| CLOSE TO YOU
by Julie McGowan
Have you ever loved someone so much just thinking about them makes
your insides scrunch into a pain; a pain that moves up through your body
and lodges in your throat, so that you can’t speak properly?
I don’t mean lust. Lust is when the girl in the newsagent’s
leans over the counter to give you your change and you get a flash of
her ample breasts jostling each other for space in her push-up bra.
But love, where the other person occupies your body, mind and soul, where
your senses are so heightened that you just know when she’s entered
a crowded room, and your whole being keens towards her, that’s something
else.
I’d never felt like that until Lindsey. I’d only had one girlfriend
– Alice, from my youth group. She’d look at me with doe eyes
and cling with a limpet-like devotion. And we never got much further than
a bit of a grope on disco nights when the lights were low.
Lindsey arrived in the middle of our first year at college, sweeping into
the Junior Common Room with an energy that made everyone else feel dull
and sluggish. We all sat up straighter, or stopped slouching by the bar,
or just looked expectantly at this new person , hoping by a strange osmosis
we’d become infused with her golden glow, if only she would notice
us.
She’d been living in America, her father being a diplomat, but she
was now back in Britain and had transferred her studies. Her low, melodic
voice held no transatlantic twang, but the influence was apparent in other
ways. You could see it in the sun-kissed streaks in her long, blonde hair.
And in the perfect dentistry, probably the result of many adolescent months
of mouth metal, and in the light brown sheen of her skin, when we were
all suffering from a dearth of sunshine and too much winter comfort food.
‘Hi!’ she said to the room in general, with a self-assurance
which probably stemmed from when she was a beautiful baby. ‘Sorry
to be a nuisance, but could anyone help me – I don’t have
a clue where I’m supposed to be!’
Of course, while I was still thinking about it, several of the more agile,
confident lads were there, to pick up her bags and show her where the
girls’ accommodation was. I hung back, never believing that I could
actually be much help to anyone, and watched as the little party trooped
through the doors at the far end, the lads already bathed in the light
that seemed to surround her and intensify as she smiled her thanks.
I spoke to her later, though, when we were playing brag and she came in
with Leanne who was in the room next to her and was showing her round.
‘…And these are the piss-artists,’ Leanne told her as
they approached. ‘This is Andy, who only turns up to lectures when
he’s threatened with being chucked out, and this is Dave, who gives
the best parties, as long as someone helps him with his assignments. And
this is Ollie, who thinks he can sing…’
‘…And I’m Kennie,’ I said, holding out my hand,
before Leanne got to stick a label on me.
‘Hi Kennie,’ she answered, looking steadily at me as she took
my hand. ‘Good to meet you.’
I searched her face for a moment, to try to gauge any deeper emotion in
her expression, but her keen sapphire eyes showed just the same interest
and regard as she had for the others.
Of course, within days the lads were falling over themselves to be the
first to go out with her, and our little group shifted ourselves with
almost as much energy as the rest to win her approval, even though we
were the jokers and the idlers.
Except for me. I wasn’t really the same as the rest of my friends,
although I affected an equal nonchalance towards life’s challenges.
But deep down I was a worker, always had been. I didn’t have the
security that some of the others had – an insouciant charm which
would always get them through, or an innate ability that even extreme
laziness couldn’t extinguish. I knew that to get anywhere I was
going to have to try harder than most of those around me.
So, much of my time was spent in the library, working on my laptop. The
others still accepted me, though, because I was easy-going and laughed
at their jokes and didn’t make them feel guilty about being work
shy.
It stood me in good stead with Lindsey, because she had a strong work
ethic, inherited from her family background and from the more diligent
American student attitude. So she’d regularly be in the library
too and often I’d manoeuvre to be in the place next to her. Or,
even better, opposite her, so that I could watch her covertly as she studied.
‘Hi Kennie,’ she’d say, with the bright smile and good
humour which rarely faltered, ‘What is it today?’ And we’d
compare notes about our work before settling down to what we had to do.
She was studying politics, so I always got to the library early and scoured
the broadsheets so that I could make erudite comments about current world
affairs.
Naturally there were a couple of girls who were jealous of this new queen
bee around which the drones swarmed, and some of the lads, knowing they
were right out of her league, suggested she was probably frigid or gay.
But none of this lasted, because Lindsey was impossible to dislike. She
was the same with everyone –generous, happy, funny, bonding with
the girls and willing to muck about with the boys. You hear about people
having the ability to light up a room with their presence, but this was
the first time I’d seen someone who could do that. That old Carpenters’
song was constantly in my head, ‘Why do birds suddenly appear….’
After a few weeks I could see she was attracted to Ollie, who, when he
made the effort, was witty and clever, which, combined with dark good
looks, had already enabled him to notch up more conquests than anyone
else. And, of course, he happened to be my closest friend.
Now it was two heads, one blonde, one dark, bent over their work in the
library, Ollie having discovered that he had a leaning towards learning
after all. With exquisite pain I watched the two of them and could have
told you, from the changes in their body language and intimate glances,
when they started sleeping together.
And I so, so, wanted it to be me on whom she bestowed that privilege.
In the privacy of my room I ranted at the gods who’d seen fit to
pass me by when good looks and wit were given out. I dreamed of holding
her in my arms and seeing a look of tenderness in her eyes turn rapidly
to passion.
It would have been better if I’d withdrawn gracefully at this point
and not tortured myself with being so frequently in their presence. But
I relied on Ollie’s friendship as much as I needed a daily draught
of Lindsey’s golden presence.
‘Don’t hurt her,’ I begged him, when I could see she
was beginning to rely on him more than he was on her. But Ollie just shrugged.
She was beautiful and desirable but then there were so many girls…so
little time.
By now I knew many things about her. Like when she went out in our damp
English weather her fringe developed a kink which she unconsciously tried
to smooth with her fingers as she talked. I could tell from the slight
change in the texture of her skin and a hint of shadow beneath her eyes
when she’d been working too hard or spending too many late nights
with Ollie. I knew the causes she was passionate about and that sometimes
she stuttered slightly when pleading her case. I knew she twiddled with
the earring in her left ear when she was concentrating on writing and
that the jokes I texted her when lectures were boring made her smile.
And I knew when Ollie began to get bored with monogamy and I saw the incredible
iridescence of her eyes become slightly clouded.
After she’d sent two rapid texts which remained unanswered, she
slumped back in her chair with a hint of defeat. I leaned across and squeezed
her hand.
‘He’s not worth it, you know. You can do much, much better.’
She almost succeeded in giving me the old smile. Then she stopped, moved
round the table and sat beside me.
‘You’re so sweet,’ she murmured in my ear. Then, with
the merest whisper of her lips on my cheek, ‘I’m so glad we’re
mates.’
‘Mates!’ I wanted to shout at her. ‘Sweet! I don’t
want to be sweet! Or just mates!
I wanted to be her hero! I wanted her supple limbs to be entwined with
mine, to feel her skin against my skin. I wanted her to tell me she longed
for my athletic body, that she thrilled at the sound of my voice, that
I entertained her, made her laugh, made her feel the most wonderful woman
in the world!
Something. Anything. But not sweet.
But I didn’t tell her any of this. Because I’d always known
she wasn’t for me. My destiny was the Alices of this world. An earnest,
caring girl, with a patient face just short of martyrdom. Someone whom
the social workers could privately agree was the answer to a huge problem,
while trying not to voice the question they really wanted to ask, ‘Do
you think he can actually do it?’
I didn’t say any of this either. Trying very hard to speak without
a trace of bitterness, because that’s the one thing people can’t
stand, I simply said, ‘Yes, we’ll always be mates.’
And, holding tightly onto the feel of that brush of her lips because it
would have to last me a very long time, I turned my electric wheelchair
around and set off down the corridor.
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