Ice-creams & Discarded Cider Cans

It was the middle of summer. We took it in turns to impress you. I bought a skirt shorter than any I had ever owned before, read books by authors whose names I couldn't pronounce, and dyed my hair purple. Elaine coloured her eyelids in a shade between grey and black, plaited her brown hair into tiny plaits, and started learning guitar.

You and your friends concocted a plan.

You charged us 50p each to hang out with you for a week of the summer holidays.

We were giggling and in awe.

You were two ice-creams richer.

We wandered along the cycle path, kicking the discarded cider cans out of our way. We talked, endlessly, about bands, and people we knew. We sat on the grass verge drinking cheap cola out of plastic bottles. We stayed out too late and went home with headaches from the sun and the glare still in our eyes.

I bought a pair of plastic sunglasses. I fancied myself as older than I was. Elaine and I never thought that you were really hanging out with us for any reason other than pity.

When you bought us ice-creams one afternoon, I knew you felt bad.

Elaine clipped her hair up and tried to catch your eyes as she licked the melting ice-cream cone in a way she thought you might like. I looked at the ground, sepia toned through my sunglasses. Your eyes were hidden too. I imagined them rolling, taking none of this seriously; we were both younger than you and you were above all this, right?

That night, Elaine and I decided our friendship was more important than boys. We listened to the same song seventeen times, shouting how it spoke to us, and this summer was so important, and how we were the very best of friends. We were seventeen years old and thought we knew everything.

Two days later, the last day of our bargain with you, it rained. We went to the cinema. Sat quietly. Out of the corner of my eye I saw your hand touch Elaine's, saw you glance furtively at her in a way that said very clearly it wasn't the first time.

I didn't let on that I'd seen anything and we parted ways that evening with hugs and promises to see each other again soon.

Elaine went to University at the end of summer and we stayed sporadically in touch, but it was never the same.

I only ever saw you again once, years later, back at the same cinema, with two hyperactive children and a woman who looked at least five years younger than you. You looked at me as though you were trying to recall where you knew me from, smiled briefly, and were gone.