Don't Look Back

by Graham, Nicola

  Sully is there most days, and as the weeks go on, Terry and Diana spend more time together, and Sully and I find ourselves enjoying each other’s company, huddling close to stay warm on the cold winter afternoons. It gets dark early, and I have to be home before the street lights come on, so we only spend an hour or so hanging out, but we talk about many different things. I think he’s smart and clever. He makes me laugh, and he even teaches me some tricks with a football. It isn’t awkward or uncomfortable between us—we’re friends. In a way, he’s almost the brother I never had, and he becomes an essential part of my day.

  When the school discos start on Friday nights in the spring of 1984, things change between Sully and me. One Friday night, when the traditional slow song comes on at the end of the night, he asks me to dance. I accept, and we awkwardly stand on the dance floor, shuffling our feet round and round, surrounded by endless couples making out. I don’t know what to do with my hands, so I set them stiffly on his shoulders. His hands are gripping the sides of my waist. We don’t speak, we don’t look at each other, and we certainly don’t kiss. But as awkward as it is, something inside me leaps, and dormant butterflies stir for the first time in my belly.

  The song finishes, the lights come on, and Sully disappears, yelling “See ya!” over his shoulder like he can’t escape quickly enough. He doesn’t walk home with us that night; he leaves me to walk with the two love birds, Terry and Di. I see him at school only once or twice the next week, from a distance, and he isn’t at Terry’s at all. I am sad; I miss hanging out with him, and I feel like he is avoiding me. It isn’t the same sitting at the field by myself while Terry and Diana roll around together, hugging and kissing. I feel like a fool sitting alone, and I wonder what I’ve done to make Sully not want to be my friend anymore. I feel his absence tremendously.

  At the next Friday night disco, Sully is a no-show again, and Terry doesn’t seem to know where he is, nor does he offer any explanation or excuse for Sully’s behavior. The night drags on, and I don’t enjoy myself at all. I decide that I won’t be coming to the disco the following week, and I probably won’t be hanging out with Di much, either.

  At the end of the night, the lights fade, and the final song starts: Foreigner’s “Waiting For a Girl Like You.” Out of nowhere, Sully appears and asks me to dance, but this time there is something different about him. We find ourselves back on the dance floor, a little less awkward. His hands are much more relaxed this time, resting on the curve of my back. His body is less stiff, moving more fluidly to the rhythm of the music. He actually is good at dancing, and I feel my hands relaxing on his shoulders, our young bodies drawing closer together. I can feel his breath against my temple, and I can smell some sort of aftershave on him that I have never noticed before. I decide I like the aftershave, and I also like being this close to Sully. It feels … nice. At the end of the song, he doesn’t run off; instead, we wait for Diana and Terry and we all walk home together. Diana and Terry are in front, and Sully and I walk behind them in silence.

  “Where were you this week, Sully?” I finally find the courage to ask him.

  “My mum needed me to help her this week, so I wasn’t allowed out after school,” he replies, never taking his eyes off the ground.

  “I thought maybe you were in trouble or something. Will you be around next week?” I ask, hoping that he will say yes.

  “Yeah, I might be around next week, if you want me to.” Sully looks at me briefly, a bit embarrassed, but smiles his quirky smile that makes my tummy do somersaults. He quickly returns his eyes to the road.

  “Of course I want you to, I missed you this week. It’s been awful hanging out with Romeo and Juliet all by myself.” We both giggle at our pet name for Terry and Diana, then we are silent again and only our footsteps can be heard down Collgate Avenue.

  We get to the top of my street—the point at which I usually run off to my house—when Sully announces to Terry that he’s going to walk me home. Both Terry and Di stop, stunned by his announcement. I shrug at them in response; I don’t know why Sully is walking me to my door.

  We call out our goodbyes and separate, going in opposite directions. Sully and I saunter slowly toward my house, which is only about five houses down from where we split from our friends. I have to go down the side alley to the back gate to get in, as my mum left the back door open for me. Sully follows me down the narrow alleyway between our house and the neighbors. It is dark and quiet; the only light is the faint orange glow from the street lights on the main road.

  “Did you really miss me this week?” Sully whispers as we near the end of the alley, approaching my gate.

  “Yes, I was bored stiff!” I whisper back. “Please promise you’ll be there next week, otherwise I’ll have to tell Di I can’t go.” The thought of enduring another week as third wheel to the lovebirds is too much to bear.

  “What if you promise to be my girlfriend?” Sully is still whispering as he leans against the wall of the house next door with his arms crossed across his chest, staring at me, a fresh coolness about his demeanor. New self-confidence washes over him; it’s the same look he had when he asked me to dance tonight.

  I don’t hesitate. Looking into his eyes as best I can in the darkened alleyway, I say, “I promise.”

  In a flash, Sully roughly pecks me on the lips and rushes off, leaving me alone. Shocked, I stand there for a moment processing what has happened, listening to his footsteps running away as my fingertips softly touch my lips.

  And so begins our innocent love story. As the weeks go on, we blossom, and the relationship grows. The four of us are inseparable over the summer, and we spend all of our free time hanging out. Innocent kisses, hand-holding, and hugs soon turn into deeper kisses, lingering embraces, and exploring hands. We kiss for endless hours until our lips are swollen. At the disco, we become experts in the art of slow dancing. Being around him gives me butterflies in my stomach; I always want to be close to him.

  As time goes on, I start to call him Matthew. I decide it sounds more mature and special. Everyone else calls him Sully, but to me he is more than Sully.

  On a few precious, warm summer days, we take the train out to the seaside or meet by the river and go swimming. Seeing Matthew in his swimming trunks is a rare treat, and I enjoy feeling his bare skin on mine as we play around in the water. We seem to find any excuse to touch, curious yet shy. In the evenings, we start to spend more time as a couple away from Terry and Diana. We go to Matthew’s house, as his mum works a lot. We listen to music, read together, or lie next to each other on his bed, talking. It is during these quiet moments that our bond grows closer, forever connecting us.

  Matthew has taught himself to play the guitar, and sometimes he plays for me. He shares how tough his childhood has been, how mean kids can be about his darker skin. I have never given any thought to this, but hearing him speak, I am touched by how much the name-calling has affected him. He has felt inferior and self-conscious most of his life. My heart aches for him because he is handsome, smart, talented, and a beautiful person inside, too.

  He doesn’t know or remember his dad, and being an only child, he feels responsible for taking care of his mum. She is seldom home, working at the local supermarket during the day and a pub at night, struggling to make ends meet. They don’t have much, and I know Matthew is sometimes embarrassed about the clothes he wears and that he can’t afford to take me to the cinema. I tell him I don’t care. I love being with him and spending time with him; it doesn’t matter what clothes he wears or where we go. The summer of 1984 is by far the best summer of my life; at least, it is until my mum remarries in September.

  I haven’t been paying too much attention to the fact that my mum is getting serious with her American boyfriend, and when they announce they are getting married, I’m not too thrilled, but at the same time I don’t think it will affect me much. It isn’t until after their expedited wedding that they break the news to me that we’re moving to California in November, in two m
onths’ time. My mum can’t contain her excitement; it is the only thing she can talk about, and there isn’t an ounce of regret in her voice. It’s as if she can’t wait to escape the confines of Harptree. I hate them all for ruining my life; I especially despise my dad for divorcing mum, because if they were still married, this wouldn’t be happening. He doesn’t want me; he is already remarried and happily living with his “new” family two towns over. His rejection was humiliating, unforgivable. This isn’t fair, but unfortunately, there is nothing I can do to stop it.

  The night I find out we are moving away, I run out of the house screaming at my mum after an enormous fight. I cry all the way to Matthew’s house. When he opens his front door, I am distraught, sobbing and out of breath, tears streaming down my face, and he pulls me into a protective hug, trying to calm me down. We lie together on his bed for what feels like hours before I am able to tell him what has happened; all the while he holds me tightly, stroking my hair, telling me that everything will be okay.

  When we start to kiss, I forget the horrid circumstances that brought me here, becoming swept up in the taste and feel of Matthew. I allow his hands to explore a little further, enjoying his touch and the feel of his body pushing against mine. Tonight when he walks me home, it is late, well past my curfew time, but I don’t care. We walk quietly hand in hand, and in the alley beside the house, he kisses me goodnight so tenderly that it moves me to tears again.

  “It’s okay, Kate, we can write to keep in touch. I’ll find a way, and as soon as you turn eighteen, you can move back here and we’ll get married. They won’t stop us, they can’t stop us,” he whispers, trying to console me again, pulling me up against him. All I can manage in reply is a sniffle. My heart is breaking. Four years I will have to wait until I am of legal age. Four years we will be separated. To me, four years is an eternity.

  CHAPTER 9

  The Kiss

  My final weeks in England are a complete blur, the goodbyes to my family and friends so painful that the memory is hidden away somewhere deep within me. Once we settle into our new California home, I send letters to Matthew and Diana, and so begins the exchange of air mail correspondence every month or so.

  At first, writing is easy; Di and Matthew are my constant, my rock, everything that is familiar and normal. But as the months progress, my letters grow shorter, and it takes longer for me to reply. I am caught up in a new way of life, a new school, new friends, and new boys. I miss Matthew, but the life I once had in England no longer exists for me. For Matthew and Diana, life in Harptree continues without me.

  I switch from being the awkward, shy girl in the shadows at Anderson James Senior School to one of the most popular girls on campus at North Valley High School. I am like a shiny new toy, and everyone wants to play with me. Suddenly I am considered “cool,” and my clothes are six months ahead of the fashions here. The boys fight over who is going to take me on a date, and the girls want to be my new best friend. The transition is stressful on my young spirit, and yet exciting, too. I am a hormonal teenager dealing with extreme circumstances, desperate to fit in, torn between who I once was and who I am becoming, adapting as best as I can. I often feel like part of me is left behind, still attached to England, unable to break free. It is overwhelming. During those times, I find myself writing to Matthew or Diana.

  The problem with writing to Matthew is that I find myself unable to tell him everything that is going on in my life, and it becomes almost a chore to plan a letter that won’t hurt his feelings. I miss Matthew, I love Matthew, but Matthew isn’t here, he isn’t physically present. Other boys are—cute American boys with their accents, flashy cars, and suntans. I resist at first, but eventually it becomes impossible. Soon our correspondence lapses into longer periods of silence, and Di mentions less and less of Matthew in her letters. Eventually, she doesn’t mention him at all, and before I know it, I become caught up in new friendships, romances, homework, and Friday night football games. The last piece of mail I receive from Matthew is a birthday card in September of 1985. No letter, just a card signed “M.” We don’t even manage to survive a year.

  A year and a half after moving away, we return to England for a vacation to see our extended family in the summer of 1986. I am so excited to be going home, and I write to Diana in April, once we book our flights. We have plans to be in Harptree on Friday and Saturday, and that will be my only opportunity to see her during the two weeks we will be home. Diana writes back, thrilled about my upcoming trip, and says she has made plans for us to go out on Friday evening with Terry and his brother Joe.

  My heart sinks when she doesn’t mention Matthew, but I know I am the cause of this. I haven’t heard from him in eight months, and I haven’t bothered to reply to him, either. I manage to keep him out of my mind by dating someone new every couple of months. When I start to become bored with the new boy or find myself comparing him to Matthew, I move on to the next one. I convince myself that going back to Harptree will be good because I can prove to myself that my feelings for Matthew are a silly, childish crush and nothing more.

  I could not be more wrong. From the moment I step back into Harptree, everything reminds me of him and of how much I have missed my home. We are staying with family friends who live across the street from our old house. Everywhere I look has a memory that includes Matthew. As I walk to Diana’s house, it seems that with each step I take, I am walking in the shadow of a memory. I can hear our laughter, I can feel us holding hands, feel us running down the street chasing the ice cream man, and I can feel us kissing in the dark under the street lights. We are everywhere, yet nowhere at all.

  I turn the familiar corner to St. Bernadine’s Close, adjusting the heavy bag on my shoulder full of clothes and makeup, and continue all the way to the end of the street. I arrive at Diana’s white front door and ring the doorbell. I hear her scream from upstairs and then watch through the obscured glass of the door as Diana’s silhouette rushes madly down the stairs to greet me. Our friendship has not suffered; despite the hardship of being pen pals, we somehow have managed to survive, and I know we will remain lifelong friends.

  We giggle while getting ready to go out. Diana is obsessed with my new American clothes, trying on everything I have brought with me. Diana hasn’t changed at all since I left, with the exception of being almost sixteen. I, on the other hand, have changed a lot. The California influence makes me appear out of place. I am tanned, bleached blonde, and now about five feet six inches tall, towering over poor Diana. My hair is teased and sprayed in a big eighties style, and I wear a lot more makeup than most English girls do. I suppose I have blossomed, and I am no longer the simple, plain young girl who said goodbye to Harptree. It feels amazing to be back with Diana; as much as I like my new American girlfriends, nothing compares to being with someone you’ve known forever.

  By the time we finish getting ready, I have put Matthew out of my mind and can’t wait for the night to begin. Jenny snaps a couple of pictures of us with her new camera before we leave for our night on the town. We are off to a club and a couple of pubs. I have forgotten that the social scene is drastically different here. As long as we look sixteen, we can get into pubs and drink—so different from the strict laws in California that I’m starting to become accustomed to. I am home, and tonight I am going to get a taste of what my life would be like if I had stayed here.

  Terry and Joe call round, and after quick hellos we walk up to the town, chatting and catching up. They are both shocked at how different I look, which surprises me, as I don’t think I’ve changed that much. Apparently, I have underestimated my transformation. We call into the Ole Magpie pub on the way, their usual Friday night first stop. After one drink, we move on to the next pub, St. George’s in the Town Square, which I recall being a very popular hangout. The place is packed, and we end up standing in a corner, practically yelling at each other over the music and loud voices, attempting to have a conversation.

  I find myself scouring the room for a famil
iar face. What does he look like now? Is he here? Why hasn’t anyone mentioned his name? As I search through the smoke-filled room, I recognize a few faces in the pub. Some of my old school mates come up and say hello, others smile and wave, keeping their distance. The girls give dirty looks while the boys stare. Alas, Matthew is not one of them. I start to feel uncomfortable. I expected to fit in here, this is my home, but it appears I don’t belong here anymore, and the realization hurts. I start to wonder whether I belong anywhere. Two drinks leave me feeling a little lightheaded, so when it’s time to go to the club, I am glad for the fresh air and the short walk through town. I hope they will clear my thoughts and sweep away my negative feelings.

  The club is amazing, definitely not something I’m allowed to experience in California, and a million times better than the school discos I attended. Lights and lasers project everywhere, dancing off the mirrored walls and ceilings to the beat of the music. The deep bass thumps loudly as the DJ plays the latest sounds. Booths surround the dance floor on two sides, and a large bar spans the entire length of the building on the other side. Upstairs is a large, casual seating area as well as pool tables, video game machines, and bathrooms. Diana and I hit the dance floor straight away when Wham’s “Freedom” comes on, and Terry and Joe head upstairs for a game of pool. We don’t see them again for the next hour or so until we leave the dance floor, exhausted and sweating, in search of refreshment.

  Joe, pulling some connections with the DJ, has managed to secure a booth for us for the rest of the evening. The booths, large semicircular black couches with tables in the center, are built on a raised platform with a decent view of the dance floor. Each one is large enough for eight or ten people to sit comfortably. Diana and I pop out occasionally for a dance whenever a good song comes on, leaving Terry to contentedly watch us come and go while enjoying his beer and people-watching. Joe has caught the attention of a couple of young ladies, and he is busy entertaining them at one side of the table. I admire his flirtation skills as the three of them head to the bar to get a round of drinks.