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thanks Bill a lovely story about being a teenager -shimmering Felicity!!!! cheered me on a feeling flat morning -get some jobs done -find a snap!!find some snap P On 07/06/2017 08:30, Bill Wootton wrote: > Chuck school bag onto pile at the front of bus > next to driver. Pay him, scrunch ticket in pocket, > lurch on to bus, flop into seat or stand all the way till > your stop, squeeze past, filch out bag and off you get. > > Only two green bags amongst the sea of black and red > Xavierites, blue PLCs and a sprinkling of other denominations > so retrieval always an easy matter. Except this time. > When you see your reflection in Knorr's grocer shop window, > > the bag looks different. Tidier. Feels lighter. Surely that Pure > Maths book weighed more. Swing bag down. Sure enough. > You've grabbed Felicity's by mistake. The only other student > from your school who rides this bus, both ways, most days. > > Felicity. Slightly skewiff smiling Felicity who you've known since > primary school. Who used to be such a chatterbox. Whose words > dried up with the transition to high school as she developed > awareness of her placid beauty and rationed its implications. > > What now? Head after her to swap bags? She might already > be home. You know where she lives. Queen Street. But you can't > just rock up there unannounced. Her Mum might not be home, > Mrs Shawhurst, who sometimes gives you a lift in her cool white Jag. > > At home, don't throw bag in the corner of your bedroom like normal. > Place it on the bed. Do home things. Forget about it. Until after tea. > Homework time. Can't do it. Stare at bag. Dare you? Unzip it? Just > a bag. Like yours. But it's. Felicity's. Go on. Who'll know? > > Next day, Saturday, bite the bullet. You both have homework to do. > Ride round on your Malvern Star, 3-speed Sturmey Archer gears. > Kick/click down the stand, park on the nature strip out front. > Heft bag, climb concrete front patio stairs. Breathe. Knock. > > Rehearse. Hi Mrs Shawhurst. I've brought round Felicity's bag ... > Clunk. Door swings open to reveal not Mrs S but Felicity herself. > In jeans, black t-shirt, barefoot, dark hair unponytailed, shimmering. > Hi ... I ... Oh, yes, she says, ducking inside, re-emerging > > with your tatty schoolbag. Stiff-armed threshold exchange. > Thanks, she says, as she shuts. Turn. Allow two seconds to take > in the view from up there (birches, bitumen, what did you expect?) > And roll on home, heart returning to workaday beat. > > It's Sunday before you open the bag. Autograph book on top > tumbles out. Is that how you packed it? Flick pages. Falls open > at your form two class signatures. What's this? Around the biro > impress of six foot heart-throb Jeff Saxby, a pink lipstick smudge > > bw