Читать книгу Blackbird - N.D. Gomes - Страница 12

Olivia

I met him at my school. He’s a little taller than me, with dark hair and even darker eyes. But there’s a kindness to them too. He wants people to know only the character he performs. And most people only see that, only want to see that.

But not me.

I see him for who he is, who he really wants to be. And he’s so much more than that character.

We all play characters to a certain extent. We’re all pieces in a game, moved by hands not always ours. And we play our roles well. We do what people expect us to do, say what they want us to say, even if that means lying. Because the truth is so much harder to hear for most people.

I played the game for too long. But I can’t any more. I’m so tired of it. I want to make my own decisions now, play by my own rules. Even if that means hurting people, many of them people I loved at some point in the game.

I feel the worst when I think about hurting James. I don’t want to hurt him, but I can’t keep up the facade any longer. He’s kind, he’s sweet to me, he’s been a good friend. But I’ve met someone. And he’s different. I feel different when I’m around him. I don’t feel like the character I play. I feel like me.

My friends noticed him too. They made comments to me, and nudged me when he walked past. I smiled, he smiled back. And when I passed him, I turned back to see if he was still watching. And he was.

I didn’t see him again for ages after that first time. I don’t know why. I looked around the school for him, out onto the street, down to the beach in case he walked there, down the big hill to see the ferries come in from Isle of Graemsay or Moaness. But he wasn’t there. He wasn’t anywhere.

Then one day, I saw him again. And after that I saw him every day.

We would hang out after school, get coffee from The Gallery Coffee Shop in Kirkwall where no one recognized us. You know, the kind of coffee that comes in a little to-go waxed paper cup, and we would sit on the beach away from Stromness, away from the big hill so no one saw us. I would bundle up and stick my hands in my pocket, and he would gently take my hands and hold them between his to warm them up. I would giggle, he would smile. And we did that most days for the first month.

We would talk for hours before I had to leave to pick up my sister from her friend’s. I wouldn’t want to leave so when I did, I would be a little angry at my sister for making me do it. I know it wasn’t her fault. She didn’t know. She would have just walked or taken a bus or asked Siobhan’s mum for a lift home, if only she knew. But she didn’t. He asked me not to tell anyone, not my sister or my friends, and I won’t betray his trust like that.

And I don’t think they or she would understand. They will judge me, without hearing the whole truth. They won’t listen to me, not like he does. Only he listens.

He listens to everything I have to say, not just the important stuff. When I talk, his eyes are on me and he’s absorbing every word, every syllable that leaves my lips. I didn’t know I liked to talk so much until I met someone who liked to listen.

I wish we could go for dinner or see a movie at the cinema together like a normal couple, but we can’t. And that’s OK, I guess. Because what we do, our little moments together, is enough for me. And I’d rather that than nothing at all.

He’s seen me dance. He snuck into the Autumn Dance Showcase and saw my performance. I knew he was coming so I had time to be nervous.

Butterflies fluttered furiously in my belly right up until the curtain was raised. Then the lights dimmed, the music started, and everything went away. All I was left with was the rhythm of the music and my body – the instrument.

I had practised my choreography for weeks. Everyone in the audience had seen me dance at some point, everyone except him. Besides, it’s different when you dance for the person you love.

Did I just say that?

Yes, I guess I did.

I love him.

I don’t know when that started, but somehow I’ve found myself right in the middle, not even realizing that it had begun.

It’s too late now.

I saw James yesterday. He still wants to talk about why we broke up. I just don’t have anything left to say to him. He was my friend before he was my boyfriend, and I really want him to be my friend again. Me, him, Em, we were inseparable at one time. We did everything together, went everywhere, shared everything.

But it’s not realistic to expect everything to stay the same. Because people grow up. They aren’t the same. They change. I’ve changed. And so have my feelings towards him.

But I want my friend back. I never said goodbye to him, just the relationship that had blossomed from the friendship. I want to go back to where we started.

I guess change scares me a little too.

But when it comes to the future, I need change. I need to break free of this place, of this character I’ve moulded into.

I haven’t told him yet about London. I don’t know how to tell him. It’s still so new. I enjoy spending time with him. I love him, but I can’t stay here for him.

There’s so much I still want to do with my life, so much I want to see. With James, it was so easy. But with him, it’s different, not so easy. I can tell him anything, but I can’t tell him what to do, what to feel.

He’s going to want me to stay, I know he is. He can’t come with me. He has too much here. He sacrificed everything for his last relationship. But that’s over now. I can’t ask him to sacrifice all over again. This is supposed to be a new beginning for us both.

I want him to come with me. But I can’t say those words. His answer might devastate us.

Because if he doesn’t come, I won’t stay.

I know my little sister Alex doesn’t get it, why I want to leave so badly. It’s not that I hate it here. She thinks it is. She thinks it’s too small for me. It is a small island, but it’s not too small for me. I just have this fire in my stomach to go. I want to start in London, dance. Then I want to travel around the world. I want to see it all, and not miss one moment.

I want to go to Switzerland, Italy, France. I want to kiss a stranger in New York City in Times Square like in the old photo of a sailor from the 1940s. I want to take a surfing lesson in Australia. I want to explore a sulphur cave in New Zealand, and ride a camel in Morocco. I want to walk along the Great Wall of China, watch the sun set in Hawaii, ride in a cable car up to Sugar Loaf Mountain in Brazil. I want to scream as loud as my lungs can cope over the Grand Canyon.

My sister is always talking about the flower that blooms just once at midnight – the kadapul flower, which is only found in Sri Lanka. When I told her I’d go there and pick it for her, she laughed and said I couldn’t, because it withers almost as soon as you pick it. And when I told her she should go there then to see it in person she laughed even harder.

My sister will never leave this island.

And she seems to be OK with that.

I don’t get it. We’re so different in that regard. But I guess she knows what makes her happy. I just hope she’ll come visit me in London.

London.

I don’t know how to tell him about London.

I’m not ready to say goodbye to him yet. But I’m not willing to say goodbye to my dreams either.

I dream about stepping on to that aeroplane. I’ve never been on a plane before. The furthest I’ve ever been to is Aberdeen, and we took the ferry.

Sometimes I lie in bed and think about being up in the air in that plane. Passport in hand, bag beside me, watching Orkney fade into the distance. Knowing that when I return – and I will return – that I would have explored the world, seen so much, felt so much.

That plane will soar so high in the sky, and for the first time I will feel free.

Free as a bird.