Scenes from a teenage romance

Scenes from a Teenage Romance by Simon Storey

1987

He. Saw her blues eyes first. Then dirty blonde hair. A white dress, and a smile that flew across the room like promise of a warm summer’s day.

She. Saw his blue eyes second. His dark brown mussed up hair. Glasses, and a smile that would glow in the dark and light her way home.

They. Slowly drew each other into the same orbit. Circling each other like the earth and moon. Laughing. Watching. Yearning.

His mother. Watched from the sidelines. Smiling outside. Crying inside.

Her father. Watched from the church pulpit. Grim visage and stony eye targeting the boy. The boy with his daughter.

The boy scribbled a phone number on a piece of scrap paper with an HB Faber Castell pencil. The girl took it carefully and made sure she could read it. Then she did the same. The pencil smudged slightly, but the boy could still read it.

They parted. It was so sweetly sorrowful. They said goodnight till it be tomorrow.

2020

His son is at high school. A big boy. A fine boy. A fine school. This school has wellness coordinators and mindfulness routines. An email from school arrives in his inbox. They don’t need HB Faber-Castell pencils anymore. There is a name. Her name. He gasps. She rises from his memory like a wisp of smoke, but he can still smell her hair. Apples and lemon. Sweet and tangy. The promise of a warm summer’s day. Her role is to be mindful of the students’ wellness. It’s an important job. Will he see her again? Accidently? His son is fine, he is mindful and well already. Damn. But then. Imagine meeting her in a sterile room with his unwell, unmindful son. What would he say? Does she remember him like he remembers her?  

1987

A cassette in his sky-blue Datsun 1200. Bizarre Love Triangle breaks the tinny speakers. Sun shining in his eyes. Jacaranda tickles his nose.

He. Is wearing a black night shirt. Playboy Bunny on chest and driving to hers. He picks her up. She. Is barely wearing a white lacy nightie. Strange for a Christian girl. They are heading for Lismore Square. A radio competition. First two in sleep wear will win a cassette. They are running hand in hand through the shopping centre. People are looking. Laughing. Oh, those kids! They win. On the Beach by Chris Rea. Smiling, they slip the cassette gently into the slot.

He. Breathes into her mouth. She. Breathes him in.  

Forever in my dreams my heart will be

Hanging on to this sweet memory…

2020

Woolworths is green and white. Advertising itself to draw people in. He’s in there. Shopping with a mask. And a son. Infection is hiding everywhere. Except the toilet paper section. It’s empty.

He sees her. Is it her? Wearing a light blue mask? The hair is the same. Long and blonde. She is the same height. He watches her. She picks up an apple. Smells it. Handles it. Puts it into her basket. A wicker basket. She is tanned, he can see. She moves around the corner, seeking something else. He hesitates. His hands shake. His heart is pumping. Come on. He tells his son. We have to keep moving. They casually follow her around the corner. She’s looking at bread now. Picks up white bread. Reads the label. Puts it back. Picks up sourdough. Her eyes smile. It brings back a memory. Her dress is colourful. She doesn’t wear white anymore. It goes in her wicker basket. He pretends to play with bagels. Pretends, he is considering which bagels will taste better for breakfast. She moves on. He follows. He is glad of the mask. It makes him invisible.

1987

She. Is lying on the warm grass. He. Is next to her. They. Smell each other.

Fingers. Start to explore. They stroke. Entwine. Tickle.

Laughter wraps them together. Sunlight captured in smiling eyes. Breathing in and out, faster and faster. Clothes… hanging by a thread.

He. Remembers the Bible. The Word of the Lord. She. Takes his hand and shows him. What fingers are for. He hesitates. We can’t. He whispers. We can. She murmurs.

No. His body screams as he tears them asunder. She stares. He sighs.

2020

His mouth is dry. His gait is stilted. His son follows along, tik toking. She is looking for pasta.

‘Excuse me’ he says through the mask, ‘You look like an old friend of mine. Monique?’ His voice shakes. His son stands still. She stares. Those are her eyes.

‘Yes, that’s me.’ Stifled voice through the blue mask.

‘I’m Steven. From Lismore, remember?’

‘Yes. I remember.’

Nothing happens. There is silence. The son wants to crawl between the tomato paste.

‘Ahh, I read you were working at Emerald High School. I got an email.’

‘Yes, I am.’

Her lips are caressing his open mouth.

‘My son goes there.’ The son, who is hiding in the canned vegetable aisle.

‘Really?’

His fingers stroke her soft warm thigh.

‘Yes. What a coincidence.’

It’s been thirty-three years.

‘Yes. It is a coincidence.’

IT’S BEEN THIRTY-THREE YEARS!

‘Where do you live?’

‘We live in Belgrave.’

Don’t you remember?

‘That’s nice. In Belgrave.’

‘Yes, it is nice.’

I wish I hadn’t seen you.

‘Well, I better keep going.’

‘Yes, me too.’

You’ve ruined it all.

‘Nice to see you again.’

‘Yes, it was.’ And she disappears. In a spiral of mist.

He finds his son tik-toking suspiciously amongst the vegetables.

‘Come on. We have to go home.’

1987

She. Has moved to Sydney. He. Is stuck in Lismore.

He writes. I miss Monique so much. There is a hole in my life that only she can fill. I have committed our relationship to God and He will take care of it now. I know we are to be married. God has given her to me as a reward for my chastity, and for my leadership in this relationship. I will trust Him and let Him guide us until we are to be together.

2020

He pulls into the driveway. Turns off the headlights. The son leaps out of the car. He runs for the safety of his room.

He sits in his cream white Toyota Corolla Ascent Sport Hybrid. He connects to Spotify and plays On the Beach.

It’s been thirty-three years.