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Fireworks

Wendy Taylor

    When I was eleven, I had no friends.
    And all the time before I was eleven too.
    ‘Don’t be silly,’ Dad always said. ‘You have friends. What about that nice Julia who used to come here after school?’
    The Julia in question only came to play, because my mother was paid to look after her, while Julia’s mother went to work.
    I never reminded Dad of that
    Then he would ruffle my orange hair.
    Yes, orange, not red, fire engines are red. Now the envy of my peers who are all going grey, while I stay flame maned, it was the subject of ridicule at school. To be fair, it was not just my hair that was the cause of this juvenile harassment. I was also blessed with orthodontics, spectacles, freckles and limbs that turned into Catherine wheels, whenever I moved faster than a slow amble.
    Grandma always reminded me of the fable of the ugly duckling and told me to be patient. I would grow up into a beautiful swan. I would rather have been a beautiful swan back then. Like Laura, with her swinging sheen of hair, spectacle-free eyes, soldier straight teeth and feet she never tripped over. Laura had loads of friends. They huddled in a large herd, Laura in the middle, boys circling in a cloud of deodorant and testosterone, while I retreated to the seating outside the library. The irony is that Laura now has an equally gorgeous wife, so all that prancing was wasted on her.
    Also, science was my favourite subject at a time girls weren’t supposed to like science. Sugar and spice considered to be more the vibe for us. I loved the intrigue of the unknown and the unexplained. When I strode up to the library issues desk, with books on space and how to make stuff out of rubber bands and pencils, the librarian always said, ‘getting stuff for your brother, how sweet.’ I would just nod in agreement.
    So, there you have it. I was different. Odd. Kids don’t like kids who are odd. I guess they think it makes them odd by association. Back then, I wished I was braver. I would have run up to the coolest kids, tapped them on the elbow and run off chanting, ‘touched you, now you’re weird.’ On reflection that in itself was probably weird. Instead, I kept to myself, sitting outside the library reading my books, or just watching everyone. Mostly the other kids stayed away, ostracization their main tool of hate. But there were times they hid behind doors tripping me up as I came through. Sticking notes on my back was another favourite. I pulled them off, screwed them up and threw them in the bin without reading them.
    That was my life. I was eleven and had no friends.
    When I was eleven years old, two months, and six days old, it changed.
    It was fireworks night, a celebration of a dead person who did something cool in our town a hundred million years ago. I hated fireworks night. All the other kids went in their clusters. I went with my parents. Even my gangly, lippy, little brother skipped off with the equally vile Rob and Mikey.
    I tried to dress cool that night. But with orange hair everything just clashes. Green tee-shirt, red cargos. No, I looked like a traffic light. On Laura that would have looked like a clever, ironic, colour wheel, opposites, combination. I settled on blue jeans and a grey hoodie.
     Fireworks night was always at the sports grounds on the edge of town that was named after another dead person, who did something cool a hundred million years ago. We have since discovered that the something cool in both cases was not cool and both the fireworks night and the sports grounds were renamed last year.
    Hood pulled over offending hair, mouth clamped over orthodontics, spectacles abandoned, I trailed behind my parents, scuffing feet sending up flurries of dust. Food cart aromas assaulted my nostrils: sugar candy, fried meats and pungent sauces. An offer to buy me a snack by Dad clutching a takeaway coffee. I declined. Food spilled down my front, a guarantee that I could do without. Shoals of people swarmed. We stopped to watch acrobats, stick thin limbs twirled and danced over and around each other. A prod in my back. I know not to turn around. It would be a kid from school seeking a reaction. Stifled giggles. I was right. Footsteps scuttled away. I tried not to care but I do. Lead sat in my stomach. Shards of ice, flit around my heart. There were groups of kids hanging out everywhere. I spied a clutch that is not one of the top cliques hanging out by the soda stand. Someone broke away. It was Liam. Dark fluffy hair fell across his left eye. He brushed it back impatiently. He did that a lot. Not that I watched him. Well, yes, I did, but then I watched everybody. He stuffed his hands into his stonewashed jean pockets and ambled over to me.
    A dare. The others will have dared him to do something to embarrass or taunt me.
    I stand tall. My parents have wandered on. At least they will not witness the put down.
    Liam stopped in front of me, blocking my way.
    He smiled.
    ‘I think the experiment you did for the school science fair last year was super cool.’
    I stood there frozen. The proverbial deer caught in the headlights.
    Where was this going? Where was the jibe?
    ‘Can I be your partner this year?’
    Everyone always has partners. Except me.
    He smiled again.
    So did his eyes.
    I think he meant it. It wasn’t a joke.
    I nod.
    The crowd surged around us, jostled him into its depths and he was gone
    Sparkles erupted, fizzles, flashes of red, orange and yellow.
    Fireworks.
    Or perhaps it had been my insides.

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