The Food of Love

love is a sandstorm

undulating sand-dune sea

a map is useless

love is a marble

hard glass encases a core

that’s unreachable

love is an onion

it’s got a hundred layers

and it makes you cry!

love is a corner

of the street or of a room;

according to choice

love is a cycle;

flowers bloom, and then wither

leaving seeds for more

like unravelled wool

love is so complicated

not one end in sight

I snapped my school diary shut. It wouldn’t do for Brown Cow to ask what I was scribbling – again! Heaven knows the stick I got when I said I wanted to be a writer when I grew up. That made me decide never to open my mouth in class, ever again. It was one of the things the teacher seem to enjoy worrying my ma about; they even mentioned the term “elective mute”. We had a good laugh about that.

Being a Charity Nerd is not nice. That is what they called me… because, perhaps, they were jealous of me. If I had to choose a nickname, it would have been Scholarship Geek. I had been awarded a place at the prestigious academy because I scored straight As in all the subjects of the 11+ Secondary School Entrance Examinations.

There were only four of us who achieved these scores, nationwide, and we got to choose which institution to attend. My mother and I discussed it, and logistics and expenses decreed it would be Melita… because I could walk to school, rain or shine, and we would save transport money.

My mother had brought me up on her own. She made sure I had all I needed – but we never had enough money for fripperies. My lunches were always wholesome and interesting; the ham-and-cheese sandwiches brigade tried to make fun of me for those, too.

My father had done a bunk when he discovered he had knocked my ma up, and he never paid a penny of child support – which is just as well, because he therefore also forfeited visiting rights. I know who he is – but I never even smiled at him, when we ran into each other (it’s a small city) before he emigrated. Truth to tell, she never bad-mouthed him to me, though. I admire her for that.

Years later, I found out that while I was at Kindergarten and Primary School, she went to do chores and cooking at other people’s houses. But she was always there when I went home, and we always ate nutritious food made from scratch. She sewed most of my clothes herself, staying up late into the night to do so.

She bought stuff from the charity shop, and unpicked the seams, and used them as a pattern. She saved money by re-using the zippers and buttons. The word ‘frugal’ in the dictionary had her picture next to it, because she could turn a penny into a pound.

My only aunt had married into money, and she disowned us – lest, perhaps we expected hand-outs. My maternal grandparents were both dead… and the family of my ‘father’ avoided us like the plague. 

The years passed uneventfully. The “single parent” stigma was always there – and once, in a moment of weakness, my ma told me she had considered moving and telling people she was a widow… but then she thought better of it, because she didn’t want to bring me up on a lie. She wanted me to be able to keep my head high, proud of who I was, and proud of the way we were a team, and how we managed to beat the wolves that would otherwise have come to the door, before they even thought of starting their journey.

Then came the Scholarship. I was so proud of myself. I determined to make the best of it.

The school was an elite one, and my ma had misgivings. Yes, even then, I was so mature that I said I would be going there to learn, not to brag of my aristocratic forebears. My ma laughed, and hugged me… but I could see that her eyes glistened. She was my hero, and taught me resilience, courage… and risk-taking.

It’s tough when you don’t fit in. And it’s even tougher when you are the butt of jokes. But my life that far had made me feisty, and I managed to give the appearance that no comment was snide enough to get under my skin.

I knew even back then that what I lacked in beauty, I more than made up for, in brains. I also knew that the clique made fun of my appearance because they were beautiful, but deep down they also knew that they had next to nothing between the ears. Money could buy them schooling, but it could not buy them education.  

I always sat at the back of my classes. That way, I could observe everything and everyone, without anyone throwing paper balls at me. Some of the meanest girls, however, did turn around to poke out their tongue at me, when the teacher would be writing on the blackboard – and I smiled sweetly at them, thereby infuriating them further.

I made sure never to raise my hands to ask questions, or to answer them, during lessons, so as not to draw attention to myself.

To be honest, I sat at the back also because I could observe…him…my crush… without making a fool of myself.

I was just a child, yes, but I fantasised about how we would grow up and get married, and have five beautiful children who looked like him, and who would be as gifted with intelligence as I. Each of their names would begin with a vowel…

He never noticed me, except once or twice when he opened the door for me; but then, he was very shy and into sports. Although some of the girls flirted with him, he didn’t give them the time of day… and I heard them wonder (loudly) whether he was gay, as they made limp-wristed motions.

I had always wanted one of those Varsity Hoodies with big letters or numbers on them. I had seen one of them in then sewing room, and I knew my ma was going to use it to make one for me - exactly like it, but far nicer, and obviously with my own initial. But the temptation was too great. I snuck it into my bag and changed out of my blanket capote as soon as I was round the corner, and wore it to school.

My ruse backfired badly. As soon as I walked into physics class, The Meanest of Them All pointed toward me and said – “Hey, look, y’all. Charity Nerd is wearing my hoodie – I recognise it from the foie gras stain on the left cuff!”

Her cronies looked at me and sniggered. I was mortified. But I raised my chin and said “So?” and walked into class. This incident made me even more of a loner, and more determined than ever to show them up when we sat for our “O” Levels.

love is but a dream

intangible images

that evade my grasp

love is a mountain

sheer cliffs; dead drops; an ice-cap;

but no lush valley

love is an alloy;

as elusive as mercury,

but precious as gold

love is a journey;

bad signposts and bumpy roads

drive you up the wall

love is a ball game;

when it sends you a curved ball,

make sure to bat it!

Writing poetry helped me relax. It still does. I never let anyone see my file; not even the teacher of English Literature. I didn’t trust her enough not to speak about me in the staffroom.

And ‘he’ never noticed me – because I developed a knack for fading into the woodwork.

As suddenly as it had begun, it was over. We left the Academy as soon as we got the results – or, at least, those of us who did not have to take re-sits, did.

I just assumed he was out of my life forever, all the more so because he attended an exclusive Sixth Form, but I went to the Public Education one.

My love for writing grew – I branched into fiction, and I got a temp job at Associated Newspapers, in the Culture and Entertainment Department, while attending University. It honed my skills, and gave me pin money to add to my stipend.

But my break came when my lyrics won me first prize in a song-writing contest organised by Amiamo Magazine. The prize was attending the concert where the lyrics would be sung for the first time by Imperial Kings. It was ironic, really, because I had never even heard of them before I decided to send in some old haiku of mine.

When someone who introduced herself as Kathy called me to tell me that Cynical had won, I thought it was a joke, actually. She quoted my lines back at me, to show me that she was for real.

love’s a delusion;

on the surface all’s perfect;

but below’s rotten

love’s a fairy-tale;

and one day you’ll wake up

to the bleakest truth

love is for living

don’t save your kisses because

they’ll all go to waste

love is a blanket;

it will give security

but it may smother…

love is a fire;

stray too close, and it burns you;

good servant; bad boss

love is a statue

when it stands, it’s lifeless

if it moves, it’s false…

“Well done!” Kathy said. “As we speak, the courier is on his way with your airplane ticket!”

I squealed! I screamed so loudly for my ma that she came running into the room, thinking something awful had happened to me.

I breathed deeply, twice, to concentrate on what I was being told. From then on, it was a whirlwind, with all systems go. I applied for vacation leave, and packed my bag. I would be travelling with Kathy, and we would be staying at the Hilton for a week, all expenses paid.

When we walked into the hotel lobby, the band was there, having an impromptu karaoke session with the guests. The Manager recognised Kathy as the Editor of Amiamo from the spread she had done about Imperial Kings, and came toward her, arms outstretched.

“Look who’s here, guys!” he said, to no one in particular. I blinked. I blushed scarlet. It was him. Incongruously, I looked to see if he had a wedding ring – as if all married men wear one.

Kathy introduced me by my full name; not that the shortened version would have rung a bell with him, anyway. I knew what his name was, but waited to hear it being confirmed, just to be doubly sure.

He led us both toward the band, and repeated my name each time – the way he said it, with his slight lisp, was music to my ears. I could tell he didn’t know me from Adam’s off ox.

Kathy announced, with an exaggerated yawn, that she was going to order room service, because she had to catch up with the editing. She turned to me and said, “Have you got any plans for the evening?”

I smiled wryly. It was now or never.  Speak now or shut up forever, or words to that effect… but not quite… “No, not really. Not unless he (and I pointed) would like to go for a pizza… five-star buffet be damned…” I mentally crossed my fingers and toes.

“Well… I… of course I would…” he said. “Give me a moment to fetch my jacket…”

I distinctly heard the drummer say ‘that was quick’, but the side-eye he got would have melted steel.

As we bit into our second slice of pizza, by way of conversation, he told me that he was originally from Durham.

“I know.” I said.

“My accent always gives me away!” He sighed dramatically.

I said his old address. He gaped. “How…?”

I revealed all. We talked and talked, pizzas forgotten, making up for lost time. We spoke of what had befallen us since we left Senior School, and reminisced about our teachers, and the Mean Girls. We came to the conclusion that the we both had not fitted in with the snotty environment… leaving it hanging in the air that we ought to have got together back then, for exactly that reason.

“Oh! Look at the time… we won’t make it to the concert tomorrow if we spend another three hours chatting.”

“Yes,” I replied. “There will be time enough for us to catch up, later…” He walked me to the end of my corridor, kissed me lightly on the forehead, turned on his heels, and ran up the stairs to the next floor.

I’d swear I floated into my room. I kicked off my shoes and just fell into bed, and slept until the alarm rudely woke me up.

I scribbled a few haiku in my head, while I chose my clothes for the morning. Kathy, all dolled up already, knocked on my door. From the look on her face, I could tell that she wanted to know why my hair was dishevelled, why I was still wearing outdoor clothes, and why I wasn’t ready yet.

I gave her a quick run-down, and ran into the bathroom. When I came out, I asked her to write down the haiku I had just composed, lest I forget them, while I brushed out the tangles in my hair.

love was born last night

almost-strangers became friends

what’s in the future?

love gives you lemons;

be sour or make lemonade,

you pick your option!

love is a cascade

it takes your breath away, and

purifies your soul

like ducks to water

our souls have melded as one

tomorrow is now

“Brilliant!” Kathy said, “But we really have to get going now.”

Breakfast was fun. The guests at the hotel, some of whom had tickets for the Concert, said that having the Band there during their stay made it the stuff of legend.

…

Annie, Eamon, Iain, Olaug and Ulrich always come over for Sunday Lunch, with their families.

It’s an exhilarating, noisy, wondrous time. Our story never gets old.