Cradling a drink close, I looked through the front door left wide open for guests and smokers into the crisp night air. Cold colours clashed against the stuffy heat inside the house. The chill gently crept in, curling against my exposed arms as the streetlight glow caught the spotting rain, drawing me out. Somewhere away from the music on repeat that I barely know.
As quickly as the urge pulled me a step forward I stopped and, instead, turned towards the sound of Orla’s laugh from the next room. The giggle edging on a snort was recognisable at a good distance – like a lawnmower whirring several houses down the street.
Downing the last of my drink and feeling that awkward pull for another, I walked through the crowded kitchen and plucked not my first Blue WKD from the fridge. A scrawny boy leaned against the counter with his flat backside obscuring the cutlery drawer. In that polite way which never needed full words, he understood and moved aside so that I could pluck the bottle opener from the bundle of straws, chopsticks and Calpol spoons.
Bottle caps littered the vinyl tops but I made the tight squeeze past more sweaty people to toss mine into the bin. Nana’s voice ingrained deep in my brain about the round scar on her knee from kneeling down on one so to not leave them lying around. Fat lot of difference it made in a stranger’s house with caps like confetti though.
Shuffling through people and the host’s affectionate cat – I spotted Orla in the corner of the living room, mid snickering and miming something for a joke I didn’t know the set up for.
Slinking down onto the arm of the nearby couch, minutes passed of only being half involved in the conversation before the topic wound its way to college and uni, who’s bothering to go and who wasn’t. It made sense for some. Skills and wants with another route or just study not being the right thing for them but I chimed in when Orla shrugged and said ‘I got accepted but, knowing me, I’ll probably not stick it out.’
‘No reason why you couldn’t.’
Then came the shrug. The kind that made me want to physically unroll her shoulders myself, hands to the muscle and manoeuvring them firmly back into place. Having lost the fight on this long before and too deep in the polite zeitgeist to try awfully hard, I decided not to hold her hand and she probably knew herself better than me anyway.
Maybe, a little ironically, I felt the stronger pull to Uni because I had less cash. Tuition was free but Orla’s parents made a too much for her to get a decent loan. Whereas we were skint and I’d get a decent loan to live off of, only needing to start paying any back if I got a decent wage.
‘You know, it’s hard to get a job from that you know?’ she said to me, ‘I know way too many folk that got art degrees, even Masters, and they end up working in a shop.’
‘Thanks for that’ I replied before a sip from the already finished bottle. It was my turn to shrug – knowing myself better. Maybe she wanted to do it too. Put my shoulders right back. Tell me, close to my ear as her chipped nail polish fingertips dug into to soft parts of my arms, to pick something more streamlined into work.
The next couple hours went on the same, quick in hindsight but slow in the moment.
More drinks. More chat. More people and the house grew stuffier with them.
The rain had let up, leaving only the wet leaves and darkened concrete slabs as I finally found reason to step out. I never smoked, too asthmatic and, perhaps more relevant, I never wanted to, but a few friends shuffled their way out for a drag and I breathed in the autumn air before it was tinged with tobacco and weed.
Orla walked out of the house too, wrapping a colourful cardigan around herself with the spirit of any drafty granny. Despite that though, she walked with purpose to the end of the garden and pulled the waterproof cover from a trampoline I hadn’t noticed until then. Still a little damp but nothing we weren’t used to trying to sit on any outside bench at school lunchtimes.
With confidence, she heaped herself onto the elastic weave. She didn’t stand and jump. Nobody else but me followed either. She lay down and got comfy, looking up into the sky with her party pink face feeling the nip of the cold air.
A little clumsily, I joined too.
Feeling the plasticky mat under my bare shoulder blades, I wriggled but eventually lay, still fussing further with my long hair and Orla laughed that laugh.
‘Settle doon’ she giggled, emphasis on the Scots doon.
The moment I did, I could feel her gently leaning into the bounce, energy rippled outward. Letting me bob like floating in the pool. A few stars managed to peek around grey clouds with a half moon bright white.
We didn’t talk much from there. Both just ebbed on the Argos bought toy.
There was a lot to say. How the cracks had started to show. How the hold of geography that brought people together in high school was losing its grip. That we were different people…but it didn’t matter.
She’s my friend.
Right there and then – my best friend.
‘I reckon you could get a job in something creative’ she said, perhaps to remedy her words earlier but I didn’t suggest so.
I just nodded even though she didn’t look my way to see, enjoying the feeling of the trampoline’s gentle rise and fall. ‘And I reckon if you don’t want to go to college – then don’t. Just don’t drop thinking you can’t hack it. Deal?’
‘Aye, deal.’