izzy

‘Can I have some?’
‘Sorry.’
‘Please can I have some?’
‘No sorry, we’re…’
‘Give me some of that.’
‘No, we’re just…’
‘Just a little bit. Just give me a little bit.’
‘No-‘
‘Just the tiniest bit, see -‘
‘It’s a celebration.’
‘Just put it in here, and I’ll walk away.’
‘No, we’re celebrating – we haven’t seen each other in a long time.’
‘I just want-‘
‘SHH. They’re celebrating. It’s a celebration. Walk away.’
‘But I -‘
‘Leave it.’

…

‘Excuse me, hello – can I -‘
‘Leave them alone, they’re celebrating.’

*

sarah

To the boy I dated when I was sixteen:
I’m sorry that I wasn’t a very good girlfriend.
I’m sorry that I dumped you over email when I was in Germany.
I’m sorry that I only remember three times we hung out –
The first, the night you passed me my Ventolin,
Said ‘You two, huh?’ and I felt a little mouse do a tumble roll in my stomach.
The second, my birthday, sit-spooning on a trampoline
Your red hair and my bright pink polo shirt making a festival of bad fashion
You picking at the beads on the legs of my jeans
Me loving the destruction, the threads poking through
The last, the night you gave me my first kiss
Spit-soaked and tumble-drying, standing upside down in front of me
The carpet under my fingers and me wondering what all this was about
Me teasing you, saying you wanted to have sex with someone –
A celebrity? A mutual friend? Time has stolen the details
And you looking soft at me sideways, saying clear and serious
‘No, I want to have sex with you.’
And the terror that slid down into my stomach, hot and cold and heavy
As my insides closed off, like a chase scene in an adventure film
The doors slamming down and me skating beneath them
Losing my shoes in the hurry to leave

*