The Budding Roses

Dear Simone

Wednesday 27th June

Straddling the kerbside, defying death as the 136 whooshed past, sending me swirling in to the air like a helium filled balloon set free from a net on the ground, I photographed the iconic scene, my friends all assembled like the comrades that we are; Natasha, Sarah, Harry, Liam, Niall and Louis, even poor Eleanor Baxter, I love them all.

We have gathered together here at the finish line. A full stop has been placed at the end of this pivotal chapter of our young lives, and we should be happy. No, happy is an understatement, we should be jubilant, euphoric, why the most positive adjective that ever existed, and about to embark upon endless weeks of a care-free, cider filled, snog fest with the fittest specimens that our youth has to offer.

Yet all I feel is misery. A dark cloud has descended over my head, bringing with it an eagerness to precipitate right all over my summer, the ironic bit being that it's not even raining outside. Alas I've chosen to spend these first few days of freedom swimming in tears, drowning in a never ending bath time, forever listening to the prophetic words of Boyzone. How does Ronan Keating know so well that my life is ending? My knees clamped to my chest, the tears keep streaming, tumbling from my face and on to my legs.

I'm hopelessly seeking an explanation, to better understand the reason for my suddenly sombre mood, but I'm unable find an answer; all I know is that there is now a rupturing hole in my life, and like Gaping Gill, the entrance is small and little light can get through, but beneath the surface opens up a great cavern of emptiness.

I'm choked by the realisation that Year 11 is over, and with no idea what I'm going to do tomorrow, or the day after that, for the rest of my life, I'm lost and mourning the death of my youth.

Never again will I walk to the fish shop on a Friday lunchtime and eat fish-cake sandwiches on the bench with my friends. Who knows if we'll even see each other again? Okay, I know we're going to Sixth Form together, but that's a very big place, with its own Common Room and vending machine and everything. Why does everything have to change when I was quite happy with the way things were?

'Simone, is there a problem?' Mother startled my dreary thoughts, her forceful knock hitting like a hammer on my head. I've been in the bath for nearly two hours; has she only just realised that there might be a problem?

'I'm fine, go away!'

'Are you crying?'

'No,' I sobbed, 'why would I be crying?'

'I've absolutely no idea, but I'm certain that you are. Right, that's it, get out of that bath now or I'm phoning the Doctor. It's not normal to be weeping like this, for no reason, and things could be a lot worse. You could have to go to work like me, and then you would know what true misery is.' I sank down into the bath, her words turning to a cotton wool filled noise as the water covered my ears.

Monday 2nd July

Natasha's altruism knows no limits. Having heard my wails she's insistent on rescuing me from this trench of self pity. Why I wish she'd realise that I might be happy here, mouldering amongst the wasteland, and bog off. Bunny rabbits and glee filled marshmallows are not to everyone's taste you know.

'This is supposed to be the best summer of our lives!' is all she keeps saying, but how can she be so cheery when there's so little certainty about her future? Doesn't she worry that in five years time, and after spending endless monies on our education, we'll end up penniless rejects answering phone calls from people whose washing machines and microwaves have broken?

Worst of all, she's put together a contingency plan to help me get a grip, but I think she must be confused; otherwise why would she believe that I would want to spend my leisure time enduring the company of Harry and Liam, and just how exactly will this help me smile again?