An Ode to the Constraints of School Curriculum

This is a piece I had to complete for school; a memoir of a past event in my life. My original was based around someone who existed too close for comfort, judging by the fact he walked the very school halls that I did. Thus, I altered the person and wrote from square one. Haven't gotten the grade yet. Here's to an old friend.

You know how you quietly hope that you notice little things about a person that no one else would, that you could read deeper into people? As it turns out, this had something to do with a certain boy. His name was Sam and I liked him a lot. He had a white t-shirt and smelt of a cosy apartment. His eyes were like glass marbles, soulful and rimmed with thick lashes. Sam had this worrying effect on me - I hungered for every detail of his being. I wanted to know more about him. Hell, I still hadn’t exactly met him, and yet I felt a little crush forming. Who’s to judge a character after a brief encounter at a school dance? The first time we met, an encounter which would put speed-dating to shame, still rang fondly through my mind. To explain the dilemma further, this is how it went.

I flicked open the pocket mirror in my hand and held it close, sighing at the flecks of mascara that had accumulated under my eyes. Unlikely anyone would notice, however, under the pulse of red and blue lighting, casting waves of colour across the room. A tense beat filled the air and drenched us in vibrations, a song so ever-present that you couldn’t help but move to. I had lost my best friend to a lanky brunette in the back corner and the other was nowhere to be found, possibly lured into a cringe-worthy dance battle. A gaggle of girls teetered past on their heels, sipping at Cokes through straws and giggling fiendishly. Nothing felt more like a teenage movie, and not simply because of that, because I, the stereotypical socially challenged character, was well and truly established. I was the wallflower, may as well have been part of the décor. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing either, because being as undesirable as I was, it left me adequate space to watch the people come and go, who was interesting and who was best left in the darkness. Then, he caught my eye.

I could faintly make out the curl of his lips and glinting teeth, like a feline, under the strobe lights. I never forgot that smile, reminiscent of the Cheshire cat.  A halo of black curls swept across his face and bounced with each step. He didn’t appear to be with anyone. Someone tapped him on the shoulder and he gave them a smile, but continued to press through the throbbing mass of bodies in my direction. His hands wavered in front of him, gently moving a boy or two aside to get through. Why was he looking at me? Although his gaze stayed firm, I tried to blend in to the wall. Maybe it’d suck me into its beige skin and then I’d really become part of the décor. Think wallflower, I mused. But the efforts were useless. In the time it took to look down at my feet and smooth the front of my skirt, he had pushed the barrier of people aside and cross the empty space to stand right in front of me.

“Hey, you looked a bit lost. Want to come out and dance? It’s almost ten.”

 I choked on my reply, but managed to squeak. “Oh no, it’s okay, I’m great. I’m really great.”

He glanced behind him, then at my dress, smiled ruefully, then up at me. Didn’t he have somewhere to be? What was he playing at?

People began to file out of the hall and we followed them out. He stopped me by the front door and leant against the frame. There was the smile again. I clutched my phone and fiddled with the buttons feebly, hoping Mum would call me and I would be whisked away. But he kept me there, and motioned to my phone.

“Maybe I could, um, get your number? We should hang out.”  He smiled again and I clambered for breath.

“That would be great. Just great.”  We exchanged phones and typed the numbers in. A group of boys barged through, slicing the conversation in half. I gave him an acknowledging look for his departure, and he returned the favour with an extended hand. Then he was gone.

               

I remind him now of the time we met and we both laugh about it, like we had been protagonists pulled straight of a high-school sweetheart flick – a true romance. 

“It’s strange that you remember it so well, Holly! You must have been studying me intensely!” Sam raised his coffee to his lips and giggled into the foam.

I couldn’t help but crack a little smile. “Yeah, I like to notice the little things.” 

~Holly