Lunchtime With Sheila 1962.

After lunch in the sandwich room at school I went out in the spring warm weather on the sports field and saw Sheila talking to some girl over by the wire fence. I made my way towards her, acting cool, hands in the pockets of my trousers, gazing at the girls. The other girl saw me and departed. Sheila smiled when she saw me and I smiled, too. I was hoping you’d come, Sheila said, but wasn’t sure if you would; thought maybe you might have forgotten. I said I hadn’t forgotten and she looked at me with her deep blue eyes. That was my friend Jenny, Sheila said, she’s having problems with her periods, and asked me if I did too, well I didn’t, but I listened nonetheless, let her know I cared. I gazed at her, but said nothing, allowing my eyes to drink her in, each gesture of her hands and the stance of her body.  She’s an only child, Sheila said, and doesn’t have a great relationship with her mother, so can’t talk to anyone about it except me, and you know it is good to have someone to talk with. I sensed the sun warming my face, the smell of the approaching summer. I walked up the field with her beside me, away from others sitting on the grass in small groups or in pairs. What did you do this morning? Sheila asked me, looking at me sideways. I told her I had English with Mr Bird and then double maths with Mr Skinner and managed to stay awake all through. She smiled. I had history, Sheila said, all about the English civil war, and I had trouble keeping up with the teacher’s voice and writing down what it was he said. We sat on the grass and she pulled her green school skirt over her knees, and I just caught a glimpse of thigh before it went out of sight. What was that butterfly you told me about the other day? Sheila asked. I told her it was the gatekeeper and described it to her. Don’t think I’ve seen one of those, Sheila said, seen a blue one the other day, not sure what it was. She continued talking, but I studied her hands fiddling together, the thin fingers. I recalled that later while sitting in class listening to Miss G in music lesson, where she was talking about some guy called Ravel, and to be honest I thought, what the hell?