jeannie
She could have been hysterical, arms waving above her knot of bright red hair, stamping her feet, her cheeks scarlet, and though I couldn't hear what she was saying, her mouth was opening and closing, like she was shouting to the heavens. I smiled. She wasn't hysterical, she was dancing.
I thought I'd feel like this - like a success - when I'd worked hard, when the dream happened, and it did. I imagined I'd punch my fist in the air, walk with my shoulders back for the rest of my life, have people fawning, bowing thier heads in recognition. And plenty did. But what did I feel? What did I really feel? 'Could Do Better.'
We stand at the top of the hill, the wind so hard our eyes sting. We look up and that great sheet of sky is studded with hundreds of stars, blinking Morse, and though I know I live on a planet, and I've seen the stars on plenty of nights, it's so hard to believe we are floating in space, in the hands of its infinite mercy, those galaxies like a wide illuminated banner, that might, one day, show us all the way home.
I try to look as though I know where I'm going, that I have an end in sight, a goal. I stride past the houses with thier lights scorching the pavement, the life inside passing by the windows, the woman with the plate, the man nodding his head. I turn corners. Cross roads. I keep my head down. When I see you walking opposite, I get quicker.
All through the night they glare at my face, sleeping or otherwise, those green pulsing numbers tell me how late it is, or early, if the clubs are closing with the people streaming out, or the night workers returning with the soft orange glow of the morning, the night, shedding its skin, the time to wake up, to gaze at the weather, to gather my crumpled self and hover withsome morning grace to the bathroom.
The man looks efficient. He wears a tie that makes me think of school. He carries a large leather briefcase and seems grateful when I tell him to take a seat. He smiles a lot. My grandmother seems to be very interested in his shoes. When he asks her questions, she smiles as if he's a foreigner, trying his very best to speak in her language. Asking the name of the prime minister, might sound to her as if he's asking, do bluebirds live on the moon? He holds out a card. What shape is this? he asks. My grandmother looks up. 'That,' she says, 'is Miss Judy Garland's microphone.' 'Are you sure?' he asks. 'Yes,' she smiles. 'I can hear it.'
I would like to move from the coffee bar, with its wonderful view of the giant turquoise pool, its fresh coffee, rolls, fruit, newspapers. I would like to step into the changing rooms, feel confident in my work out clothes, run treadmills, cycle for miles, going nowhere, to scrunch and crunch, then take a dive into the water, swanlike, sleek, fast. One day, I will muster up the confidence. Take one small step. Believe.
The sky is black. I can already see the stars. I'm wearing my pyjamas, though they're small and sit high above my ankles. Nana says she'll buy me a new pair, when she wins the bingo. I look at the clock. It's nearly midnight. The Grapes closes at 11. Jenny told me. Squeezing my hands tight, I look at the streetlamps until my eyes go blurred. I say three prayers. More. I promise I'll be good. I'll work hard at school. Do anything. 'Please God, let me hear mum's high heels coming round the corner. I'll never moan. I'll cook tea. I'll never ask for a single thing again. Not even a dog. Amen God, and thank you.'
The sand rippled, the water frothed across the pale rocks, and I walked aimlessley, glancing down at pools of greasy seaweed, the debris, the plastic headless dolls, the odd single shoe.
The sky was almost colourless. A few gulls circled, their white oily feathers dropping from the air like snowflakes. I was getting cold. I should have brought my sweater.
I turned back. There were people in the distance. I could make out a boy with a bright red kite. A woman in a headscarf. I moved quicker. I'd had enough of fresh air and thinking. I wanted a fire. A meal. Company.
I tried to think of everything. A fog had settled. There was a car. Colour? Blue. I think. Or black. It was small. A Peugot maybe. A Golf? It was two o'clock, because I always walk that way at two. Are you certain? I thought I was. Did I see the man running? Yes. He was wearing a hat. Woollen thing. Did I see his face? Yes, it was blurred. It was looking at the pavement. I wish I hadn't been there. Seen anything. But I did.
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writing since 2011 · 31 entries · 31 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Jeannie showed up.
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31days written
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the words Jeannie reaches for
hardwhiteskyhomeblackfingershearhandscoffeesmilespoolrunningheadseyescolddoor