Authors: Kirsten Rees
I know my need to keep people at arm’s length has made it difficult to be friends or have a relationship with me. I push people out of my life - all except those bonded by blood or the very few who haven't given up yet. Or at least I think that's the reason people don't stay in my life, but I could be wrong.
The varying amount of time I spent in each relationship did not necessarily negate whether they became lovers or not. By today’s standards, I wouldn't be considered a slut, nevertheless, you could hardly class the ones I've been intimate with as serious affairs – that would suggest being in an actual relationship and I’ve never been very good at those.
My little black book read more like every girl’s ‘what not to do’ when it comes to love and friendship. You would probably imagine names scored out and pages almost ripped from the spine.
If this was a diary belonging to a normal girl there would be little happy stars intertwined with broken hearts and words from sappy songs alongside various cheerless lyrics from heartbreaking ones. Only I'm not writing this as a teenage girl and I already know that none of them worked out. I'm sitting at the age of twenty-five on the floor of my bedroom, in my flat and I already know how it's going to end.
There is no one, simple reason why this came about. I wish it was easy as saying "I have to do this because..." and finishing off with a dramatic "Goodbye cruel world" or some other cliché. But life is never simple or straightforward. I guess the main reason would be my heart can't take any more scars and if I don’t do this, I doubt it would last much longer anyway. Rather by my own hand than from the pain I’ve permitted others to cause or the shame I’ve brought upon myself.
When I read that back it all sounds a bit dramatic, like a scene from one of the theatrical productions I used to see. This isn't for the sake of love or even the lack of it. I just can’t seem to make the right choices in life and I no longer see the point in trying.
The ones I'm going to write about are not to blame for what's going to happen - as I’ve said I have no one to blame - the fault lies with me. I’ve become a burden on those I love and although I know they may hurt in the beginning, the grief can't compare to the suffering I already cause them. I have time before I can go ahead with my theatrical ‘end scene’ so I want to write my story.
In school I was not what you would call popular but neither was I disliked. I guess I have always been by nature a bit of a loner. Although I mixed with a large group of friends, I never felt the pull towards one or another that I would have called a best friend. It was easier to lose myself in a crowd and thankfully no one really seemed to notice or at least acknowledge my lack of participation.
I revelled in my anonymity whilst watching others compete for the limelight. It wasn’t that I was particularly shy and thankfully my Mother instilled in me enough confidence that allowed me to never feel the need to give into peer pressure to do anything that would draw attention to me.
The first time any focus fell on me was to do with a boy, it happened just before my seventeenth birthday when things began to get messy.
I was sixteen years old when I lost my virginity. I was young - too young I think - it happened and I wish I could say it was in the spirit of youthful love, but I would be lying and I want to be truthful writing this. It was several months before my seventeenth birthday and while it might be a common age by today’s standards for a girl to succumb to the delights of the body, I was young even for my age and I had lived a fairly sheltered life. It wasn't the special event it should have been and we'd known each other only a short while. But it was consensual, so I at least I was luckier than some.
I met Conor on a Saturday afternoon; he was cute, funny and for some inexplicable reason he seemed interested in me. Attention from boys was not something I was at all used to at this point. I don't remember everything from our time together - not because it was insignificant or so long ago that I've forgotten, but so much has happened since then.
I told myself he was only speaking to me so his best friend could be alone with one of my friends. The first time he spoke to me I swear I stood dumbstruck; remarkably - he told me later - he thought I was playing it cool with him and looked a little awkward before finding his stride and breaking into a mostly one sided conversation. For once being uncomfortable around boys seemed to work in my favour. I declined to tell him that rather than being too cool to respond to his jokes, I apparently had lost all control of my tongue. He made adolescent attempts at flirting and I blushed my way through our conversations.
“You know, before today I didn’t really get the whole skating thing. I mean it’s freezing and unless you can do it properly you just go round and round circles trying not to fall over. But actually it’s kinda fun.” He said.
I nodded as if to agree since I couldn’t think of anything to say.
“Eh, I’m Conor.” He was actually trying to angle his body towards me to shake hands in the middle of an ice rink and I stared at him in horror.
“Maybe we should save the hand shaking ‘til we’re on dry land.” I said.
“Oh yeah, thanks. It’s been a long time since I tried to stand up on ice. I guess I’m no Torrie and Dean.” he replied.
“Aha, I think you mean Torvill and Dean – it’s their surnames. And you’re doing okay.” I said and gestured to another guy who had just slid into the wall on the other side of the rink. We laughed together and I relaxed just a little.
“I’m Nina.” I said after a pause.
“Nice to meet you Nina. My friend said I should talk to you." he said.
My acting abilities had yet to kick in at this age, so I know my face fell when he said this.
"I mean he didn't like order me to, I wanted to talk to you, I just wasn't sure you would." he said.
I smiled at his digging; not really convinced by his words.
"Do you think you could show me how you do that gliding thing with your feet?” he asked. His smile did a fairly good job of concealing the fear in his eyes. I was glad for the change in subject and began showing him what I had learned in my lessons.
“You’re a really good skater.” He spoke while staring at his skates, which suited me fine since he couldn't see the nerves in my face.
I managed to make a sort of noise in response and tried to focus on keeping my skate-encased feet away from his unsteady ones. When he looked up, his eyes were questioning as if my 'mhm' hadn't been enough of a reply: it seemed actual words were required.
“Eh thanks, I skated a lot as a kid.” I finally replied.
One of the perks of not sticking anything in life is that you tend to jump from one thing to the next so I knew the basics for rather a lot of pointless stuff. In the years between then and now, I met a girl called Kara who slowly but determinedly became a friend and commented that I was ‘a jack of all trades.’ I had yet to meet Kara at this point in my life. I wonder if I would have turned out any different if I’d known her as at this age. But there is much in between this point and my first meeting with one of the few people I came to consider a real friend.
After about half an hour of unsuccessfully trying to pass on my limited skating skills, one of my friends came over and pulled me away to dissect and analyse every word Conor’s friend had said to her. When she had spent a good hour or so over lunch deciding whether or not he was potential boyfriend material we left for home.
From then on, my friends and I regularly spent Saturday afternoons on and around the skating rink. And after that first meeting I subtly looked out for Conor as soon as we arrived. On our third meeting he took my hand in his just before we set onto the ice and I almost toppled in shock. He kept hold of my gloved hand as we skated in a loop around the rink while I convinced myself he was merely using me for balance.
And that was how it went on each Saturday for weeks, we skated around and around and chatted about nothing and everything. Or at least I skated and he slid forward rather precariously. I wasn’t sure if I was more nervous that he was holding my hand or that he might fall and pull me down with him. Ironically, this is what I came to fear in the years to come - if I let anyone get too close they would be pulled down with me.
Every visit to the ice rink I watched as Conor arrived with a group of loud, boisterous, teenage boys. And yet there was something different about him - he was hesitant, and there was a sadness in his eyes. I couldn’t find reason for it in what he had told me of his life and I couldn’t dare to ask. He would be smiling along with his friends but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. I didn't understand the misery he seemed to keep almost - but not quite - under the surface.
After skating we began to group together in a café for fast food and slush puppies. Conor would always sit beside me, sometimes in companionable silence listening to the others chat excitedly about a movie or some gossip in one of our schools. Other times the two of us would talk quietly between us. Mid-week passed slowly and the weekends flew in as they tend to do.
Back then we didn’t all have mobile phones and social networking was still in its infancy. When you wanted to tell someone you liked them you had to say it to their face and I wasn’t brave enough to say the words. I was too afraid of the rejection.
“I like you.” he said, so simply, I almost didn’t realise what he had said.
I tried to figure out from the look on his face if he was joking or not, but he carried on speaking before I could say a word.
“You’re not like the other girls. They’re a bit too confident and forward. It makes me kinda nervous to be honest. And they laugh like a bunch of hyenas.”
I laughed at this. Anything to avoid actually responding to his admission.
At first, Alex had felt absurdly jealous of this sixteen year old boy, but now he felt something akin to him. Conor had noticed one of the many things that made Nina stand out from other girls. She had drawn Conor to her like she did to Alex much later in life. He saw the vulnerability in her at sixteen that showed when Alex first met her in her mid twenties, but it was more innocent back then. Alex hoped it was just the nervousness of a young girl still finding her way in the world. But for whatever reason, it was a vulnerability that had remained later in life.
One afternoon, as I was saying goodbye, Conor opened his mouth as if to say something else but hesitated before saying a word. I think he wanted to talk to me about something but I knew it wasn’t the right place for a personal conversation.
“It’s okay.” I laid my hand on his arm and looked at him. “You know you can talk to me about anything Conor, but if here’s not right we can meet another time." He nodded and turned back to his friends. For some reason people have always felt comfortable talking to me about anything. I suppose I’m a good listener and I’m hardly one to judge. And in more recent years - even though I only sparingly mention minor details of my past - I think it has more to do with people knowing somehow that I can understand something of what they are going through. Something inside told me Conor had been holding back and it only made me more determined to find out why.
The following Saturday he sought me out before I had even laced up my skates.
"Afterwards, would you come with me...to talk somewhere?" he asked.
Although we spent our time on the ice and in cafes together we were always surrounded by our friends and I hesitated for a moment, until I saw the pleading in his eyes. "Yes." I replied.
The next hour on the ice felt like forever and when we finished I expected Conor to ask me to go with him. Instead when he took my hand we followed the group to the usual spot for food and sugary juice which was the last thing I needed. He avoided eye contact and joined in the group's various, over-lapping conversations. His shoulders were hunched and I realised he might have been psyching himself up to tell me something. The rest of our group began to break up into smaller groups, some wanting more privacy, others heading home, so eventually only Conor and I were left at the table.
We sat in uncomfortable silence for what felt like ages but I daren't speak.
"I'm not really sure how to do this." He said.
I remained quiet and just tried my best to look encouraging.
"I don't have any older brothers or sisters and my Dad isn't really the kind of person you talk to about this kind of thing. My friends wouldn't understand; none of them really get it." He continued.
He looked down at his hands before continuing. "I've kissed girls but I've never asked one out before. I know that must seem really lame when I'm sixteen, but my Mother, she was sick and everything else just...became kinda unimportant." he said.
Conor reached across the table and tucked a stray hair behind my ear which only made me feel exposed as he stared at me. Then he broke the tension with a smile and changed the subject. We sat there across the table from each other, with my fingertips resting in his palm under the table and chatted about nothing for an hour or so. Suddenly he slid his fingers through mine, stood up and pulled me to my feet. “I have to be home soon.” He leaned in and kissed me on the lips and when he pulled away I remembered I had been holding my breath and inhaled quickly.
He never actually said the words, but from that moment, he referred to me as his girlfriend. The weeks continued much as they had before, except after skating and our group lunch, we would wander around just the two of us.