The Budding Roses

Take That split!

Monday 14th February

Considering that I spent all of yesterday gnawing off my own hand in anticipation of seeing them again, it was quite the let down to find Natasha mournful and pathetic this morning.

'It's devastating, truly devastating,' she wailed.

'What's happened?' Had something terrible occurred in the wake of Saturday night? Had she seen them in the interim and they'd told her that we were the most dreadful kissers they had ever known, and that it was their duty to make sure every other boy at school was fully informed of our sub-standard abilities, so as not to let them make the same mistake that they had?

'Take That have split up!' She sobbed.

I'm dumb-founded. Firstly, Natasha needs a reality check and to get over some dweebs like Take That. It really is time she grew up and started listening to proper music like Portishead and Oasis, and secondly, has she forgotten what happened at the weekend? Why is she suddenly so concerned about the career choices of a bunch of soppy pop-stars, when she spent Saturday night snogging the face off Michael Butterworth?

I tried listening to whatever it was that she was moaning about but couldn't focus for I was all too busy straining my neck, desperately trying to see if they were headed to the bus stop, relieved that they weren't spreading the vicious rumours that my imagination had created.

My mind raced with a checklist of questions ahead of their arrival. What would we say to each other? Would they want to do it again? Just imagine if we could spend every Saturday night like that. Damn it, three minutes had passed and there was still no sign of them.

'What's the matter with you?' Natasha snapped.

My eyes were now moist, close to reaching that point when the first tear crosses the threshold of the lower eyelid, signalling the need to draw back a big sniff, to hold in all of the snot which is about to come flowing out if you are weak enough to let the dam of emotion burst.

'Just accept it, they're not coming.'

A golf ball clung to my throat. 'No, it's not that,' I lied, 'you're right, it's just devastating about the band, I mean what's going to happen to the boys now?'

Wednesday 16th February

Natasha has retreated in to an abyss of denial.

'They'll get back together. It's just a phase,' she kept whimpering. What's really confusing me is why she isn't the least bit interested in Michael and David's absence. For the third day running, nothing. Where are you my loves? Maybe it's got nothing to do with us and what happened on Saturday night, maybe something terrible has happened and they're hurt, lying injured in the field, and we need to act now, to put our egos aside for the sake of their survival? We need to hurry.

Thursday 17th February

As a means of self preservation, to protect my wounded heart from breaking any further, I have abandoned all expectation that Michael and David will attend the bus stop ever again. A three day no show means a fourth in a row is guaranteed.

Assuming that they're still alive then it's increasingly likely that this is it, it's over. Maybe that's why we got to snog them; it was God's parting gift to us?

The worst part is the self loathing. It's pathetic to be so bothered about two boys I barely know all the time. I'm starting to become as boy-mad as Natasha, who let's not forget is totally desperate. Plus all of this obsessing really isn't good for my studies. I need to focus more on my Maths and less on Michael and David.

I was practising this self motivating mantra when a splendid light broke through the weighty grey clouds. They were walking towards the bus stop. They were alive! The sun shone from above, reflecting on the ground and causing the path to open up into a glistening canyon of beauty. Oh how my heart swooned. Who am I trying to kid thinking that trigonometry will ever be a distraction from the lushness of this fine pair.

'Natasha!' I jabbed at Natasha who was engrossed within her Take That scrapbook, 'it's them, they're here!'

'Oh right, gosh, you hold that,' she threw the scrapbook at me. Great, now I look like the immature dweeb crying about a stupid boy band. Still at least her reaction proves that she hasn't had a complete lobotomy, and was in fact just lying to herself.

'Morning boys,' she waved.

What happened next has caused me a deep personal trauma, so substantial in its burden that it has left me whole heartedly in a state of confusion, and questioning the purpose of my lifetime on this land we call Earth.

Michael smiled in acknowledgement but David, well he didn't even so much as look at us. No, "Hi, how are you?" No, "would you like to meet up again?" They just stood there like two lumps of coal, holding their own conversation until the 136 arrived, and then they did what they always do; zoom straight to the back row to sit with the glamorous girls from their own year.

'Well that was very rude of them,'

'Maybe...' My voice trailed, my brain unable to generate an explanation for the heartbreak which had just happened.

'Maybe they're just really overwhelmed by how amazing we are at kissing, and the shock of it all has caused them to lapse in to a comatose state, immersed in a fantasy where they get to kiss us forever?' Natasha suggested.

'Really? Do you really think so?' I clung to her insightful words, reminding myself that she is never wrong.