I was sitting in the back room at Marg’s tea house, a converted bungalow where we could hide out and smoke without worry of getting busted by prefects or teachers. Marg, the wizened old lady (she was probably my age now 🤣🤣🤣) would run to the back room and warn us so we could scurry into her basement until the coast was clear.
I was rewriting my French notes, my Walkman playing a Metallica tape, hating boarding school life, school on Saturdays and wearing a uniform. I always hid my short kilt under my giant blue flea market sweater, so only an inch peeked out the bottom. There had been an unusually heavy snow fall for Vancouver Island, so I also had my wooly blue tights on, which turned out to be a stroke of good luck.
I had just lit another Winston (🤢-how did I ever??) when someone walked in. I bit back a growl at having my solitude invaded, privacy was the commodity I missed most, until I saw who it was.
Then, my heart picked up speed at the same time my stomach did a weird somersault. I flashed him a quick smile and looked back down at my notes. What was he doing there? I’d never seen him there before, I’d only seen him a few times around campus. Always with a different girl.
I tried to ignore him but then my tape ended and the Walkman shut off with a loud click. As I fumbled to switch the tape to the other side, he came over to bum a smoke. Next thing I knew, he was sitting at my table and we were talking and joking around like we’d known each other forever.
It all ended with me ‘stealing’ his wallet, and him dumping me in a snow bank. And that was the beginning of everything…
Happy Valentines Day!!! ❤️❤️❤️