The Places I've Cried in Public

by Holly Bourne

  The moment was gone. Not even Reese’s charm could resuscitate it.

  “Come on, let’s get you home.” He put his arm around me and we walked along through the black of the alleyways, my guitar swinging against his back. He was already behaving like my boyfriend or something, even though we’d only known each other for an hour. It felt weird and yet…right? Sort of. I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that the night had tumbled completely out of my control.

  I managed to ask what subjects he was taking.

  “Music, music tech and business studies, so I can learn how to manage the band better,” he replied.

  “Wow. You’re really determined to make it. My parents are making me take psychology and English as ‘backup’.”

  “That’s ridiculous. You don’t need anything as backup. Not with your talent.” He gently put a hand on my shoulder. “You’ve just got to believe in your music,” he said. “The industry is too hard to have even a sliver of doubt that you don’t deserve to be singing your songs. I see what I want and I work for it. I believe I can get it. That’s why some people make it and others don’t.”

  “I’ve never heard anyone talk the way you talk,” I said, stealing another look at him.

  “I’ve never heard anyone sing the way you sing.” He stopped and turned, like he was going to kiss me. And I would’ve let him this time. A million trains could’ve charged past and I wouldn’t have moved a muscle, as long as it ensured he actually kissed me. But he didn’t. Instead, he reached out and took a plait from my hair, wrapping it around his finger. “God, you’re pretty.”

  I stood there, waiting for the kiss. Totally confused as to why I wanted this complete stranger to kiss me, especially with Alfie back in Sheffield. My hair rippled in the breeze and I started to shiver as I waited. He still didn’t kiss me though. He turned and carried on walking out of the alleyway.

  “Tell me about your parents,” he asked, like we hadn’t just shared the moment of all moments. “What do they do again?” And I had to scuttle to keep up with him as we carried on our way home.

  “This is me,” I said, when we arrived outside my new block of flats.

  He pulled my guitar off and handed it back in a way that made our hands deliberately brush.

  “Can I take you out?” he asked. Again, just like that. Everything about him was just like that.

  “I don’t know,” I stumbled. “There’s someone…back home.” I’d eventually remembered Alfie.

  “You have a boyfriend?”

  “No…well, yes. I did…”

  “So you’ve broken up?”

  “Yes, only a few weeks ago.” I nodded, feeling the grief arrive, though it wasn’t as stabbing as it usually was. Because I was already interested in Reese. A tiny piece of my heart had already been chipped off, ready to have his name carved into it, leaving a little bit less of it to hurt about Alfie.

  “It doesn’t have to be a date,” he pressed. “We could just get to know each other? At the very least, I’d love to write songs with you.” He smiled and it was the sort of smile that could be printed onto posters and sold to hysterical girls to pin over their beds. “I thought I should get to you first, after tonight,” he continued. “You’re going to be inundated with requests now. But I get dibs, right? I noticed you first.”

  Casual ownership of me. Another humdinger of a red flag. A flag so red a bull would freaking eat it.

  “I’m not sure,” I said, which was the truth.

  “Then think about it.”

  “Thanks for walking me home.” Out of nowhere I felt a strong urge to be alone. An urge to go inside and give myself space to think, away from this boy and everything that was going on.

  “So…are you going to think about it?” he pressed.

  I laughed again. “You’re very persistent, aren’t you?”

  He raised both hands. “Look, no pressure. I only want to get to know you.”

  I thought he’d lean in then, maybe at least give me a peck on the cheek, but instead he just left, with a flick of a wave and a “See you on Monday” called over his shoulder. He didn’t even ask for my number. I stood open-mouthed, watching him walk away, staying like that for a while. I could sense his presence in the air – it hung around like strong aftershave. I crossed my arms, sat on the wall, and I smiled. I let myself start to absorb the night, shaking my head, pondering in disbelief how life can be so drastically altered any time you leave the house.

  My phone went.

  Alfie: Hey. How’s things? Hope it’s going OK down south

  Alfie’s message arrived too late and too not-like-Alfie to save me. There was no kiss, no in-jokes, nothing personal. He could’ve safely sent that to his gran. There was no apology or even acknowledgement that he’d not messaged in over a week. My heart twinged with sharp pain as I realized what this message meant… Alfie had begun the severance. I read it and read it again, looking for hidden meanings that would somehow appear, if only I squinted harder. But there was no other meaning than the one I’d instinctively come to. We need to let go a bit more, Amelie. We need to not behave like boyfriend and girlfriend any more.

  The timing seemed cosmic. There I was – having met Reese and feeling confused and guilty – and BAM, Alfie’s message arrives. Letting me off the hook. Setting me free…

  …free to completely and utterly annihilate my own life.

  You’re getting up now, with her. Back in this stuffy room, where I cried onstage all those months ago. You reach for her hand and she takes it. You fold her under your arm and you kiss the top of her head. I huddle up in my chair, retreating into my hood – envy souring my insides.

  You’re walking past and I hope you don’t notice me but I also really hope you do. You come closer, adjusting the buttons on your bottle-green waistcoat. I hate you all of a sudden. The hatred arrives distilled and putrid. Oh my god, I hate you so much! How have I not realized this? I can taste how much I hate you on my tongue. All the things you did to me cram into my head – all the ways you wore me away like a picture that needed rubbing out. I look up at you defiantly as you walk past but, of course, you ignore me, you fucking prick.

  Defiance metamorphoses into hurt. Tears bubble up. Oh great, I’m going to cry in public again, just like I’ve been doing pretty much permanently since I moved here. I blink up at the ceiling and then, once I’m sure the tears won’t fall, I make myself look around as a distraction. There are people eating and talking and laughing and not falling apart and not publicly humiliating themselves. I blink and blink and concentrate and concentrate and it takes a moment for me to realize you are standing right in front of me. I jerk backwards.

  “Reese?”

  “Woah, I didn’t mean to scare you.” You tilt your head, your eyes filled with caring. “Are you okay? You look…not okay.”

  I can’t breathe. I can’t believe you’re here, talking to me like you care, like I’m worth your time again. I look around. She’s standing by the door, waiting for you, looking at me like I’m pathetic, which I certainly am.

  “I’m fine,” I stammer. “Why wouldn’t I be fine?”

  You pull up a chair and sit on it backwards. You’re looking at me like you’re you again, the you I’ve not seen in so long. “Come on,” you say.

  We both know why I’m not fine. You just kissed the top of the head of the reason I’m not fine. “Shouldn’t you be with her?”

  I sound bitter. It was supposed to come out as enquiring yet mildly disinterested, but it comes out so bitter I’m surprised I don’t cough up a lemon.

  You make a pained face. “In a sec. I just wanted to check that you’re alright.”

  I nod as defiantly as I can. “Right as rain.”

  It comes out surprisingly convincing and you look shocked for a moment. You lean back. You breathe out. “Well, if you’re going to be like this.” You roll your eyes, you unwrap your legs from the chair, and you stand and adjust your hat. I feel like I’ve won a point. I’m almost smiling. You’r
e about to leave and I want you to stay but I don’t show it. I will hold onto this point. This one whole point I’ve somehow managed to score.

  And then…

  Then…

  You lean over, so close I think you’re going to kiss me again.

  “I do miss you, Amelie,” you whisper into my hair. “I’m worried I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life.”

  You are gone before I can compute. You were here and now you’re not here. I can still smell your breath in the air. I want to cry and laugh at the same time. The relief of it, oh the relief of it. You miss me! I knew you did!

  I miss you so much. I don’t hate you. I adore you! I love you! We have to get back together! We must! We are perfect! You are perfect! There’s never been two people more perfect.

  …But where have you gone?

  I guess I should tell you what I’m doing.

  You’ve probably not been taking much notice of the special college project going on. You’re too busy being infuriating and ruining lives and making me love you and hate you at the same time. But I’ve been taking notice because I have literally nothing else going on in my life right now, apart from all the despair. Two weeks ago, just before half-term, we got called into some big assembly in the college auditorium, though it was non-compulsory so not many people bothered turning up – you included. Hannah and Jack were there though, holding hands and still ignoring me. I sat in the front row and wondered how long I could go without running to cry in a toilet cubicle.

  Our head teacher, Mr Jenkins, got up onstage. I hadn’t really seen our head before. He only taught general studies, which literally no one went to.

  “Hi, everyone,” he said. “Thank you for coming, especially just after lunch. We teachers call this the ‘witching hour’.”

  He laughed extensively at his own joke, as tumbleweed blew across his feet. I wanted to turn to my left and roll my eyes, but nobody had sat on my left because I have no friends now. I may as well have had my own little patch of tumbleweed next to me to keep me company.

  “Anyway,” Mr Jenkins continued, “I have some very exciting news. I’ve just found out that our college has been asked to take part in a brand-new project for the Victoria and Albert Museum.” He paused to let the excitement that none of us felt sink in. “Riiight. The project is called The Memory Map and it’s very interesting…”

  And you know what, Reese? It was super fucking interesting, even with Mr Jenkins explaining it. The museum wants to collect the memories of spaces. They’re starting with our tiny part of the country, our sliver of nowhere.

  “Think about it,” Mr Jenkins said, pacing the stage with excitement. “Think about all the memories that have been made just in this very auditorium. Think about all the first days of college that have happened here, all the memories created by people sitting in the very seat you are sat on right now. Think of the plays that have been performed here. Right now, right this moment, you are making a memory. You are sat in a chair in this room, and you will always have the memory of this being the place you were when you first found out about memory-mapping.”

  There are so many memories, Reese, lurking in all the spaces of everywhere. They lie trapped like frozen ghosts, existing only when someone who knows of that memory thinks about that particular time and place and their mind reactivates it. We walk through these ghosts all the time, not knowing we tread the footprints of another person’s story. Just one bench on top of a viewpoint could be harbouring so many stories. It could be the bench where a couple broke up, or where another couple had their first kiss. It could be the bench where someone thought about taking their own life, or where they got the phone call that something amazing had happened. Layered in just one bench there’s an infinite amount of memories. Multiple people living near one particular bench could all share it as special without even knowing each other. We leave behind echoes of our lives everywhere we go, trapping them into the fabric of the world around us. And that’s what the museum wants help collecting. They want us to pick certain points in town and write out the memories anonymously to be in this exhibition.

  “Of course the college has agreed to help,” Mr Jenkins said, rubbing his hands together with the importance of being asked. “I said lots of students would be willing to contribute their memories of here and the surrounding areas.”

  Have you guessed it yet? You’re clever enough, Reese – well, you always acted like you were. Smarter than me, smarter than your teachers, smarter than anyone. So you’ve probably figured it out by now. I’m making a memory map. About you and all the places you’ve made me cry. I reckon it’s going to hurt like hell, but it’s the only thing I can think of to figure this whole mess out. It’s my only hope of getting over this, and I’m grabbing it with both hands and I’m determined to not let go until I can understand. Let’s call it “psychogeography”, let’s call it recovery, let’s call it therapy, let’s call it closure.

  God knows if it’s any of those things, but I’m going to retrace all these places and I’m going to see if it helps me figure you out. Because I can’t figure you out. You’ve not called or messaged since you spoke to me in the refectory yesterday. Since you said you missed me. I’ve been jumping each time I imagine my phone buzzing – which it never does.

  I couldn’t sleep again last night. I just kept replaying what you’d said in my head, and coming up with all these scenarios of what will happen now. How you’ll turn up outside my window and say it’s all been a big mistake. How you’ll take me in your arms and kiss me and tell me everything’s going to be okay. How you’ll be so desperate to win me back again you’ll shower me with love and affection and promises, and it will go back to how it used to be, but this time it will stay like that for ever. It won’t go bad this time.

  Because it went really bad last time.

  So here I am, at spot number three, where I cried after our first date. You don’t know I cried that night. I’m only just starting to understand why I did. It seemed so strange at the time, to break down in tears after what was, undoubtedly, the best evening of my entire life. But I did.

  I’m supposed to be in a psychology lesson now but I can’t bring myself to go. I made it halfway to college and then got all messed up by your lack of message, so I about-turned and came here to sit pathetically at this pathetic number thirty-seven bus stop. The posters are advertising different movies now, alongside a new mouthwash that’s supposed to solve all your life problems. But it’s the same place – place number three. Where, even after the best night of my life, you still managed to make me cry.

  Reese worked so hard for that first date.

  College was just as terrible as I imagined it would be when I came in the Monday after the contest. Everyone smiled as I went past, a few people whooped. I was on the radar – my worst nightmare. Luckily, the weather had broken so I hid under my umbrella and pretended I didn’t exist as I walked to form room. I arrived slightly late from all the human-dodging, only for the entire class to stand up and applaud me the moment I got through the door.

  “There she is, the superstar!” Alistair called as I scuttled to the empty chair next to Hannah.

  “I told them not to,” she whispered.

  I slunk in my chair and the clapping died down but I kept my eyes on the carpet. “Now, it must be a special day today,” Alistair said, “because Reese Davies has finally managed to find our little form room.”

  My head snapped up at the mention of his name. And there he was, sat right across from me. He tipped his hat at the class as my mouth dropped open.

  “Pleasure to be here,” he said to Alistair, while looking me right in the eye.

  “We appreciate you taking the time to come to this compulsory part of your education,” Alistair laughed. And I realized he must’ve been the guy who never showed on our first day. “Now, everyone, speaking of non-optional,” Alistair continued, “we need to talk about General Studies. Mainly because it’s not even October and yet loads of you aren�
�t going.”

  Reese smiled at me throughout the next twenty minutes, showcasing a giant cornucopia of smiles. Sometimes it was only a lingering smoulder-smile of hotness, one was a sheepish grin, and one a smug smirk at knowing he’d surprised me. At one point he crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue. Whenever I dared look up, I met his eyes. He didn’t once stop staring at me. My heart beat ten-trillion times a minute, and my stomach turned cartwheels under his scrutiny. I was aware of how every muscle in my body was arranged. My shyness rash bloomed and itched under my scratchy cardigan. I built myself up for our inevitable conversation when the bell rang, practising opening phrases in my head. “Fancy seeing you here”? Or maybe I should go with a joke about him following me? Therefore it was a total shock when he dashed out of the classroom the second form time was over, swinging his bag onto his back and practically running out the door. I shook my head, wondering if I’d just imagined the whole thing.

  “Where did you go the other night?” Hannah asked me as we packed up our bags. “You said you got home safe, but you’ve not told me how.”

  “Where were you?” I dodged the question, her comment about Reese being King of the Bell-ends still singing between my ears. “You and Jack vanished.”

  She sighed and flicked her hair back. “God, yeah, about that. We’ve both got a free next, haven’t we? Wanna go for a coffee? It would be useful to get your opinion actually. You know, as an outsider?”

  I nodded and pretended it didn’t hurt like hell that she’d just referred to me as an outsider. We walked briskly to BoJangles, hardly able to talk through the sleeting rain and ensuing umbrella wars. When we arrived, there was only one table left, at the front, by the steamed window.