We filed into the hall obediently placing our belongings at the back of the room as we made our way through the sea of tables and chairs. I steadied my breath as I faced the room blankly - like the Chinese terracotta warriors I'd seen in magazines. I walked past faces, swirls of navy tartan skirts and the sound of scraping chairs as people sat down. Different perfumes, hair sprays and the smell of freshly laundered jumpers bombarded me as I walked down the hall. Hot tears pricked at the backs of my eyes but I rapidly blinked them away. Like hell I was going to let these people see me in tears.
"Your seat."
I jerked out of my thoughts to see a plump, middle-aged woman pointing at a table to my left. She had bright brown eyes, fluffy mousy hair and Trevor McDonald window frames for glasses. I gave a wry smile as I sat down regarding her orange cardigan and gathered my thoughts.
I lowered my head mentally uttering a prayer my grandmother had taught me: "It will bring you good luck" she had said as she kissed my head that morning. "We love you and are so proud of you. Eat some more badaam (almonds) they'll make you smart."
I'd smiled and hugged her back as she said: "You are strong, you can do anything. You don't need her."
I smiled to myself at my grandmother's medical advice. "Her" - the word fell like a stone into the bottom of my stomach where it lay. Dead weight. We all knew who "her" was aimed at. It was hard to believe that it'd been six months. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath in. Honeyed brown hair, a beige coat and a damp afternoon. The magnolias had seductive dew drops running down their petals as they suggestively slid down green leaves. The sparrows had madly twittered to each other and the old man toothily smiled at me as he carried his Sainsbury's bag home.
My eyes snapped open: the sun palely shone through the windows casting a dim shadow across my table. I lay my hands upon the smooth, cool table as I studied the backs of them. My eyes traced over the meandering veins as they wound their way to my fingers. I observed them as I remembered peeling off PVA glue from them as a careless, cheeky kid. If only it were so easy to peel away the layers to reveal a softer, kinder version of myself instead of the sullen, tough blank faced teenager. My dark eyes darted forward at the sound of footsteps. The plump woman was walking up and down the aisles with an armful of booklets. I cleared my throat and sat up straighter. I rearranged the three biros - one would always die on me or decide to bleed all over my fingers at the cruelty it was subjected to. I silently apologised to the biro and my right hand as the plump woman placed a booklet in front of me. She squeezed past the tables and stood at the front of the hall.
"You have 1 hour and 30 minutes," she said. "You may begin."
I picked up my pen and flipped open the booklet: I jumped into the darkness with both feet not knowing where I'd land.
"Your seat."
I jerked out of my thoughts to see a plump, middle-aged woman pointing at a table to my left. She had bright brown eyes, fluffy mousy hair and Trevor McDonald window frames for glasses. I gave a wry smile as I sat down regarding her orange cardigan and gathered my thoughts.
I lowered my head mentally uttering a prayer my grandmother had taught me: "It will bring you good luck" she had said as she kissed my head that morning. "We love you and are so proud of you. Eat some more badaam (almonds) they'll make you smart."
I'd smiled and hugged her back as she said: "You are strong, you can do anything. You don't need her."
I smiled to myself at my grandmother's medical advice. "Her" - the word fell like a stone into the bottom of my stomach where it lay. Dead weight. We all knew who "her" was aimed at. It was hard to believe that it'd been six months. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath in. Honeyed brown hair, a beige coat and a damp afternoon. The magnolias had seductive dew drops running down their petals as they suggestively slid down green leaves. The sparrows had madly twittered to each other and the old man toothily smiled at me as he carried his Sainsbury's bag home.
My eyes snapped open: the sun palely shone through the windows casting a dim shadow across my table. I lay my hands upon the smooth, cool table as I studied the backs of them. My eyes traced over the meandering veins as they wound their way to my fingers. I observed them as I remembered peeling off PVA glue from them as a careless, cheeky kid. If only it were so easy to peel away the layers to reveal a softer, kinder version of myself instead of the sullen, tough blank faced teenager. My dark eyes darted forward at the sound of footsteps. The plump woman was walking up and down the aisles with an armful of booklets. I cleared my throat and sat up straighter. I rearranged the three biros - one would always die on me or decide to bleed all over my fingers at the cruelty it was subjected to. I silently apologised to the biro and my right hand as the plump woman placed a booklet in front of me. She squeezed past the tables and stood at the front of the hall.
"You have 1 hour and 30 minutes," she said. "You may begin."
I picked up my pen and flipped open the booklet: I jumped into the darkness with both feet not knowing where I'd land.
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