You Only Live Once

by Jess Vallance

  ‘I’m a people person! I’ve just realised. I like people! I just never get to meet any new ones!’

  ‘Ha!’ Til closed her eyes again and put her head back down on the grass. ‘Shut up, Grace, you are not a people person.’

  ‘I am, Til. I honestly think that’s it. That’s why I went so mad in my room, studying all the time. When you’re a people person like I am, you need to meet new people to stay energised. I read about it once.’

  ‘Right,’ Til said.

  From where I was sitting, I could see two people – a man and woman, probably in their early twenties – sitting in a patch of sunlight over towards the pond. The man was lying on a rainbow-coloured blanket. The woman was spinning a hula hoop around her arm.

  ‘Oh my god, Til, it’s them,’ I said quietly.

  ‘Who?’ Til said, turning her head in the direction I was looking but not sitting up.

  ‘Remember when I had my epiphany on the way back from the hospital? When I realised I was going to start living for the moment? It was those people who inspired me. It’s like they were my … my muse. I saw them and I knew it was how I wanted to be. Free and happy and in the moment.’

  Til sat up now and looked at them properly. ‘They look drunk.’

  ‘They don’t.’

  ‘Actually, they look insane.’

  ‘They don’t! They just look relaxed, like they don’t have anything to worry about except being right here right now.’

  ‘That’s what insane people look like.’

  Til lay back down and I carried on watching them as the woman started twirling the hoop around her waist.

  ‘I’m going to go and talk to them,’ I said.

  Til didn’t even open her eyes. ‘You are not.’

  ‘I am.’ I got to my feet. ‘Because I’m a people person. And they are definitely people.’

  Making Friends

  Til opened one eye to watch me as I made my way over to them.

  I’d only taken about three steps when already I’d begun to change my mind. What in heaven’s name was I going to say to these perfect strangers? If I’d been in the park alone I would have veered away, changed direction and headed for the ice-cream kiosk or the toilets or something. I wouldn’t have seen it through. But Til was watching me and stubborn pride kept me on a steady course for where they were sitting.

  I stopped a couple of metres away from them and fiddled with a piece of bark on a tree for no other reason than that it gave me something to do with my hands.

  ‘Cool hooping,’ I said casually.

  Was that even what it was called? Or was it ‘hula-ing’?

  ‘Ah, thanks, babe,’ the girl said, stopping the hoop and holding it steady around her middle.

  She had an accent. Australian. I might have guessed. Everything about her seemed Australian. Even from a distance I could tell she probably grew up walking barefoot on sun-drenched beaches, surfing and barbecuing. Saying ‘no dramas!’ to anything and everything.

  She stepped out of the hoop and held it out to me. ‘You wanna go?’

  My first instinct was to say no – old habits die hard, after all – but I stopped myself.

  ‘Sure,’ I said, taking the hoop and stepping into it, in the assured manner of someone who was very confident about their own abilities to propel a plastic ring around their middle with the force of their pelvic swing alone.

  The only thing was, it turned out that hula-hooping is hard. The hoop spun once around my waist before dropping unceremoniously to the floor. I tried again, but managed even less than one full rotation that time.

  I decided it was best to laugh it off. ‘It’s been a while!’ I said, handing back the hoop. The girl gave me a supportive smile.

  The boy, who was lying on the grass, leaning back on his elbows, held a bag of Doritos out to me. ‘Crisps?’ he said.

  I had to bend down to reach one so I took the opportunity to transition seamlessly into a seated position. This was taking things up a level, I knew. Sitting down, sharing their little patch of park, without formal invitation. I felt very bold indeed. And also very aware of the potential for social awkwardness here. Would they clear their throats uncomfortably, and make some excuse about why I should move on now?

  They didn’t.

  ‘I’m Spider,’ the boy said, through a mouthful of crisps.

  ‘I’m Grace.’

  ‘Well, hey there, Grace,’ the girl said, setting the hoop spinning around her again. ‘I’m Vicky.’

  That was that.

  I couldn’t get over how easy it all was. It seemed like all you had to do was have a look around for someone you thought might be interesting, sit down next to them and introduce yourself. So why on earth had I stuck so rigidly to the same social circle for so long?

  After ten minutes or so, Til obviously realised I was making myself at home and she ambled over. ‘I’m gonna head off then.’

  ‘OK,’ I shrugged. I could have asked her to join us but I knew she’d only sit there with her eyebrows halfway up her forehead making it quite clear she thought they were ‘insane’ or whatever it was she’d said. Anyway, I didn’t have to do everything with Til, did I? She’d been pathetically central to my social life for too long. It was time to branch out!

  ‘Bye then,’ Til said, somewhat coldly.

  ‘Bye!’ I waved cheerfully.

  My Idols

  ‘So, you live around here, Grace?’ Vicky said, leaning her hoop up against a tree and sitting down next to Spider.

  ‘Up there,’ I said, pointing vaguely towards the hill behind the park. ‘You?’

  Vicky laughed. ‘We live everywhere!’

  ‘Oh, OK,’ I said, frowning slightly. This seemed an unusual answer to a straightforward question.

  ‘We move around a lot,’ Spider explained. ‘We follow the sunshine. And the work. The seaside is best for both in the summer. Loads of tourists. So yeah, we live here, for now.’

  ‘What work do you do?’ I asked, then immediately cursed myself. ‘What do you do for a living?’ was such a boring, judgmental question.

  They didn’t seem worried though.

  ‘Anything,’ Spider said with a shrug and a smile. ‘Bar work. Busking. He nodded towards a battered old acoustic guitar covered with black and white stickers. ‘We just wake up and … take the day from there. If you know what I mean.’

  ‘Wow,’ I said, and I meant it. When I’d spotted these two here in the park on my way home from the hospital, and randomly taken them as my inspiration, as my sign that I needed to stop waiting and start living, little did I realise how completely their lifestyle would encapsulate my ambitions. To just wake up and take the day from there! That was what I was talking about.

  ‘What do you do with your time?’ he asked.

  I shrugged. It was a good question. I was only just working that out myself. ‘I just finished my exams so I was doing that …’

  ‘And now?’

  I laughed and lay back on the grass. ‘Whatever I feel like!’ I hoped I was able to make this sound enigmatic enough to disguise the fact I couldn’t think of anything substantial to say about my interests or passions or, in fact, personality.

  ‘Cool,’ Spider said. And he didn’t press me any further.

  Vicky reached into a rucksack and pulled out a four-pack of beer. ‘You want one?’ she said, holding one out to me.

  ‘Sure.’ I took it from her.

  Why not?

  Vicky snapped open her own can, took a long sip, then lay down on the grass, her head resting in Spider’s lap. He stroked her hair, then he bent down and kissed her on the forehead once.

  ‘You guys are together then?’ I said casually, although inside I was wondering if the kiss was their way of letting me know I was a gooseberry, that I was crashing their date.

  Neither of them said anything. Spider just grinned and took a slug of his beer.

  I supposed that was a yes? Maybe they thought the question was rhetorical. Or just plain stu
pid. Clearly they were together.

  I wasn’t an accustomed drinker by any means. I’d had a can or two of Guinness with Til but that was it. I wasn’t sure what this beer was – it tasted like what I assumed rust would taste like – but I liked the effect it was having on me. I was experiencing a sensation like being enveloped in a warm, peaceful fog.

  ‘What’s on your jacket?’ Spider said, nodding towards it.

  I looked down at the breast pocket on my denim jacket and saw a dark wet circle that was slowly growing. ‘I don’t know …’ I reached inside. ‘Ugh!’ I said, as my fingers touched something soft and moist. I hitched it out. ‘Oh, Paddy …’ I muttered.

  After I’d asked Paddy to remove his chewed apple offering from my bed, he’d obviously decided to tuck it into my pocket, perhaps in case I fancied a snack during the course of the day and lacked the energy to chew my own fruit.

  ‘It’s apple,’ I explained. ‘My little brother likes to give me weird presents.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ Spider said, looking a bit bemused but laughing.

  And then I started laughing too. And then I found that I couldn’t stop. I knew it wasn’t that funny really but I was just overcome with it. I don’t know if it was the beer or what, but it felt good. I wondered how long it was since I’d really, properly laughed.

  Vicky lifted her head up and looked at me. ‘Oh god,’ she said, smiling. ‘We’ve got a lightweight here.’

  It was kindly, I felt, the way she spoke to me. She was smiling at me kindly. These people were kind. I’d come over, they’d welcomed me, given me delicious crisps and this wonderful magical can of alcohol and here I was laughing and laughing with them as if I’d known them all my life.

  Wasn’t summer amazing? Wasn’t life amazing?

  Time seemed to jump forward several hours in one go. The sun was slipping behind the trees and our patch of park became shady.

  Suddenly Spider sat up and said, ‘Let’s go to the beach.’

  Vicky said, ‘Is Bobby there tonight?’ without opening her eyes.

  ‘Should be,’ Spider said. Then he turned to me. ‘Want to come to a party, Grace?’

  ‘A party?’ I said. My (limited) experience of parties hadn’t been generally good. They normally involved being squashed into someone’s parents’ lounge with a random selection of people from school who I didn’t want to talk to, looking at my watch and thinking of an excuse I could give as to why as I had to get away early.

  ‘Our mate Bobby DJs outside Bar Ten. It’s pretty chilled. Just drinks and fires and stuff. Not really a party. Just a gathering.’

  Gathering. That was a code word I knew. Til had told me that that’s just what people say when they’re having a party and either a) they don’t want their parents to be alarmed or b) they’re trying to downplay it so if no one turns up they don’t look stupid. It seemed unlikely that either of these scenarios applied here though. Maybe it was just a gathering. Some free-spirited people gathering on the beach to listen to music and sit by fires and be free spirits together.

  I looked at my watch.

  ‘You got something to get back for?’ Vicky said. ‘Parents?’

  That settled it. I certainly wasn’t going to drift away early, to make my excuses, just for an evening at home with my parents. I didn’t want to be seen as that kind of person. I wasn’t that kind of person! Not any more.

  I was going to a party.

  PART 5

  During which I learn how to have FUN, for crying out loud

  Gathering

  I drank another can on the way to the beach and by the time we walked down the steps to the prom I felt a bit dizzy and very chatty.

  A table was set up outside Bar Ten with two stacks of speakers on either side. A man wearing a red-and-white bandana and a black vest was fiddling with some dials on a set of decks on the table. He was holding a pair of headphones up to one side of his head and nodding along to the music. It was something thumpy and electronic that I didn’t recognise, but I knew it must be terribly cool so I started to nod my head along too, and tap my hand against my thigh in the manner of someone truly appreciative of the craft. I figured this must be Bobby because when he saw Vicky and Spider he raised one hand in a wave.

  There were little camps of people in front of the decks – groups of three or four or five sitting around in circles on the stones, some of them with disposable barbecues in the middle, some of them on blankets.

  Vicky and Spider spotted some people they knew. Spider called over and waved, and I followed him over to them.

  There were four or five people in the group. Some male, some female. My memory’s a little hazy on the details. Vicky hugged each of them in turn, called them all ‘babe!’ (with an exclamation mark) and said things about it being so amazing to see them and how it had been way too long and weren’t they all looking beautiful and happy. I realised then that everyone was sitting down except for me. I stood over them, swaying slightly.

  ‘Sit down, girl!’ Vicky said, laughing and pulling me down by the sleeve. ‘Guys, this is Grace.’

  The people all said hello and Vicky told me their names. I can’t remember what they were exactly but it seemed to me that it was unlikely they were using the names that appeared on their birth certificates. They were all Rainbow, Pongo, Mango, Cheese – words like that.

  They all blurred into one, really, the people – tanned skin, hair bleached by the sun, ragged, faded clothing that looked like it’d been worn for a cross-channel swim then beaten against a rock to dry. I sat amongst them and gazed around at their faces in wonder.

  I’d never been with people like that before. People just sitting on the beach listening to music, just living. These people weren’t checking the temperature on the washing machine to make sure Mum didn’t shrink their best pyjamas. These people weren’t trying to work out how many pages they could read about sedimentary rock formation before they had to move on to work through a list of 408 quadratic equations.

  I listened to snippets of conversation without really joining in.

  One woman seemed to be complaining about an ex-boyfriend she’d just dumped for spending too much time at work.

  ‘He was always like, “I can’t, baby. I’m on a call to America, I can’t just leave.” On a call to America! What a loser. He was speaking to a fat man called Dwayne who worked in a hut in a car park in Idaho, not conferencing with the White House.’

  I laughed when everyone else laughed, and smiled when anyone looked at me. I didn’t say anything.

  ‘Yol-reet-tair-kit?’ one man said to me suddenly.

  I just looked at him. I was feeling so mellow and spaced out since my beers that I couldn’t even work up the energy to say ‘pardon’.

  Yol-reet-tair-kit, I said in my head. Yol-reet-tair-kit. What did that mean? Was he speaking English? Was he offering me a drug I didn’t know the name of?

  After a few moments of this confused silence, the man laughed. ‘I said: You. All right. There. Kid,’ he said slowly and clearly. ‘My accent a bi’ much for ye, eh?’

  I blinked. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion.

  ‘Your accent …’ I said stupidly.

  ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘Glasgow-born and bred. I’ll try and tone it down for you.’ Then he grinned. ‘You English!’

  I nodded and smiled back, like a mesmerised mute.

  ‘So, are you?’

  ‘Huh?’ I said.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes!’ I said. ‘I’m wonderful! What’s your name?’

  The man laughed again. ‘Tinks, remember? Vicks just told you.’

  I frowned. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘That sounds right.’

  ‘You like the music?’ he asked.

  I nodded.

  ‘Don’t say much, do you?’

  ‘I do,’ I said, sitting up straight and mentally pulling myself together. ‘I say lots of things! All sorts of things. I have a lot to say for myself.’

  Tinks laughed. �
��I’m all ears,’ he said.

  I took that as a challenge of sorts, and I told Scottish Tinks all about my brush with a potentially fatal tropical disease and my resolution – inspired by my sighting of Vicky and Spider that same day – to live every day as if it was my last. I can’t remember what Tinks said about my grand plan but I got the general impression he approved.

  I can’t remember what a lot of people said that evening, but people seemed to look at me with crinkles round their eyes. Laughing at me. Not unkindly, just like they found me amusing in some way.

  Prophecy

  I didn’t stay with Vicky and Spider and our little gang of Pongo Mango Cheddar et cetera all night. I roamed around. I mingled!

  I strolled around from group to group, taking it in turns to sit down with different ones. All of them tended to look at me with their heads on one side. All of them chuckled a bit. I told all of them about my epiphany, and recommended they follow the same plan. I was like a prophet! I just didn’t want anyone to make the mistakes I had.

  I told one girl about how long I had spent on my heat-transfer science project, going, inexplicably, into quite some detail. Even at the time I wasn’t sure why I felt the need to furnish her with quite so much information. I just found myself saying, ‘Heat energy moves by three methods, you see. Conduction, convection and radiation,’ and there didn’t seem to be any coming back from it by that point.

  ‘Anyway,’ I said as I realised people were starting to lose interest, to look in the opposite direction. ‘AN. Y. WAY. The point is, I was wrong! Wrong to waste so much time. There is no future. There is no past. There is only today. There is only this second. Oh wait! That one’s gone now! You see? Gone. Now there’s only THIS one. This second. And now this one. See how fast they move? Seconds? You can’t hold on to them! Don’t even try!’

  I realised I was shouting. The man I was talking to – I can’t even guess what his name might have been – held his hands up. ‘Woah, OK!’ he said, laughing. ‘I got it. No holding on to seconds. I won’t even try.’

  Just then I was distracted by the sight of two women. One of them was lying with her head in the other one’s lap.