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Great Writing - Home > Short S. > I wanted to hang out with you in the library all day but instead
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| I wanted to hang out with you in the library all day but instead | |
| By ////AndiSmith | ||||
| 13 October 2007 | ||||
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this is an autobiographical I wanted to hang out with you in the library all day but instead I sat down next to you and a huge computer monitor, as dense as the 80s. Your eyes were like dirty emeralds or sparkling wireframe as I looked at you. I held your hand. ‘Hey. You okay.’ I said softly, trying to be aloof. As we talked I bit your arm hard until I felt a wash of sharp guilt. You were clearly hurt. You cried out a little. To reply, you stabbed machinegun dents with your pink nails into my skin like souvenirs. It was like all the times. I couldn’t think. Stuart and Hass unloaded the insides of a disposable camera onto the library table. You gave them advice. The camera’s black plastic parts were like Airfix. Your revision cards were in their neat bright piles. Half the table was a girl’s room and half a boy’s. It was when you stood up that you were truly incredible. The plaid borders around your v-neck, and the on-vacation simplicity of your blue jeans. You are something I have hunted angrily in forests for and only just found, I thought. You are as good as a vivid childhood, as the past, but you’re the present. We walked to the door, lifting our linked hand over the security gate as you were thanking me and there was no need. The champagne bottle hit the ground and covered Hass, whilst mine and Stu’s fringes became wet mops and we laughed for hours. Hass went home and I sympathised, imagined it like something ruined at primary school, a returning bruise. We drank. If Hass had stayed he would’ve seen a triangle of girls wearing white masks and costumes, the tallest a young woman and the shortest a girl of about 4, walking like a surreal team around the green we sat upon, shuffling to a Bjork song as if they were part of nature. I took a picture of their wings. I took a picture of a couple lying down talking, the boy in the flat cap whispering something in the girl’s ear. We’re better than them, I thought, but for snatched seconds they look nice. So the shutter came down. We snuck out the same way we snuck in and ran off to the field to smoke. We sat amongst the netting of the goal and Josh suggested we take our trousers off. I wanted to demonstrate my tangy boxers so off they came. Boys and girls commented on my skinny legs. I said thank you. As bold as the samaritan that lent us his phone when Dan broke his arm, before blending back into the trees, a 20-year Hacky Sack master joined in. He was greying admirably, with a dark suit but very comfortable listening to the Beatles on the way to and from work. I imagined he had a fairly well paid job and this was a window chance to glance at his college roots. It reminded me of that Simpson’s episode. Josh’s beer sloshed into the grass, dried by dusk, shouting jocose insults evermore. Our top was about 36 consecutively. The samaritan was as consistent as a video game character we had unlocked. Every move was as efficient as circuitry, yet he still let the weaker of the group (me) look in. He was as encouraging as a PE teacher, throwing his hands up and crying BEAUTIFUL whenever a trick occurred. And, as with many mysterious characters in this life, he disappeared after an hour with barely a handshake. All this ended in our hazed minds jolting to the bleary beat of an overwhelmed band in dim light, dancing in-between candles. I looked around at families booting inflatables at each other, laughing, kicking their legs, dancing in thick groups as if it was only ever their favourite song. I felt we were all victims of the same circumstances; being human and alive. Imagine wasn’t blearing from any speakers and it didn’t matter. I thought of you and jumped. ©Andi Smith
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