Saturday 16 June 2012

First Crush

It’s a Friday night in March and a cold one, although the steak dinner and two bottles of Rioja have more than compensated for the outside temperature. We are the last people in what is a cosy restaurant near London Bridge. The conversation takes on a personal note over after dinner drinks. G brings up the subject of first loves and I listen intently as she talks about her first major crush when she was a teenager.

“And then he went out with my best friend, who funnily enough, then lost her right to that title” “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that” I tell her, which G dismisses with a wave of her hand. “Ancient history now” she says before downing the remains of her Amaretto. “So, how about you” she says “who was your first crush?” I’m quite inhibited when it comes to opening up, and despite the drink, I briefly think twice before speaking. “Well....” I say as I gaze into my glass. G prods my hand with her finger. “Go on, I told you mine” she says before winking and taking a sip of my drink. I cast my mind back to the clear image of a girl from my teens.

I was 16 years old, still at school and I had a Saturday job at a cash and carry in North London. The crush in question was two years older than me and her name was Rachel Harwood. She was tall and slender with wavy brunette hair falling just past her shoulders. She had warm brown eyes which she hid behind glasses and a wide mouth smile that made you melt when it was aimed in your direction. More than that though, she was intelligent, sarcastic and witty in a way that made all the other girls I met seem bland by comparison. I was hooked – line and sinker!

Every week I’d look forward to catching the bus to work as I knew that she’d be on it, having got on only a few stops before me. That journey was one of the most fun parts of the day and I longed to pluck up the courage to ask her out.

And then one day she announced that she was leaving the cash and carry as she’d had enough, and that the following week would be her last. We spoke about her last day and how she’d feel about saying goodbye to everyone. “I might not come in you know – I’m worried that they’re going to embarrass me in some way.“ she said. “Na - people will just want to say goodbye to you.” I told her. I was thinking of me primarily. I wanted to ask her out, or at least to get her phone number. My thinking was that, shy as I was, that it would be better to ask for her number on her last day. That way, if she were to say no, then it would be less embarrassing as it was her last week anyway.

I went to work the following week, full of excitement. It was when I saw that she wasn’t on the bus that my heart began to sink. She wasn’t at work either and evidently had decided to make good on her threat of not turning up at all on her last day. I was gutted. Why hadn’t I asked for her number when I had the chance!? Why didn’t I ask her out?? There was nothing I could do but torture myself over the fact that now I would never see her again.

A few months later I asked out a girl who I’d been flirting with, and we ended up going on a couple of dates. I liked her, although by the end of the second date I kind of had the feeling that maybe it wasn’t going as well as I’d hoped. Still, I thought a third date wouldn’t do any harm and we decided to go out the following Saturday night.

We met up and caught the bus that would take us to the local tube station. I usually prefer to sit downstairs on busses, but as we got on board, she asked if it was ok if we sat upstairs. I didn’t see any harm and so begrudgingly I followed her up to the top deck. The bus ride was quiet during the journey before we finally pulled up outside the tube station entrance. I followed her downstairs to the lower deck and was about to get off when I suddenly heard my name being called. I looked over to see Rachel Harwood sitting on one of the downstairs seats. She waved her arms at me and smiled the wide mouth smile that helped me fall for her when we worked together. I didn’t think I’d ever see her again, and yet there she was – sitting downstairs on the bus. The same downstairs where I had wanted to sit twenty minutes earlier. I froze. I couldn’t believe it was her. I reached my arm up to wave and opened my mouth to say something, but no sound came out. “Come on” said the date, as she grabbed my hand and pulled me off the bus. The doors closed behind me and the bus began to pull away, leaving me and my date on the pavement. I watched it drive off and saw Rachel turn around in her seat. She smiled at me and gave me a wave of her hand. It felt like a wave of goodbye – the goodbye that had been denied me at the cash and carry, months earlier. I felt more gutted than I could ever remember and in that instant I hated the date for wanting us to sit upstairs. “Come on, we’ll miss the tube” she said. I was still watching the bus as it drove further away. “That was Rachel Harwood, she used to work with us.” “Who? Oh right, come on”. I followed her into the tube station and took a last look at the big red double decker as it moved further into the distance - hope and despair trailing in the plume of its exhaust.

In the restaurant, G looks at me. “Wow” she says. I look down at my drink, in contemplation as I swirl it around the glass. “I caught the same bus every Saturday night for three weeks running, but I never saw her again” I tell her, before downing the remnants of the bourbon in my hand. “Oh my god, that’s so sweet” she says. I feign a stoic smile as I am reminded of the acute sense of dejection and helplessness that I felt in that moment outside the tube station. I look down into the empty glass as G leans forward and clasps her fingers through mine, “You’re lovely” she says softly. I look up and meet her brown eyes. A silence ensues as I hold onto her fingers. I’m about to say something, when she smiles and parts her lips as if to speak, and is immediately interrupted by a waiter. “Would you like anything else?”

2 comments:

Shop Girl said...

When I lived in Spain in the middle of nowhere, I had a crush on a boy in the same hill. I saw him once getting on a bus earlier than mine. So I started getting a bus about an hour early for school (6.30am - there was only one every hour) in the hopes of seeing him again. I never did!

When I finally managed to go on a date with him many months later I found I didn't fancy him anymore!!

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