and he looked at her in amusement.
“Nearly . . . okay you can look now.”
Beth emerged white-faced “This is a really disgusting movie Ed.”
Edward shook his head “I can’t believe you’re scared, it’s only a fifteen.”
“I’m not scared! I just don’t like watching people have their insides ripped out.”
“Consider it pay back for that chick flick you made me watch last week. I would rather have had my insides ripped out than watch that.”
Beth grinned at him and turned her eyes back to screen where the Hollywood star was wandering the dark mansion.  She was dressed all in white, so it was likely she’d survive.
Outside rain splattered persistently against the window and far away the rumble of thunder could just be heard over the film.
Beth reached for a handful of popcorn,  “Sorry” she apologised not taking her eyes from the screen as her hand meet Edward’s in the bowl.  Edward cast a sideways glance at her, she was completely oblivious to the blush that had stained his cheeks when their hands had met. He stifled a sigh and turned back to the movie.
The music was growing more sinister and Beth was gripping the cushion ready to dive behind it again, when there was the most almighty crash of thunder from outside.  They both jumped, Edward’s foot catching the bowl of popcorn sending it skittering across the wooden floor.
“Damn that was right overhead.”
Lightening flashed at the window followed by another deep rumble of thunder, confirming that the storm was on top of them.
Beth bent to start collecting the popcorn and all the lights went out.
“Ed?”
“It’s just a power cut, probably the storm,” he reassured.
“Where are you going?” Beth yelped, sensing rather than seeing him move from the sofa.
“To check if the whole street is out.” Edward headed for the window, the spilt popcorn crunching under foot. Hesitantly Beth followed him, only vaguely able to make out objects in the dark room. Edward pulled back the curtains and gazed out.
“It’s everyone, hope it comes back on soon.” As he spoke lightening flashed again and Beth grabbed his arm in alarm.
“What was that?”
“What?”
“In the tree. It was full of birds”
“Birds at night time?”
The thunder roared, less loudly this time and it was a few seconds before the lightening came. The storm was passing.  In the bright white flash of light they both stared at the tree.
“Oh,” Beth was puzzled “I was sure I saw-“
“Imagination,” Edward said looking down at her.  She was standing very close to him, her hand still curled round his arm. He could smell the coconut shampoo she used and he suddenly hoped the lights would stay out for a while. He was just debating whether he could get away with putting an arm round her when Beth jumped again her hand tightening convulsively on his arm.
“What was that?”
“What?”
“Listen.”
He strained his ears and could just make out a strange scratching sound.
“The cat.”
“You put the cat out earlier.”
Edward frowned, listening again to the sound, a muffled scratching as if something was trying to get in or out.  “Do you want me to go and check?”
“I’ll come with you”
Beth took hold of his hand and they progressed tentatively across the room towards the noise. Slowly Edward opened the door into the hall. The noise was louder now it seemed to be coming form the living room.  Edward winced, Beth was clinging so tightly to his hand the silver ring she always wore on her middle finger was digging into him.  He could hear her ragged breathing and caught some of her terror, his own heart beginning to race.  His house suddenly seemed strange and unfamiliar in the darkness. They edged towards the noise, eyes straining in the darkness till they were standing in the middle of the room.
“It’s really loud in here,” Beth whispered “Where’s it coming from?”
“I don’t know,” Edward twisted his head trying to locate the noise.  Then it stopped and a different sound filled their ears, a gentle beating noise.  Then he felt something graze his face and Beth screamed, dropping his hand to raise her own above her head, trying to ward off whatever it was.
The lights snapped back on and they both stood blinking in the brightness.
“It’s a bird!” Edward laughed in relief and Beth spun to follow his gaze.  A large black magpie was sitting on the mantelpiece watching them.
“It must have come down the chimney, god knows how we’re going to get it out” he moved and opened the window wide. “Maybe if you-” he stopped as the magpie took flight sailing low over Beth’s head and straight out the window.
“Oh that was easy,” he snapped the window shut.  “Are you okay?” Beth was pale her eyes wide.  She shook her head as if dazed.
“Yes I’m fine, lets finish the movie” she turned and headed back to the den.  Edward watched her frowning feeling like he’d missed something but unsure what.

Ghosts

This months write away contest at Scribbit has a ghostly theme and while I did want to write about goblins and things that go bump in the night, it was getting a little epic so instead we have this.  Hope you enjoy it. Do go and check out the other entries. The list will be posted on the 24th and I’m sure they’ll be some excellent scary tales in there, to get us in the mood for Halloween.

I knew you’d come today, it’s been three years.  You’ve mourned me for longer than you knew me now. I watch as you make your way up the hill. You’ve cut your hair and it swings sleek and shinning round your chin; no longer the wild mane I loved, that I would twist round my fingers.  I wonder when you cut it. You haven’t been to see me for while and I haven’t visited you.  I used to dog your every move desperate to touch you, speak to you, trying unsuccessfully to break down the wall that had sprung between us but it was useless. As time went on it began to feel wrong, like I was stalking you. So now I wait for you to come to me.

Kneeling down you arrange the flowers you’ve bought.  Iris’s this time, you like blue flowers they remind you of my eyes.  I know it bothers you that you don’t know what flowers I would like best and I long to tell you that it doesn’t matter, whatever you choose is right simply because you chose it.

“Fin.”

You whisper my name and a tear slides down your face. I reach out my hand to you but I can’t make you feel me, can’t wipe it away for you.  I look away. It hurts more to see you sad now then it does to not be with you.  I wonder if you can’t move on because I won’t but I need to see you happy before I can leave you again.

Back down the hill Luke is waiting for you, leaning against the car pretending to look at his blackberry but continually glancing at your huddled body.  I know he wants to follow you up here but he won’t intrude on your time with me.  God I used to hate him, I hated that you liked him, hated that he made you laugh, hated that he could touch you when I couldn’t and most of all I hated the expression he got on his face sometimes when he looked at you. You didn’t see it of course but I did and if I could have hurt him I would have. I would have killed him.
I don’t hate him anymore, he’s a nice guy and he cares about you.  Without him you wouldn’t even have this half-life your currently living. He bullies and cajoles you into trips to the cinema and bars and in two years he’s never asked for anything in return, even though I know he loves you.  I doubt I could have been so patient.

I wish you’d see him properly, see his love, see the life you could have together, begin to live again. Instead you cling, with ever more desperation as it blurs and fades in your memory, to what we had.

“Kate.”

You lift you head, it could just be coincidence but I like to think that today you have heard me.

“Kate you have to let me go.  I died but you didn’t, you have to live.  Please for me.”

Your head is cocked to one side, and then you sigh and run your fingers over the stone, wipe your wet eyes and loop you hair behind you ears, in a gesture so familiar my heart aches.

“Bye Fin, I love you.”

“I love you too.” I answer as you head back down the hill to Luke.

Sunday Scribblings – Forbidden

He was my first boyfriend, the first boy I kissed and the boy who broke my heart when we were fifteen and he dumped me.

Fast-forward four years and I was home from College for the holidays and we met, by accident, in the local coffee shop.  So we had a latte together and mulled over old times and those innocent dates we used to go on when life was simpler.  We made plans to meet up later and see a movie, because I mean the past was the past right?  We could be friends.  I had a boyfriend, he had a girlfriend but they had nothing to worry about, we were just hanging out, two old friends, who’d had a childhood romance.

Soon we were meeting up everyday; we were going to the beach, we were watching old movies, we were lying on his bed listening to music, we were talking late into the night whispering our hopes and dreams and fears.  It was like the old days; a return to a less pressurised time.  It was nice and we weren’t doing anything wrong, right?

Except of course we were.  If someone had told me my boyfriend was lying on a bed, holding hands with his first love, murmuring all his deepest fears and desires into her ear, I would have imploded with jealousy and fury.  And part of me knew that, part of me knew I was cheating even though nothing physical was happening. But I didn’t care, I kept justifying it and if I’m completely honest it added fission to everything we did that summer, the knowledge that we shouldn’t be doing it.

I’m not proud of it but I don’t regret it either. At the time it was what I needed and maybe what he needed too.  Back at college I broke up with my boyfriend, the summer made me realise we weren’t right for each other.  I don’t know what happened between him and his girlfriend because we didn’t stay in touch.  We didn’t need to; we had our forbidden summer and then let go.

Waiting

Edward tapped his foot and suppressed a sigh, shifting his football from one arm to the other. Beth had been crouched down beside the bookcase for over five minutes now and she seemed unlikely to move anytime soon.  In fact, even as he watched, she sank backwards to sit cross-legged on the floor, absorbed in the book she was looking at.  He ran a hand through his hair and glanced at his watch, fighting to suppress his boredom.  He hated the shabby little bookshop in their village. At least when Beth dragged him into the huge bookstore in town there were magazines and a coffee shop, in here there was just books.  Overflowing form the shelves and piled up on the floor.  In no discernable pattern that Edward could see, so you couldn’t even get what you wanted quickly and go, you had to search for ages.  Beth claimed that was part of the charm that you found all kinds of interesting things this way; things that you’d never come across in a normal bookstore.
“Why don’t you just buy it!” he burst out, unable to stay silent any longer.  Beth lifted her head, startled.
“Buy it,” Edward repeated, “You obviously like it.”
“Yes, I do but I like these two as well and I can only afford one.” She grinned at him. “You don’t have to wait for me Ed, why don’t I meet you back at your house?”
Edward shook his head. “No it’s fine, I don’t mind.” Beth’s grin widened.  They’d known each other all their lives, growing up next door to each other and she knew perfectly well he was lying.
“Okay,” she shrugged. “I won’t be much longer.” She returned her eyes to the book, catching her lip between her teeth as she plunged back into the world between its pages. Edward watched her, hugging the football tightly to his chest, suddenly glad of a chance to be able to stare at her unobserved.  Beth was his best friend but lately she’d do something, something as simple as biting her lip, and it would catch him off guard.  His heart would start beating faster and his mouth would go dry. He studied her face, so familiar to him that sometimes he didn’t even see it. Her fair hair was caught back in her usual ponytail, she’d shrugged her coat onto the floor in the heat of the bookshop and the long line of her neck was exposed. The skin startling pale against the navy blue of her jumper.    Edward found himself wondering what it would be like to run a finger along her throat and feel the beat of her pulse.  As if she could hear him Beth glanced up again, her dark eyes meeting his and his heart gave a guilty jolt.
“Alright,” she slid two books back into the bookcase. “I’ve chosen, we can go.”
Standing up she hauled her thick coat on and reached for her bag.  Edward looked away relieved that she’d noticed nothing strange in his expression.
“Mr Thomas,” Beth called through to the back room.  “I’m ready.”
Edward watched as she paid for the book and stowed it away in her rucksack and then followed her out into the cool afternoon.  It was winter and the street lamps had already come on, little pools of light in the gathering dark.
“So are you coming over for tea?” he asked. He knew the answer but he was still feeling strange and he wanted to speak.
Beth looked at him in surprise ‘Of course, it’s Sunday.”
She’d been having tea and watching TV on a Sunday night at Edward’s house for as long as she could remember.
“Great, I think we’re got ice cream and that new American thing starts tonight on channel four.”
“Oh I’m looking forward to that.”
Beth skipped round the road works on the pavement pony tail bouncing. Edward paused wondering if tonight when they’re curled up in the TV room together he should try and kiss her.
“Come on,” Beth turned to glance back at him. “I thought you wanted to get home, stop dithering.”
Edward grinned and ran to catch up with her. He probably wouldn’t try and kiss her he’d probably wait. At the moment it seemed too big a risk to take.

This is just me trying to practise writing in the third person.  It’s from a story I am working which is written from Beth’s perceptive.  I thought it might be easier to do when I already knew where the story was heading (it wasn’t) any tips, comments appreciated

Sunday Scribbling – Wedding

We heard the music and I squeezed my Mom’s hand, took a deep breath and clutching my bouquet tightly started down the aisle.  I kept my eyes focused on the Minister at the front and tried not to listen to the murmurings in the congregation. I knew they were hoping for drama today and I was determined not to give it too them.  When I reached the top I smiled briefly at Craig and took my place; turning to watch my Mother, stunning in a simple cream dress and matching jacket, walk towards her soon to be husband.  She was unable to keep the smile off her face and my heart squeezed.  She deserved some happiness after all those years of raising me on her own and so did Craig; I just wished they hadn’t found it together. I breathed in, I was here, I was coping, I could get through this.

The Minister announced that Craig could kiss his bride and he did, thoroughly, leading to whooping and catcalls from the congregation.  Then they were heading back down the aisle and I steeled myself for the hardest bit.  I glanced across at Leo and he held out his arm to me and reluctantly I took it, trying not to let the jolt that ripped through me show on my face.  I was furious that he still had such an effect on me.

The day past in a blur of photos and toasts and kisses and as my mother and Craig took to the floor for their first dance I felt I could safely escape for a little while.  As I slipped from the room I saw Leo lead a stunning blonde onto the floor and my stomach twisted.  Outside leaning against the rail I took great gulps of ocean air trying to calm myself.  It was nearly over, I’d nearly done it and soon I could go back to New York, start my job and forget Leo Sanders, until Thanksgiving at least.  I hoped each time I saw him it would get easier, that the fault line in my heart wouldn’t keep rupturing.  Heading back here, for the wedding, I’d thought I was over him and now I knew I was very far from over him.

“All alone?” his voice was soft.  Lost in thought I had missed the sound of his approach.
“Yes.”
I didn’t turn my head but every nerve in my body switched on.
He stood behind me one hand reaching past me to rest on the rail, close but not touching.   I could feel his breath, warm on the back of my neck.
“A beautiful night.”
“Yes.” My voice was stiff.
He was silent and I tried to concentrate on the lapping of the sea, that soft gentle stroking of the sand, back and forth.  I tried to match my breathing to it.
His thumb lightly brushed the edge of my hand.
“It was on a night like this . . . the first time.”
“What?” I tried to pretend I didn’t know what he was talking about.
“The first time,” he repeated his voice low, his mouth close to my ear.   All the hairs on my neck had sprung to attention and my hand had the rail in a death grip
“I still remember what you tasted like, what you smelt like, the feel of you skin, the slight resistance when I-”
“Stop it!” I exploded whipping round.  I glared at him, furious “What are you doing?”
He tilted his head to one side “Trying to tell you I remember everything . . . that you haunt me . . .  that I miss you.”
“Shouldn’t you be inside with your date?”  I hissed.
“My date?” he looked startled, genuine confusion on his face.
“Curvy, blonde hair, red dress, jog your memory?”
“Oh,” he started to laugh, “that’s Carly. You remember Carly, my cousin from Virginia?”
“That’s Carly?” for a moment I was incredulous, she’d changed a lot. Then I shrugged, “Cousins can date.”
“So can step brothers and sisters,” he joked grinning at me.
I started to push past him but he caught my wrist, one arm sliding round my waist to hold me still.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his face was serious, “I’m sorry Alice. Four years ago I was an idiot. The way I felt about you, it scared me, you’re not meant to feel like that at eighteen, not meant to feel so sure, so certain.  So I ran away.”  He let go of me and stepped back running a hand through his dark hair, eyes on the ground.
“It was the worst mistake I’ve ever made.  I don’t know if you can give me another chance but-” he looked up at me and our eyes met and my heart skipped.
“I love you, I’ve always loved you and I always will.”
And fracture in my heart knit back together, I stepped forward and laid a hand on his chest, watched as hope jumped in his eyes.
“I love you too.” I said and then I kissed him.

Written in repsonse to the Sunday Scribblings Prompt wedding.  For other people’s take go here.

The reason I’m so late is that I tried to write this in the third person and I find it impossibly hard, definitlely something to work on!

The First Move

The first time I really noticed him, as a separate person rather than one of the group, was at a street festival.  There were ten of us and I was, as I always seem to be, the new girl.

It was a nice day, they were a nice group but they’d known each other for years and had that whole short hand, in-joke thing going on.  I was feeling a little bit on edge and a little bit left out and I was trying my best to fit in.

Near the end of the day we went for ice cream, when we’d all ordered I found I was the only girl with ice cream as opposed to non-fat yogurt – damn!

“How can you order things like that and stay so skinny?” one of the girls asked me.  Not in a horrible way but there was an undercurrent of something. So I made a joke, put myself down, which is what I always do when I’m uncomfortable.

“It’s nature balancing out,” I said “my sisters are blonde and stunning and curvy.  I’m the plain one but I do get to eat whatever I want.”

They laughed and started walking and I paused for a minute to lick the ice cream slithering down the cone onto my hand.

“You’re not plain,” a voice said behind me and I spun round to see him watching me.  Face serious, eyes hidden by his sunglasses.

“What?”

“You’re not plain, anything but,” he said and walked past me.

There followed weeks of seeing him at school and at parties and just around.  Weeks of conversation that might have been flirting but flirting of the subtlest kind.  Weeks of occasional contact; a hand brushing my sleeve, an elbow nudged in my ribs, a leg barely touching mine when we sat near each other.

Until I was tied in knots; unsure whether he liked me or not.  I had no experience of making the first move. The boys I’d liked had never been the shy, retiring kinds.

Then came the week of our school’s November Fayre.  We were on the tombola together. You had to spin an old giant wooden wheel and if it stopped on a star you got a prize, it was a little like roulette.  Absently spinning the wheel during a lull in customers I managed to get a splinter.

He bent over my hand and extracted it, while I moaned like the baby I become over any kind of injury.  When it was out he looked up at me, smiling.  His hand was still round mine, our jean clad knees were just touching, out faces were a hand span apart.  We both sat there staring, until it became difficult to breath and then he started to move away and I saw our chance slipping.

So I leaned forward and kissed him. In a hall full of teachers and students, in hall that contained my parents and his; I made the first move, for the first time, and didn’t regret it one bit.

Chameleon

In the last ten years I have moved five times. It’s supposed to get easier the more you do it,  in a way that’s true.

It’s made me an observer of people.  I watch how they act and I pick up clues that other more secure people might miss. I can make myself fit in with most groups.  I can make myself, if not popular than accepted, part of the gang, non-threatening.

I’ve become a chameleon.

Which can be a good thing, it means I don’t need to sit alone, it means I have people to do things with.

It also means I’m getting so used to reflecting people’s opinions back at them. So used to moulding myself to the expectations of the group that I am in; that I’m losing myself.

Being a chameleon is useful, it keeps you safe but it’s exhausting and dispiriting too. I don’t know if I can quit though.

Coffee – Sunday Scribblings

I hereby confess: I don’t like coffee.

Oh, I don’t mind a Starbucks Latte with a shot of cinnamon dolce or a Frappachino. But coffee, real coffee is just not my cup of Java.

That’s not to say I’ve never drunk it.  In college my room-mate and I religiously started our days with coffee. Made in a French press and drunk it from chipped china cups, because that’s what art majors do, right?

The taste never lived up to the deliciousness promised by the smell though and I never really liked it though, which is probably why I took it with three sugars.

I do want to like coffee.  After all busy executives rush up and down Manhattan streets clutching their paper cups of energy, chic French women in arty films ponder the meaning of life and love over tiny cups of espresso, Lorelai Gilmore’s mantra is “coffee, coffee, coffee.”

Coffee says you’re witty and cultured and inspired and you’re moving fast through the world, living your life.

To my everlasting chargin though I prefer tea; it’s the English in me.