I'm a girl. This journal is almost 10 years old, when I started it, I called it Almost 21. Before that, I had a journal called Soap on a domain that no longer exists. Some things have changed since then, some things haven't. I always wanted to be a writer. I live out that dream here.
My bank is alright and over the years I have developed a sort of bank "loyalty". The branch I am based at is a 10 minute walk from my house, and for a moment I contemplate taking the car.
When did you get so lazy?! A voice in my head asks me, apparently horrified. Alright, I'll walk! I reassure it. Truth be told, I want to walk. The day has chanced upon a glorious patch which I would like to take advantage of. It is weather you could order from a restaurant menu: a dazzling sun shining down from a clear blue sky, complimented with a light breeze.
So, we walk I tell the voice in my head which appears to have subsided after I stepped out of the gate and onto the street. Proof, I suppose, that I am going to walk - and I am glad that I have decided to. It really is a fantastic day.
I walk past the gas station near my house, where two guys are valet washing an old red Toyota. They stop briefly to smile and say hello as I walk past. Neither of the guys are "Slapper Tim".
I don't really remember when I first became aware of Tim, nor do I remember how I got to know his name. I suspect that he may have been friends with Andrew Hughes (who I was briefly in love with during first year), who might have, at some point, introduced me to him.
Actually, I'm surprised that I remember Tim at all, seeing as we barely knew each other. We never had a conversation, and I'm pretty sure that if he ever saw me he wouldn't know who I was. But I am thinking about him at this particular moment because once a few years ago, I had seen him washing cars at the same gas station.
"That's that guy, Tim, with the chain on his jeans." I said to Boy, who glanced briefly and lost interest quickly. From what I do remember of learning about his existence, I told Boy that I thought he was cute, at which Boy gave him the quick look-over, noticed that he was wearing a pair of jeans that had a thick silver chain dangling from the belt clip and into the left pocket, and from this concluded that he was a "slapper".
Opposite the gas station that I once saw Slapper Tim working at is the dairy and Chinese takeaway place we used to visit during our lunch hours at school, when we were in our final year and allowed to leave the school compound during lunch. I don't think I ever bought anything from the Chinese takeaway place, but I always thought about it.
Mostly, I would buy food from the school canteen: little pizzas and apple donuts. The food wasn't spectacular, but I preferred it over the sandwiches that my mum would pack for me, that would somehow always get squashed or soggy, or on a bad day, squashed and soggy. I feel guilty for it now, throwing away the lunches she would wake up early to pack. I try and make it up to her by being nice, but am often quickly put off by her love for the use of the word "responsible", especially in reminding us how we are not.
I have crossed the road now, onto the dairy side. It was around here that I saw Christine walking home from work one day after uni, dressed in a short black skirt, a little black top and strappy black heels. I was on the other side of the road, so I couldn't do much more than smile and wave, which I did a bit uncertainly (I wasn't sure if it was really her), and received back. Her wave was smaller than mine though, I'm sure.
"Christine doesn't like you." Carl told me after the first time I met her, three years ago.
"But why? I don't even know her!" I had asked him. It was true, I had met her once and we had barely talked.
"I don't know," he shrugged, "she just doesn't". The boys thought it was jealousy, I was on her "turf", hanging out with her "boys". I thought that was crazy boytalk, and didn't believe them. I invited her to my parties and made an effort, but it turned out they were right, after which I decided that I did not have time for such silliness.
Nobody could believe it when Carl and Christine got together, most of all me. Carl, who had always been so nice, and so kind, and often my favourite, going out with Christine, who had once supported an irrational and uncalled for jealousy towards me, which Carl had made me aware of! Not to mention that two weeks prior, Christine had been in an almost-relationship with Carl's best friend. What was the world coming to? I thought (maybe hoped) that it wouldn't last, but a year later and they are still together. But if Carl's happy with her, then she must be okay, and really, I never minded her. It's funny how things work out sometimes.
By now I have reached the bank. It is empty, and none of the tellers I know are there. I am in and out within two minutes, walking back the direction I came, thinking about what flavour ice cream I am going to buy at the dairy on the way back, and what books I will read in the library where Boy and I once tried to study in for our exams.