OK, Sheila. Felicity was always kind of beatific in her way.
Bill
On Wed, 7 Jun 2017 at 6:10 pm, Sheila Murphy <[log in to unmask]>
wrote:
> I think the real names make the poems even better!
>
> On Jun 7, 2017 1:05 AM, "Bill Wootton" <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
>
> > Thanks, Sheila, Patrick. These teen things, Patrick just pop into my head
> > sometimes. Felicity, real first name, lives in Perth, WA now, I know
> > through Facebook and is married with four grown boys. Should I change the
> > names completely of people in memory poems do you think?
> >
> > Bill
> >
> > On Wed, 7 Jun 2017 at 5:49 PM, Sheila Murphy <[log in to unmask]>
> > wrote:
> >
> > > Great piece, Bill. Exceptionally fine. Sheila
> > >
> > > On Wed, Jun 7, 2017 at 12:30 AM, Bill Wootton <
> [log in to unmask]>
> > > 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
> > > >
> > >
> >
>
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