By the Time You Read This

by Lola Jaye

  I couldn’t figure out where to put this, so I stuck it in the miscellaneous section (if I had my own way it wouldn’t even be a section, because I’m not sure I want some guy kissing you). But if my dreams of you having kids and growing old with your family around you are ever to materialize, then a kiss is probably likely.

  Sooooo…

  Here goes (deep breath, deep breath).

  Your first kiss.

  You’ve probably just had it or are about to. All I can say is, it will feel…well, rather crap actually. The good (or bad) news is, it definitely gets better with practice. Because first time round you’ll be all teeth and lip knocks. You’ll be paranoid about your breath. Or this could all be my own experience, while yours, well, yours could just be magical. Like Cinderella’s with her prince.

  Remember to enjoy it…but not too much!

  And I had.

  I smiled and leaned over to my bedside table, the picture of Dad smiling back at me. I was almost too embarrassed to face him, armed with the knowledge that I had, at last, broken my kiss virginity.

  I decided not to tell Carla. Not that she’d notice any difference in the way Corey and I interacted, because we waited until she left the room to sneak in a quick kiss. Gazing at one another across the dinner table as we tucked into Sunday lunch. Once, we even held hands under the tablecloth as Carla’s mom talked lipstick colors. An exciting moment in time and one that made me believe all that fluff they sang about in songs. But then I’d go home, sit on my bed, one-eyed teddy by my side, feeling confused at why I was thinking about Corey in THAT way. I’d known him most of my life and seen him as nothing more than…well, my best friend’s annoying older brother. Everything was weird now. Nice, scary, mad, exciting. But mostly nice.

  “When did you start fancying me?” asked Corey as we left Lanes Fish Bar, carrying his family’s dinner in two paper bags.

  “I never did!” I protested.

  “What? Never?”

  “You’re just looking for an ego boost.”

  “So what?”

  “You’re not getting one.”

  I felt a surge of delicious electricity as he grabbed my hand. “Go on, Lo Bag!”

  I pulled my hand away playfully.

  “I’m going to tell everyone about us,” he said, and I thought I’d burst.

  “Not today, though?” I wasn’t quite ready for everyone to know about “us.” Like The Manual, this was something for me that had nothing to do with anyone else. And I wanted to hold on to that feeling for as long as I could. Before anything had a chance to go wrong.

  One evening, as Carla ice skated with Antoine, Corey and I lay on the sofa staring blankly at the television screen.

  “Hello there!” said a voice. As we looked up, Carla’s mom sprang into focus complete with a huge grin.

  Corey and I jumped up simultaneously.

  “Mom!”

  “Relax, I’ve known for ages that something’s been going on,” she said, placing her sequinned handbag onto the settee, which was still warm with the heat from our bottoms. “Me and your dad aren’t complete plums, you know.”

  I smiled with the relief of it all, finally free to tell Carla the truth. Hoping she’d take it just as well as her mom. I was in love with her brother so this felt like the right thing to do, and Corey seemed to be in agreement as he walked me next door.

  “But let’s just wait for now. Mom won’t say anything.”

  “Why wait?” I said with pangs of paranoia. “Carla will be fine about it.”

  “Just give it till the end of the week, that’s all.”

  We kissed on the doorstep. The most magical of kisses and one I wouldn’t forget in a hurry, but for the wrong reasons.

  …I know that you’ll really like this boy, but remember to take things SLOW. I mean really slow, like a snail in a pushchair being pushed by ANOTHER snail drinking his third pint. If he puts his hand in a place you don’t feel comfortable with, tell him to get lost and that you’ll tell your dad on him and HE IS WILLING TO HAUNT.

  If he insists on taking things further too soon, he isn’t worth it. No matter how much you like this boy, NEVER do anything you’re not comfortable with. If he’s a good guy, he’ll respect you and your wishes. Remember my bit on boys, hormones and teabags? This doesn’t really go away, sweetheart, so always have that in mind. Admittedly, when it comes to you, I’m absolutely no use in these matters…So it’s probably better to talk to your mom about this stuff…

  I tensed up at the mention of Mom, knowing I’d rather place toothpicks in my eyes than talk to her about Corey.

  …She’ll know more about this stuff than me. Or perhaps you can talk to your best friend about it. Whoever you have, please talk. It’s a great way to see things more clearly.

  That night as I struggled with homework, my mind was consumed with Corey. Things we’d do together. How he made me feel. Contrary to what Dad had said on the subject, being friends for so long had to count for something. And not having to sneak around any more would mean holding hands, being together…I wondered if I should just ask him out on a date. A proper date, to mark the very first day of going public.

  Miscellaneous: Is it ever okay to ask out a boy?

  Yes.

  I think times have changed since my day (yes, you heard right—I’m sounding like MY dad!). But, remember, there’s a good and bad way to do it and it can be a bit tricky. Just try to be subtle, and after you’ve got the first bit out of the way: i.e. “Would you like to go and see a film?,” let the boy choose the film. Or if it’s to a burger bar, let him choose which one. We do still like to remain man-like, you know. Nevertheless, don’t listen to anyone who says a boy never wants to be asked out by a girl. That’s complete and utter garbage! It’s so rare for a girl to ask out a guy, so when you do, he’ll be elated, trust me on that. Go for it, girl—he’d be mad to turn you down anyway!

  Armed with a sudden bout of confidence, I called round at Carla’s the next day, to be greeted by her very tearful mother clutching a tissue.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked with a shot of alarm. My mind produced a horrible image of Carla or Corey lying dead on a slab.

  “No!” she sniffed, followed by a loud blow of the nose. My heart rate accelerated as I entered the living room. Luckily, Corey was alive and punching the air while Carla playfully ruffled what was left of her father’s receding hair. Nothing unusual there.

  “Corey’s been accepted to some fancy art college!” said Carla nonchalantly.

  I turned to Corey. “Congrats!” I wanted to jump into his arms and plant wet kisses on every inch of his face. I contained myself.

  “Cheers, Lo Bag.”

  “You must be so happy. I know this is what you’ve wanted.”

  “Yes…but…”

  “Have you told her where it is?” sniffed Carla’s mom.

  “Don’t upset yourself, it’s for the best,” offered her husband.

  “Where is it?”

  “Goddamn France!” said Carla.

  I looked to Corey for some type of credible explanation, but all he returned was a lopsided, almost drunken smile, perhaps lost in a world of self-congratulation.

  “France?” I willed the carpet to open up with a Lois-sized hole and swallow me into it, but of course it didn’t. Instead I listened to Carla’s mom crying at the injustice of it all, as I fought the urge to join her.

  “That’s great! Really great. I’m really happy for you,” I managed to mumble instead.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered a few moments later as I stood in his corridor.

  “No big deal, Corey,” I whispered back softly, before making my way home.

  In my bedroom, I easily located the cassette Corey had given me for my thirteenth birthday and placed it in my portable cassette player. I pressed play and listened to track two of LL Cool J’s album. “Around the Way Girl” flooded my earlobes.

  My favorite.

  do as i say, not as i did

&nbs
p; Kevin Trivia: I truly felt I’d become a man after watching Shaft with Charlie at the Coronet. A classic.

  My baby’s eighteen! Yeah! Even though you probably thought so five years ago, it’s now official—you’re a woman. How does it feel? Probably no different from yesterday, really. There’s always this big build-up to your eighteenth, and when it finally comes around you realize it’s just the day after you were seventeen.

  Yeah, right!

  This is MASSIVE.

  A big deal. And I bet your mom’s throwing you a huge party or you’re going out with your friends for your (first, I hope) legal drink. Whatever you’re doing I hope you mark it memorably, have loads of fun and don’t get too drunk, okay?

  Lois, now you are eighteen you have more power over what you do and I really hope you take advantage of this in a good way. Like, making sure you vote when it’s time. None of this “it won’t make a difference,” upper teenage rebellion crap. In some countries people are still dying for the right.

  And if you haven’t already, get a passport, learn to drive and save a bit of money each month. You might be thinking “What’s my old man on about?” but trust me, these will all come in handy one day.

  The Sunday Corey’s dad drove off with him in the passenger seat, and headed for Eurostar, the sky was full of the promise of rain. Carla’s mom was dabbing at her own damp eyes as the car disappeared up the high street, past Lanes Fish Bar then the rec, our former stomping grounds. There was Carla, uncharacteristically upset at the departure of her brother, attempting to keep her tears locked until at least bedtime. Me, rubbing her back supportively as I waved him off, stiff upper lip, to the outside world merely wondering if the rain would hold off for another day, already “over” the departure of the first boy I’d ever kissed. Even my personal goodbye, the previous night during the hasty get-together Carla’s mom had arranged, was calm and accepting of the situation. Corey didn’t say much to me, busy with the rest of his family and assortment of invited friends, although he did manage something about keeping in touch. Writing. Which I dismissed straight away because as I said to the outside world—Corey included—I was already over him. Right?

  “Be happy,” I said, because he looked anything but. He was about to reply, I think, before his tearful mother whisked him into the kitchen for something to do with cake. Like my feelings didn’t matter. Like I didn’t matter.

  As I said, I was over him already. Before that moment. Perhaps I had been on the day he kissed me for the very first time.

  Not to worry, I still had my dad, stacks of coursework, driving lessons and thoughts of my future to be getting on with, which regularly alternated between going to university (no way) or securing a job with a half-decent wage.

  I was already over Corey, I told myself again that night, as I sunk my tear-stained face into the belly of the one-eyed teddy.

  I got a job working at Freeman Hardy Willis shoe shop in Lewisham. The hours were regular and I was given a twenty percent discount that seemed to excite Carla more than me. Admittedly, the days were tiring. Stepping up ladders to locate “Miriam in red, size five” during a hot summer meant regular contact with smelly feet and prickly customers. But the independence that came with earning my own money outweighed any amount of bunions and foot fungi, and soon even Carla was a slave to that thing called a “work ethic,” getting herself a position with Marks a few doors down. We’d meet for lunch and ride the bus in together. And apart from launching into a progress report on Corey’s eventful life in Paris (which I really didn’t need, considering he’d managed one postcard since his departure) it was great.

  Dear Lo Bag,

  Paris is great. Such a beautiful city. You should see the art. I spent hours at the Musée du Louvre the other day. Wish I could move in! The Arc de Triomphe is also a wicked piece of architecture.

  Hope everything is cool.

  Take care,

  Corey x

  After a few months and the day of my nineteenth birthday, I was promoted to supervisor at the shoe shop and Carla announced her resignation from Marks, citing severe boredom. Although there was never any fun in tearing down defaced pictures of myself produced by colleagues jealous of my swift promotion, this wasn’t what forced me to leave…

  …this is the BEST time for you. No responsibilities, young and free. Get out there, Lowey, and explore, travel. Need help on where to go? Close your eyes and think of a sky and you lying under it—what would you be wearing? A (baggy) bikini? Fake fur coat with a woolly hat? Where are you, Lowey?

  Visualize it.

  Are you barefoot lying on a beach or trekking a dusty route near smallish mountains in thick hiking boots? Africa, Asia, Americas, Himalayas? You’re at an age when you’re probably broke, can’t afford much, but ironically it’s also the best time to travel (don’t worry, there will be times when you are older, but the freedom you have right now is priceless, you’ll see). If you’re at college or university, there’s always half-term. Get a Saturday job, save up, but just go. Anywhere. See the world. Discover how others live. There is so much of this universe to explore. You know, I always told myself I’d travel when I got my gold watch and retired. Me, you and your mom backpacking in Australia or something. We’d even talked about it a few times and I also liked the idea of going on safari in Africa before your mom quite rightly reminded me of my phobia (yes, your dad has one) of cats. I had to remind her that BIG cats were different to those small ones that roam the high street at night, squealing and scratching everything in sight. They’re different; big cats are manly cats! I’m digressing. Bottom line is, I had the dreams to travel and…well, we all know what happened to THOSE dreams. It didn’t happen then and probably isn’t about to happen now. I used to have this weird and basically unfounded thought that I had loads of time left at my disposal…well, more fool me.

  Growing up seems to happen in half a heartbeat.

  Tomorrow’s not guaranteed, so live today. See the world.

  Apart from that trip over as a child, I only got to go to Spain for my honeymoon and I so regret not traveling more when I had the chance. So do as I say, Lowey, NOT AS I DID.

  “I can’t believe she’s leaving a good job to gallivant around America for three months!” whined Mom to anyone who’d listen. Carla’s mom was at our kitchen table painting her nails a bright red as Mom prattled on and I made a pot of tea, my mind wondering about what the next phase of my life would hold.

  America.

  Although this wasn’t the land I envisaged once I closed my eyes, it was the most affordable thanks to a charitable organization called Jump America that made it possible for students and young people to “explore” America. They’d fix me up with a three-month job too, and all for the price of a subsidized ticket, with food and lodgings thrown in. I posted my application, knowing I’d be turned down anyway, but hoping for one summer not filled with Mom and the Bingo Caller alternating between Terry and June and Kathleen Turner and Michael Douglas from The War of the Roses.

  “I think it’s a great idea!” chipped in Carla’s mom, blowing on her newly painted red nails as Mom and I sat in her kitchen.

  “Thank you!” I replied gratefully.

  “If I hadn’t met the love of my life and had the kids so young, I’d have done the same. Traveled. That’s why I’m so pleased that Corey’s doing it—even if it has ripped my heart out.”

  I lowered my eyes at the sound of Corey’s name being mentioned and Carla’s mom smiled a knowing smile in my direction, acknowledging our “little secret.” I really wanted Mom to acknowledge my dad by recalling their plans to tour Australia, but all she did was nod her head and pretend to admire her neighbor’s newly painted nails.

  When my letter of acceptance had arrived, the shock was instant. I then went on to change my mind a million times, alternating between staying and going.

  “But I had loads of stuff planned for us,” whined Carla. And, admittedly, the guilt waded in, evaporating as soon as I heard Mom and the Bi
ngo Caller having a row in the kitchen. I wavered again when Corey was mentioned, who by the sounds of it was having a ball in Paris.

  But I wanted a piece of that.

  Dad was right.

  have life will travel

  Kevin Trivia: I was going to get a tattoo, which was all the rage, but at the last minute I “remembered” I had to go and pick up my mom’s laundry. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it…

  Among the confusion of delayed flights and changes to departure gates announced by a generic voice on a loudspeaker, I was still convinced I was doing the right thing. I just knew.

  “I feel like I’m losing another one!” wept Carla’s mom as we hugged. She smelled of citrus and was wearing a tiny spotted red miniskirt, which even at her age turned heads for the right reasons.

  “Take care of yourself,” I said, ruffling Carla’s hair. The generic voice mentioned another delayed flight to Washington. I was off to New York and my flight was leaving on schedule according to the display screen.

  “Bye, Lois. Bring me back something nice, eh?” said Carla.

  “Like?”

  “I dunno…” She actually scratched at her beautiful head like a cartoon character, but without the huge question mark hovering above.

  “Well…?” I said with mock impatience.

  “Sneakers?” she said as an afterthought. Her beautiful face then sprang out a mass of tears and sniffs. I couldn’t remember ever seeing her cry like that before. Not even when Corey left. Corey, who’d sent a grand total of two postcards and not bothered once to pick up the phone to call me.

  Mom appeared. “I’ve bought you some hard candies for the journey. They’ll help with the ear popping.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Take care. Make sure you eat properly. Not too many hot dogs. And you call me as soon as you get there.”