izzy

She gets on the bus in her school uniform, and her backpack is almost as big as she is. Careful blonde ponytail with a white ribbon, starched socks (the long ones but rolled down because she’s not a rebel or a goody-two-shoes), pale blue checks, skinny wrists and Mary Janes. REM’s ‘Losing My Religion’ is creeping through the speakers when the drivers change over, the bus thrumming under a canopy of European green. The new driver cranks the volume and Taylor Swift comes blasting down the aisle Shakin’ it Off. We both bob or heads slightly, self-consciously, and my shoes start to feel too big for my feet and the seat I am in is swallowing me. I want to lean forward, conspirational, and tell her everything will be ok, but what do I know.

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sarah

Kefir in my belly. Kombucha guts. Tiny little bubbles dancing away, sparkling water, sparkling wine. Some bacteria are good, and some nerves are exciting, and some days are the days to just be brave.

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