All the Wrong Reasons

Mending bridges

“Slut” someone spat as they threw a drink in my face.

“Oh that’s original” I snapped back, as the sticky liquid ran down my cheeks and dripped onto my front. I grabbed a napkin and dabbed at the growing brown stain, wondering why this had to happen on the day I was wearing a cream-coloured jumper.

I stood up slowly and calmly, refusing to give all the gawping bystanders the satisfaction of seeing me lose my temper. I gathered up my bag and my coat and walked out of the cafeteria, making sure the door didn’t slam behind me.     

I headed to the loos and slammed the door open.

“Damn it” I yelled, tearing off my cardigan and shoving it into the sink. “Damn it, damn it, damn it!” Why couldn’t these bloody people just leave me alone?

I ran cold water over the soiled garment, but it was a lost cause. It was also my sister’s, I realised with a sinking heart. I had been late getting up that morning, and had grabbed this jumper from the pile of clean washing in the kitchen without looking too closely. Now I looked closer, I saw that while this one was cream coloured wool, as opposed to cream coloured cheap acrylic. It had probably cost a bomb too. Great, now Jennifer really was going to kill me.

Deciding I would worry about that later, I pulled my jacket on over my tee-shirt and left the loos.

“Bitch!”

Another cup of overpriced coffee shop coffee splashed over my face and coat. A chorus of laughs broke out and the girl who had done it ran back to her friends, and they all dashed away.

“What is wrong with you people?” I yelled, my voice chocked. Those kids couldn’t be more than fourteen, what the hell did they have to do with this debacle?

“Are you alright?”

“What?” I asked. I wiped at my eyes furiously. I was not going to cry. I was not.

“I said, are you alright?” The speaker, a girl in a pink coat would was pulling books out of her locker, said in a slow, clear voice, as if I was deaf. She was holding out a tissue. I blinked, taken aback.

“Yeah” I said, taking the tissue, trying to work out who she was and what she wanted.

“Okay, that’s cool” she shut her locker and snapped the padlock back into place, before walking off down the corridor.

“Lucy Kitchen” I whispered to myself, finally managing to recall her name. She was also doing economics for A-levels. Lucy usually sat at the back of the room, wore mainly pastel colours, never said much, never drew any attention to herself. I had never spoken to her before today.

I went back to the loo and cleaned myself the best I could. My tee-shirt was stained brown and my jacket smelt of strawberry macchiato, as did my hair. I splashed cold water on my face and fought the urge to collapse in a heap on the floor and weep.

Given the circumstances, economics didn’t appear very enticing. Going home and curling up beneath my duvet did, but today was my mother’s day off, and she would surely be moping around the house, so I compromised and opted for going to the centre of town instead.

I dropped Jennifer’s sweater off at the dry cleaners on my way there, reasoning it was worth a try, before going to the tiny, independent cinema nestled in a grubby backstreet. I had discovered this place about a year before, and it had become my refuge when my life started imploding in a spectacular way. It was cheap, you could see weird, foreign films, and on most afternoons, it was almost empty. You could sit on your own in the dark for a couple of hours and not think about anything.