The Other In Me

The Other In Me - Part 2

It's a beautiful warm July evening. Kids playing out on the green, faint sound of cars in the background. It's not a bad place to live. I grew up round here, similar estate to this, similar block of maisonettes to this. I know most of my neighbours. Know them enough to greet them, wish them a Merry Christmas, Eid Mubarak or Hanukkah Sameach. I recognise their frequent visitors and children but I don't know them and they don't really know me.

It's a happy little non spoken agreement between us all I suppose. I don't like to impose and I most certainly am not open to imposition. Familiarity breeds contempt, Mom always says and I'm inclined to agree.

My Mom never really practiced what she preached though. She was over friendly with everyone, our house was an open house. Neighbours popping in for a drop of milk, a few potatoes if they were going spare. A lend of a fiver or the vacuum cleaner. She engaged whole heartedly with the neighbours and it always led to disappointment, disagreements and deceit. My childhood was a mad mix of neighbours more like family, in every nook and cranny of our lives. Involved in disputes as much as celebrations but I always knew that these friendships were somehow not genuine.

Roxanne was Mom's closest ally. They smoked together, drank together, worked together. They even dated the same man for five months before they'd realised and all hell had broken loose. Roxanne had spread some terrible rumours about Mom on the estate. I was teased at school and at the local community centre, it was then that I closed off. If good friends could turn into arch enemies at the turn of a hat then I had to be much more careful about who I spent time with.

I'll get the hang of these heels if it kills me. Tittering along this stone walkway. I feel like a right tart.

Mmmm the breeze is glorious.

On days like these, why on earth would anyone stay indoors. It's a beautiful evening and here I am, making the most to it. I feel important and special, like the people I've watched enjoying their free time. Jumping into their cars, waiting for trains or buses. I feel like I'm a part of it all. A part of society. It's a wonderful feeling.

I'm not going to wait for that smelly lift, the stairs will do and only three flights.

Oh here they come, my next door neighbour's little girl Cara and her best friend Sam. It's a bit awkward on these stairs but they're lovely girls, so polite and courteous.

They wait for me to make my way carefully down before skipping up the stairs. Inseparable they are, always holding hands, usually singing the latest chart songs, I'm assuming. Words that don't really suit their cute little mouths and gyration of the hips which reminds me a little of myself as a kid. A girl eager for womanhood.

"Hello girls." I call out as they pass.

"Hello!" Even the way they speak sounds like a song. Their voices high pitched and cheerful. Their innocence and expectation to the world around them gives me hope. I can't help but smile.

As I make my way out of the estate towards the train station, I feel the gaze of passers by. The traffic at a standstill, as it often is at this time on a Saturday evening. I know I should look up and meet people's gaze, smile, or wave. It's the polite thing to do but I don't feel that confident just yet.

One step at a time.

Car horns beep, wolf whistles. They're whistling at me. I'm so self conscious. I stumble once or twice, it's these bloody heels but a stumble here and there isn't going to stop me. Women stumble in their high heels all the time. I've seen them, it's no big deal. I don't think anyone is actually going to work out that this is my first time ever wearing stilettos outdoors.

I've had years of practice at home. Suppose it's a little different on carpet or on kitchen lino. I've bought tons of pairs over the years with no intention of venturing out in them. I have to admit I love the whole process. Browsing online, comparing the prices from different stores. Though my favourites are Amazon and Ebay. There's so much choice for everything.

Come to think of it, that's how I usually spend my Saturday nights, browsing the clothing stores online, checking for bargains. Blasting my CD. I can hear them now, Bowie and Jagger. 'Dancing-in-the-street. Ohh it doesn't matter what you wear, just as long as you are there.'

Loosing myself in the music.

The train slowing into the station has bought an abrupt stop to the music in my head. Music does that for me every time. I feel ten feet tall and light as a feather.

Now to board the train with this steady flow of people rushing off in the other direction. It's like swimming upstream.

Standing room only but that's OK.

'I won't let the sun go down on me, I won't let the sun go down'.

Nik Kershaw will keep me occupied until I get to my stop. I know people are staring at me though, I can feel eyes burning into my skin from all directions and it's so hot.

It's fine because I know I look stunning. Envy is an ugly trait. I just have to keep my head down, drown out all the background noise which is throbbing louder and louder and just focus.

I wish I could sit down, take the weight off my feet, rest a little before my big night. I've got several hours in these heels. But I'll be just fine.

'Mother Nature isn't it, three hundred million years'.

My stop, didn't even feel like a cool minute. Everyone seems to want to get out at my stop.

Pushing, shoving. Grabbing hands. Shouting. Mayhem. Chaos.

Off the train but if I can just get out to the street, I'll be fine. My head is pounding. Heavy on my shoulders. I grab hold of the rail and peer up the stairs. There's so many. I can still hear the shouting and screaming. Such a rowdy bunch but I suppose that's to be expected on a hot summer Saturday evening.

My feet feel heavy. I'm sure I could get to the top quicker on my knees but there's no let up.

Stomping, kicking, beating, fists all over me.

Blackness.