Hi I'm Kim, Kimberly Burns being my birth name. If we are to be friends, which I hope we are, you will never call me Kimberly. Why I hear you ask? Because it's just like Kimberly and Mikado, yeah I know, get it out of your system the biscuit, no, honestly I've never had that sung to me before. I wish my Mother had called me Paige Turner or something, prophetic I would have hoped and certainly tickles my funny side. Seriously besides the unfortunate name, I'm just a regular, run of the mill, teenage girl. Nothing extraordinary here, average looks, average brain, average life. The only thing I show any talent for is drawing and writing. I'm a rhymer at heart, find it great fun, but trying to stretch myself lately with free verse and short stories but I haven't a novel in me, not yet anyways.
I have been told unless I experience love myself that I will never be a true romantic writer. What absolute twaddle; has the author who writes the latest murder or thriller actually committed murder? I think not, well one would hope not anyway. It would certainly make his book more believable but could it only be sold in the true crime section?
He hit me right between the eyes
love, at first sight, I couldn't disguise
I'll follow the prompting of my heart
he maybe the one from which I don't part
"Oh, he's beautiful!" I exclaimed as I gazed adoringly at the anything but average being in front of me. "Who is he?"
I'm thirteen and have just experienced my first taste of those most human of hunger, that of need, lust, longing and desire. I am riveted, my brain is screaming, turn away, now, but my hormones are latched onto those glorious blue as the ocean eyes. Then there are the blond curls haphazardly falling to just above his shoulders, and a smile that could melt igloos. I can feel Samantha tensing beside me, and me for the first time ever resenting her presence. Those eyes make my spine tingle and I feel as if my legs have lost contact with the ground and I can float. They are the longest eyelashes, no amount of mascara I could use, not that I ever chose to, as I never understood its necessity until right now, would match their length and thickness.
I slowly come back to earth but can feel myself melting and to hide my discomfort, do what I always do insert my head into the nearest book available.
Unfortunately, I am in a dark, humorous period, my tastes can vary and the title that he would right now be reading, if he is still looking this way, is 'Living with my Child Rearing Thighs' or something by Miss Spent Time. With my head resolutely stuck I'm not moving it now I think of how he looks like a bad boy, in other words, a fabulous cheeky smile and a devil-may-care glint in those, did I already say, fabulicious eyes.
Agnes is hanging of him this must be her latest conquest. I gawked at my friend's sister's boyfriend with envy filled eyes. I could not stand her, how the hell did she get him? She's two years older than him for a start, he's fourteen, he's not legal, is he? What does she think she is a milf or a cougar or something, state of her.
Samantha's staring at me quizzically a sardonic smirk on her face.
"Oh for flip sake not you as well, I have to put up with her constantly mooning over that bleeding yoke and now you've only gone and joined his fan club."
What's she talking about, can't she see what we see? He's perfection. I'm not going to even bother acknowledging that statement. You could never call this gorgeous being a yoke. I'm concerned for her. She must have an eye problem, she needs to go to Specsavers. How can she not moon over the eyes deeper and bluer than the ocean, blond curls, our babies will be gorrgggeeeous.
so deep and blue
I drown in their hue
beautiful and intoxicating
I promise I'm not overrating
I look over at them holding hands, entranced, giggling and I'm consumed with the most heart-wrenching, all consuming feeling of jealousy. The only colour you could paint me right now is green, snarling, biting, snotty green.
I am going to get him, he's going to be mine, I'm much more suited to him. Agnes is too cold a creature for this Adonis, he needs passion and drama to match his movie star looks.
My every thought and wish is you
if it wasn’t what would I do?
Days pass and I spend my time forming a 'Make Agnes's boyfriend mine' plan and I'm in my new, whenever possible spot, across from Oliver and Agnes making sure nothing untoward can happen, nothing that he should be doing with me, that is. I'm usually an easy-going, nice person but something has taken over. Samantha being too nice escaped all this, her affliction was being too innocent. She was beautiful in every way but the recipient of her best friends antics and the punishment that often ensued because she never saw it coming. She was innocent to the extreme and couldn't see the bad in anyone not even with the magnifying part of a pair of binoculars. I found out his schedule from Agne's whispered phone calls and accidentally slipped titbits from Samantha. I learnt when he was dancing, playing football, bowling or table tennis. He was a fitness fanatic, I suppose along with his mother that’s what made that fantastic body. I have to keep a steady head. I need to bide my time. I suddenly took a keen interest in certain activities, going to the gym, and carrying a table tennis bat everywhere. It's my new fashion accessory. Samantha was bemused. Every time I think they may have forgotten I'm there I loudly chew my gum or blow a big bubble, I don't want any snogging, not when I'm around.
Wanna be a chick-flick-cliche
want the man at the end of the day
want my life to be like the movie
were everything ends up fine and groovy
She created a shrine
she whispered "he's mine"
she smiled and dreamed of their future life
she decided she would be his wife
she followed him day and night -
if he spotted her she was always polite
she never thought of wrong or right
she never felt the need to be contrite
she never did it out of spite
she just fell in love at first sight
that’s the stalkers plight
"Well, Kim we going out or wha?" I look at Samantha as if she has ten heads what could she possibly offer that would cause me to tear myself away from drowning in unrequited love and staring at the recipient of my adulation.
"I suppose we better since that's why I came over (yeah right), by the way, what is stuck-to-Agne's-face like superglue's name?"
"Oh, Ollie, Oliver something like that begins with O anyways, I don't care, I'm sick of the sight of him. I don't know where he ends and she begins. It' s boring."
She's got issues I never noticed before. How could you be sick of the sight of Oliver? I will never call him Ollie sounds like a cute Labrador. He, on the other hand, he can call me whatever he likes. I'll pant after him like a cute labrador, Kimmy the panting labrador if he wishes. I might even let him call me by my birth name, no, sorry not even for him, it's a step too far. Ollie and Kimberly uggghhh, but Oliver and Kim not half bad, if I say so meself lol.
If you were a book
I’d read you again and again
no one else could have a look
to kill I’d have a yen
After much whinging and cajoling from Samantha I wander outside. Ronnie and Paul, our friends since Junior Infants arrive. I start playing curbs with them, well physically I am but mentally I'm conjuring all sorts of plans to get closer to Oliver. I have grown out of this activity. I see Ronnie nudging Paul and Samantha and miming signals and sneakily pointing at me.
"Oh, Kim, she's lovesick, pining away for Aggie's fella," Samantha makes retching noises "pass me the sick bucket. She's even taken up table tennis."
I'm scarlet. I don't think it's possible to get any redder from the embarrassment of my first crush been mocked in such a way and pure anger.
"Get lost Samantha you haven't a clue."
She realises she's gone too far and comes over and hugs me. How is it possible to love and hate someone so much at the same time? Ronnie's looking at me weird his face is gone a funny colour and he darts his gaze towards the ground when he notices I've noticed. What's up with him? Oh, this day is just too complicated I'm going home. I say my goodbyes and walk trance-like home my head full of Oliver. Monday is tomorrow and school beckons.
I try to put all thoughts of Oliver to the back of my mind, but every now and then he slips through and I cringe every time I think of how I acted.
"Kim Burns," snapped out of my reverie by Ms Jones.
"What are you writing?"
"Nothing, I see well if it's nothing, you won't mind me looking at it, or sharing it with the class, will you?"
Ms Jones beckons me up to her desk, detention yet again
I breath a sigh of relief that at least it's not a love letter to Oliver. This little verse I can cope with.
Ms Jones class is so boring
I cannot believe we are all not snoring
By the end of this class
She will be sick of my sass
I will be back in detention
Too many to mention
"Very amusing Kim, I think they're getting funnier each week but must we?"
"Must we what?"
Ms Jones sighs. "Play this game every week; you are a bright, intelligent, clever girl. Why not just change classes? Pick a subject you have some semblance of interest in and sign up for it."
"I have reached my quota for changing classes. Mr Roberts says I'm the most exasperating child and that it seems there is no class suitable for me."
I roll my eyes in the dramatic way of Mr Roberts and there is an outburst of giggles behind me. I could have sworn Mrs Jones had to stifle a giggle herself.
"Kim, I can have a word with Mr Roberts and get you signed up for a lot more gym time instead of Home Economics with me. Would that be agreeable?"
"Ms Jones, I'm so sorry I'll sit down and listen to everything you say. I'll get an A as per usual next week in the written exam, probably a D in the cooking if I don't set the kitchen on fire, but please no extra time in the gym I deplore it."
"Okay we’ll say no more about it for now, but no more poetry, not even one, in my class or you really will be in detention for a lot of your foreseeable future, you are getting an advanced warning, not many have that luxury. Sit down, please Kim."
Down I sit
School is the pits
Gym is not for girls with bits
I would rather be popping my zits