Quiet bathroom. Everyone rolls in bed. No one wakes. It’s a weekend. Only we are up. And now’s for peering prodding. My fingerful of goop what is it I know sperm. It looks like it I know I know. Like snot or phlegm. Hock on the street. Sniffs strange. That’s good and exciting. And there’s a little blood there. And it hurts like mad. It’s a lot. Blood. Clot-ish. It’s an awful lot of sore. He rip me. No. Just feels it stings to touch. I heard it could. Had read but thought I climbed trees a lot so. That’s broke. It is surely broke. It did like something wicked. Burn. Sperm sperm sperm. It’s inside me. I hunker down. I washed it out. And pubic hair that’s longer blacker thick than mine. I’ll wash me. And my hair and everything to be clean. But butcher’s block. I felt between my legs would look like that.
When I went down there were cornflakes toast and jam for me and tea and anything I would want. He doesn’t look. I’m shy I’m shy. He kiss me said I’m away today and you make me insane. I’ve never done that before. God what’s that hey that what we done? I don’t like to hear him speaking wrong. We did. What we did. Him anxious. Not at all like. But I am happy. Satisfied that I’ve done wrong and now and now. What now? Calm sliding down into my boat and pushing out to sin. He’s on the shoreline getting small. His hands on my shoulder. Brushing past my head. Are you alright? I didn’t hurt you? I’m humming my toes beating time on the lino. That’s alright that he is off. I’m off into the world of something and have something knotting in my head. Not school. Not thoughts of you. You yes. First to come to mind but. It’s not that place. There’s not room in this part of me any more. Relief. I think. What’s next and next? It’s surely coming now.
Good God what happened your face it’s a right old state. Is it? What is it? Was it a cat or what? Wife aunt said. I went for a walk a branch swung back and got me whack in the cheek. Really dug in. Really stings. It cooks in me. Hot and boil my face. She does not. No one knows what he and me have secret. The dirty’s done and when he walks past me I’m sure it’s burnt across my skin. I look at him think you’ve fucked me. What if they all knew what. We. He and me. That’s something very new.
Then later in the day. They just went. Got into their car and drove away with some, well hopefully we’ll see ye soons and give us a call when you get home just to let us know you landed safe. I was. At his peck. Fairly passive. Say it. Bye. Following a voice in my head. My tongue. Cleave to my mouth. Think of his. His bending brush kiss on the bone of my cheek. Bye then sweetheart. Filled with shame. Take care of yourself. Whisper. Then. And Goodbye to you.
We are days. Watching telly drifting by. Coiled in front. Bored and always is. The evenings after school. But it comes over still. Whizz and whiz. What was that I did? I think of it in bed at night as. On my own I. Think will it always hurt? Will I always bleed? When things are fit that tight how can there not be bruises? I did think about it too at school. To fill my head with something new that’s not this. Blackboard chalk and slime in the loos and the always stench of boys’ feet and impulse off the girls.
He didn’t write or ever phone as aunt did often. Again again and how are you? Did you get that check? Your uncle tells say hello. That’s quite an impression young lady you made. She like me now. Strangely. I don’t know. I wanted to ask you. Someone. I knew you wouldn’t know. What this all this is.
We were moving off now. From each other. As cannot be. Helped. I didn’t help it from that time on. You know. All that. When you said sit with me on the school bus. I said no. That inside world had caught alight and what I wanted. To be left alone. To look at it. To swing the torch into every corner of what he’d we’d done. Know it and wonder what does it mean. I learned to turn it off, the world that was not my own. Stop up ears and everything. Who are you? You and me were never this. This boy and girl that do not speak. But somehow I’ve left you behind and you’re just looking on.
4
Fifteen sixteen. Eat coleslaw sandwiches with ham on top. My legs tucked up underneath my skirt. Tights stretched tight that I hate for they rub. Coffee. Me and my friend on the mitch. This is neat and clean where I can be. My growing-up. She smells like biscuits. Crisps. Old fags in her oil and her hair. I think her knickers must stink down there. It wafts up sometimes when she crosses her legs. Or is it tights too. Skirt rolled-up polyester. But I like anyway.
She and me. Like to lurk here in the day. Those gossips we have are the very best and we read and read. Quote quotes back forth. That’s good for sharing books of this and that. Word perfect. We snick snack at each other. Correct each other’s grammar. Chew gum and talk and think of sex. I do not say but hint a little. That’s a powerful thing I know.
And we go on travels. Great worlds to our minds, like interrail from here to there. Slum it downtown Bucharest eat cheese in Paris fall in love. Take boats in Venice to Constantinople by the train. Where speak good Russian Portuguese. Know people. Flit around the world to New York parties. Kandahar. We don’t know the world but want and want and on the very tip of tongue I’d fly away if I could. With her. It is our love affair. How we’d be. Who we think we are beneath royal blue jerseys and pleated skirts. Icon in the making me someone new tell every single one at school to go to fucking hell. And sometimes we sit by the lake. An early morning or some after school — in the daytime monitors drive there to catch whoever’s on the hop. Read Milton and feeling moved discuss the heavens and the earth and film stars we’d do with a chance. It’s love. It. Is. Love. Or love waiting for a man to come and take her place. But how would someone fit, I don’t know, in between us two.