Lily Eastwood: social pariah
“Can I have a pint of ale, please?” It is not my fault that I am very polite, very southern-sounding and happen to like ale. The barman looked at me. “Ale?” Pause. “Yes, please.” As he pulled the pint he looked me up and down. “Is it cold outside?” he asks. “Pardon me?” “Is it cold?” “Um, not particularly.” “It’s just you’re very…well-covered.” Charming. “Oh…thanks.” I drum my chipped fingernails on the bar and looked down at my oversized jumper. At least he can’t see the holes in my tights. As I walk away a young lady with ample cleavage orders a vodka and tonic – slimline. I hold onto my dignity by a thread because I don’t run back and attempt to prove my femininity. “Excuse me Mr Barman, sometimes I wear low-cut tops and drink white wine spritzer. Honest. I don’t even drink Coke, just Diet Coke. Gotta watch the waistline. Have respect for me? Please?”
“The exam is now over. If you continue writing it will be considered an academic offence. Now please wait in your seats…” All students stared into the distance, most nursing serious monkey claw pen-writing hand. Outside it was grey. As we trickled out most people returned to the library, some back to bed, only two of us wandered towards the pub. “Shit Tom, we’re finished.” “Yeah.” “It’s all over…” “Yeah.” “Like actually it’s done – are they not done? Why aren’t they celebrating? Should they be celebrating? Why don’t I feel happier? Are you happy? Have we passed? Shit Tom! We’re finished!” A duck cackled in the distance. “Yeah.”
A boy smiles at me and I smile back as I slip past him to the bar. “You don’t remember me do you?” “Uh…” Bad question to ask in Ziggys. “In Freshers’ week you showed me how to use the library.” “Oh yeah! You’re the fresher who was in the library!” I genuinely did remember him, and there genuinely had been a fresher in the library in Freshers’ week. “I hope you haven’t been back to the library since – it’s your first year!” “I haven’t, don’t worry – can I get you a drink?” “Uh…” “I couldn’t use the library if it weren’t for you! Take it!” He pushes a glass into my hand and bounces back to his friends. My good Samaritan moment had come back to me, a rare golden Ziggys moment… Suddenly I jump as I note a stray hand on my person. “What are you doing?” A new boy struggles to focus on my face. “Sticker! Vote!” I look down at the elections sticker to which his hand was still attached. “That’s my breast.” My new friend grins. “You have nice boobies.” Snap back to reality.
We’ve lived in our house for two years. It’s difficult for your average student to grasp household appliances in that time. “You’re going to laugh, but…” “But what?” “I still don’t know how to use the grill.” “I see.” “Can you show me?” “No.” He stands in the doorway staring at me. Sigh. “Turn the knob on the left to 9 o’clock to set it to grill, then set the temperature about half way.” “Right…” Long pause. “Where’s 9 o’clock?” “I’m sorry, I’m not answering that.” He sets about rattling in the kitchen. Around me more of the same species sit grooming and picking themselves. My eyes drift onto the green mould behind the TV. I soon find myself considering the black mould in the shower…and the pizza crusts on the table…and the spongy substance under the sofa…home. Bang. Silence. Muttering in the kitchen. “What do you mean you can’t put metal in the microwave?”
Loading ...