Because these things will change
I look up at the clock. The digital numbers read 11:11. I smile to myself; everytime I catch the clock at 11:11 I always wish for the same thing. I always wish for SA Captain, and I repeat it to myself like a mantra, like repeating it in this way until the little digital numbers change to 11:12 will suddenly make it happen, like magic. But life doesn’t work that way, my wishes don’t seem to come true when it comes to boys. The problem is, I never stopped wishing, always “I wish for SA Captain,” repeated over and over again under my breath.
But today, today is somehow different. I smile as I realise that for once I don’t want him, he is no longer a part of my life. I have shut him away in a box, not literally I hasten to add, rather a metaphorical box, shut away out of my life, because my life is always better without him in it. I smile to myself, eyes fixed on the clock as I make another wish, a roller derby related wish. My life now revolves around roller derby, not a boy who regularly breaks my heart. I make my wish once, under my breath, before turning and walking away from the clock.
It’s still no excuse…
A walks into the room and hands me a piece of paper. I glance at the illegible scribble on the otherwise blank canvas and roll my eyes. His writing is even worse than SA Captain’s, which up until now I didn’t think possible. “Your writing is ridiculous,” I say with a smirk.
He turns to look at me just before he walks out of the room, “well I am a scientist…not an English graduate.”
I like being young. And yes, I am still young.
I am sitting on the floor, my legs stretched out in front of me. M walks over to the table of beer.
“Can I have a beer please?” yells C, who is sitting on the chair beside me. We have clearly deemed ourselves too lazy to go to the table ourselves, one which is approximately five metres away.
M returns with a bottle and hands it to C.
“Can I have one too?” I ask. I did yell minutes before but figured she didn’t hear me.
“Yes ok, I only have one hand!” says M, gesturing to the cookie in her other hand, for cookies are important afterall – I should know, I’ve had four…
She returns seconds later with another beer and hands it to me, “it doesn’t seem right giving you beer, you look too young to be able to drink!”
Clearly my reputation has developed further…
I am bored. I lean on the desk and place my head in my hands.
My chin hurts against my hand. I begin poking it trying to figure out if at any point during practice yesterday I could have hurt it.
I conclude that since I didn’t go crashing into any walls this time, it can’t be that. I am still prodding at my jawline when A walks into the room. “It hurts here,” I say in what I hope to be a vaguely pathetic voice, whilst still pointing at the area in question.
He is concentrating on his phone, “it hurts where?” he asks distractedly.
I jab at my jawline for what is probably the tenth time in thirty seconds.
“Oh you probably fell over skating, or you were drunk and didn’t see the lamppost…”
Excuse me whilst I remove my mind from the gutter.
“Ok so everyone find a space,” yells DZ. I skate to the far end and stop, waiting to see how he intends to finish our all our Sunday endurance, which so far has killed both me and my legs but made sure that there are absolutely no traces left of the two Jammy Dodgers I accidentally ate before practice.
“Ooh are we playing Stuck in the Mud?” pipes up a voice.
“We are, yes.”
For anyone who has not had the experience of playing Stuck in the Mud on skates, I can tell you now, it is amazingly fun, right up there with the likes of dodgems and bouncy castles, not that I’ve ever tried either on skates. [In hindsight, I always find dodgems are even more fun when drunk, but this is besides the point.]
DZ begins explaining the rules, “ok so if I touch you…” he trails off as everyone starts giggling quietly.
He grins trying to back-peddle, “if I touch you, NOT INAPPROPRIATELY, then you have to stand with your legs apart…”
The laughter gets louder.
“If I touch you, then you have to stand with your legs apart and wait for somone to come through…”
He pauses, “I really shouldn’t be explaining this, should I?”
Disclaomer: i am drunk.
Once again it is march. It is 20 days til your birthday. That dreAded day a year ago. And I’m crying over you again. What am I supposed to do? Today J’s mate said J liked you. I believe them. It doesn’t matter, you won’t end up with her. But that’s not the point. The point is he will hug you and not care about suing for sexual harrassment whilst he will never hug me. My tenses are so screwed but I can’t stop the tears from falling down my cheeks. I’m so sick of this. I love you. Why is it not enough?
I should point out it later got picked up by airport security and had to be swabbed…
We are sat on the train to Gatwick, ready for a weekend away in Dublin. Our phones are casually placed on the table. “Where did you get that?” I ask, pointing at MC’s iPhone cover.
“Oh I got it from Big D. He cut me a deal…”
“Fair enough.”
“Yeah, he got it for ten quid and he sold it to me for five…”
At this point J and I are unable to contain our laughter. “He sold it to you for five quid?!”
“Yeah, mate’s rates!” says MC confused.
We conclude that Big D is not a very good businessman and then have to explain to a very confused MC exactly why this is.
Annoyingly at the time, all my hair was curly and all I wanted to straighten was my fringe…
I go to lunch with JL and MC. Upon my return I see Green Eyes. I have not seen him in about a month and a half since he came to try and find out the nearest tube station to the Emirates Stadium; before that I last saw him on New Year’s Eve.
“What happened to your head?” he asks, staring at my forehead. [There is no 'hi' or 'alright mate' at the start of this sentence...]
I pull my fringe over my forehead and smirk.
I toy with saying I walked into a door, like JL told me to earlier. I decide to tell the truth, “I burnt my head on my straighteners,” I mumble sheepishly, still smirking.
He grins, “oh, I thought you grazed your head going down on someone…”
Behind him Big D rolls his eyes, “see, that’s what I should start saying…!” I yell to Big D.
I’m glad to see nothing has changed.
I hate goodbyes.
“But I’ll send you lots of fun messages,” I say to MS, who is leaving the country for a whole year. “Yeah I’ll update you of my latest ridiculous conversations, like how today Big D asked me when I was getting ‘wow’ tattooed on my ass, so I asked him when he was getting ‘fuck this’ tattooed on his dick–”
I don’t finish my sentence because Katy interjects, a sudden realisation hitting her, “I’m going to miss you!”
I smile sadly and throw my arms around her. I remember a year ago, she was the first person to introduce herself to me and shake my hand whilst skating round in a circle; at the time I was stupidly impressed and couldn’t understand how anyone could do that. Since then she’s been the one who got drunken texts that fateful day of SA Captain’s birthday in March, been there through the “SA Captain saga” as she calls it, and is always there to push me because she knows I can do it, even if it’s left-hand crossovers Baywatch style.
“I’m going to miss you too,” I say quietly, hugging her tighter.
I actually stopped mid-sentence when somone mentioned donuts…
“Ohhh it’s an actual donut shop! I thought it was just a stall…”
This is what happens when you bring Northerners to London; one of which has never been to the Trocadero or Hamleys (or had fish and chips in Whitby but that is another matter entirely). We stand around debating the huge selection of donuts in front of us before pushing Scunthorpe Girl forwards. The man asks what she wants and she stands deliberating whilst we decide making her go first was maybe not the best idea.
“What’s in the toffee apple?”
“Apple,” states the man in a tone of voice that suggests this should be obvious. We start laughing in the background. There is a split second pause, “I’ll have the caramel crunch.”
