Sunday Scribbling - Mis-spent Youth
Oh. Youth. So long ago, so far away, and still, so near in memory, so much a part of me now, just under the skin, just below the surface: There she is, the girl who skipped out on a maths test to go fishing. (No, it was not the fish, but the man with the plan, of course, that attracted me). There she is, the one who would follow anyone with a guitar, who chanced it and tried it, just once, mostly. She skipped school, and spent hours in cafes, hours and hours, long enough for one crowd to come in and go, and another to take their place, and still she would sit, waiting in hopes that HE would come in, and when he did, well, she had no shame, that girl, I tell you... flirting, flirting. Shyness came earlier, and shyness came later, but at that time, when she was sixteen, oh, there wasn't a trace of shyness, not when what was at stake was HIM. Even (I blush to admit it), when there was a girlfriend. She knew that girl wasn't meant for him. She was meant for him, obviously! And all was fair in that love, at least.
Those were the days of self as centre of the universe, those were the days when nothing else was important, and no-one else, either. Days of impromptu camping trips (and white lies to explain them), and riding pillion without a helmet. Those were days of invincibility, and days when, if it all went wrong today, it could all start to go right again tomorrow, maybe. Days of taking risks and speaking without worrying about consequences. Those were the days spent in doing just what I was meant to be doing. Those were the days of youth, spent being young, swinging my hair, lighting up that cigarette, days of chats and giggles, songs played over and over on the record-player, shared plates of chips and hours sitting on the grass of the park. Those were the days when adults didn't have a clue, when we understood the world, and knew, with certainty, that we would stay forever young.
Go see how all the other Sunday Scribblers spent the days of their youth HERE