Changes Come

Changes

by

Susan O’Reilly

Chapter 1

Hi, I'm Kim, Kimberly Burns being my given birth name. If we are to be

friends, which I hope we are, you will never call me Kimberly. Why? do I hear

you ask because it's just like Kimberly and Mikado to everyone, yeah, I know,

get it out of your system, the biscuit, no, honestly, I've never had that sung to me

before. See what I mean you couldn’t help yourself could you? Seriously though

besides the unfortunate name, I'm just a regular, run of the mill, teenage girl.

I wouldn't describe myself as an oil painting, more of a doodle. I'm not in the

popular group. I have three friends that I would call good mates and that's it.

Yep, nothing extraordinary here, average looks, average brain, average life, and

then wham -

He hit me right between the eyes

love, at first sight, I couldn't disguise

extraordinary reaction

instant attraction

I'll follow the prompting of my heart

he may be the one fom which I don't part

Oh, he's beautiful! I unwittingly exclaim, out loud, of course, no, much

better for me, aside whispers to myself that would be way too classy. 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. en 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 realize that I am resenting

her presence. ose eyes make my spine tingle and I feel as if my legs have

lost contact with the ground and I can float. I am riveted, my little brain is

screaming, turn away now, but my hormones are latched onto those eyes.

How can eyelashes be that long? No amount of mascara I could, not that I

ever chose to, as I never understood its necessity until right now, would match

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SUSAN O'REILLY

their length and thickness. If I could pick what I could look at for the rest of

my life, it would be them.

I kiss him a thousand times with my eyes

hoping that one day his lips will reply

He is also going up my attractiveness scale simply because he is holding

in his beautiful, long, but not effeminate hands, a poetry book, my oh my,

someone interesting at last. I drag myself slowly 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. I like to read and write so having a book at

hand is never a problem. I am stuck betwixt being an introvert and wanting to

be a famous writer. I say stuck only because been introverted means I’m not a

natural mixer and need all the info and life experiences I can get in order to

write about them.

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 anyway. I have

never had any romantic interest in fellas unless he is downloadable to a poetry

or writing site, I have no interest, unlike my supposedly teenage counterparts.

I have been told unless I experience love myself that I will never be a true

romantic writer. What twaddle; has the author who writes the latest murder or

thriller 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? I wish my mother had called me Paige Turner or something,

prophetic I would have hoped and certainly tickles my funny side.

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 ighs' 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 off 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

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at most I’m guessing, and that makes him not legal, doesn’t it? What does she

think she is a cougar or something? e absolute and complete state of her, is

she serious? I’m scarlet for 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 gone and joined his fan club.

at’s decent conversation gone out the window, you’ll be as bad as she is. Ollie

this and Ollie that."

What's she talking about? Can't she see what her sister and I see? He's

perfection. ere’s not a thing I would change.

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 Spec Savers. How can she not moon over the

eyes that are deeper and bluer than the ocean, blond curls, and I just know our

babies will be gorrgggeeeous.

I look over at them holding hands, entranced, giggling and I'm consumed

with the most heart-wrenching, all-consuming feeling of jealousy. I can't believe

the anger and upset that surges through my body, uncontrollable and

unstoppable. e only colour you could paint me right now is green, snarling,

biting and spiteful, malignant, snotty green. How ridiculous I've never even

spoken to him.

I decide right then that 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 are you

if it wasn’t what would I do?

I used to have the same dream all the time, I could feel the nerves, the

excitement. What’s about to happen?

Suddenly, my face appears projected on the wall and I am holding up a

book that has my name emblazoned across the cover. e title is blank I mustn’t

have dreamt that yet. People appear out of nowhere and bombard me with

pens and books waving. It seems they want me to sign they are all clapping and

cheering. I sign every book and bask in glory. e book hasn’t been written yet

though. I usually wake up and straight away, write.

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SUSAN O'REILLY

Nights and days pass without that dream I now spend my days and nights

dreaming of Oliver. I start 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.

I’m creating a shrine

I’m whispering he's mine

I smile and dream of our future life

I decided I would be his wife

I followed him day and night

if he spotted me, I was always polite

I never thought of wrong or right

I never felt the need to be contrite

I never did it out of spite

I just fell in love at first sight

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 friend’s

antics and the punishment that ofen 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 Oliver’s schedule

from Agnes’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 must 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, unless I’m a participant that goes without saying, doesn’t it?

I want to be a chick-flick-cliché

want the man at the end of the day

want my life to be like the movie

we’re everything ends up fine and groovy

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Chapter 2

Well, Kim our we going out or what? 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, by the way, what is

stuck-to-Agnes’s-face like superglue's story? What school does he go to? Have

they been dating long?"

I’m sure even Samantha knows that the reason I’m over is too see Oliver. She

couldn’t be that naïve. Could she?

"Oh, Ollie, sorry Oliver something like that begins with O anyways, I don't

care, I'm sick of the sight of him. I don’t want to know about him, I don’t want

to hear about him. I certainly don’t want to talk with you about him. I don't

know where he ends, and she begins. It’s boring, okay."

at’s a lot of don’ts. 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. It will be Aggie and Ollie next uuggghhh. He, on the other hand, he

can call me whatever he likes. I'll pant afer him like a cute Labrador, Kimmy

the panting Labrador if he wishes, no shame here. I might even let him call me

by my birth name, no, sorry not even for him, that’s a step too far. Ollie and

Kimberly uggghhh, but Oliver and Kim not half bad, if I say so myself 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

Afer much whining 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. I

wish I had my bat with me now so I could fling it at her.

Get lost Samantha you haven't a clue.

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SUSAN O'REILLY

She realizes 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 weirdly and his face has gone a funny colour, 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 arrive at school earlier than usual; I couldn’t sleep for dreaming about

Oliver, I notice at this time a different crowd prowls the corridors. I’ll go

straight to class and for once get to pick where I sit the Gestapo hasn’t got

around to assigning us a specific spot yet.

Great no one else has arrived yet. Hmm I know over by the window if the

sun shines a certain way later, I’ll be able to keep an eye on how I look and

daydream at the same time, cool.

Noise heralds the arrival of my classmates followed by Ms Jones. I try to put

all thoughts of Oliver to the back of my mind as I take out what I need for this

class, but every now and then he slips through and I cringe every time I think

of how I acted.

Kimberly Burns, snapped out of my reverie by Ms Jones.

I cringe, she calls me Kimberly to annoy me. In fairness, it’s usually when

I’ve annoyed her first.

Yes, Miss.

What are you writing?

Nothing, Miss.

"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 breathe a sigh of relief that at least it's not a love letter to Oliver. is 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

To o many to mention

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"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

e gym is not for girls with bits

I would rather be popping my zits

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SUSAN O'REILLY

Chapter 3

I somehow get through the rest of the school day without anything major

happening. Stroll home, root for my key, and get it out, finally. I slam the door

and remove my coat at the same time, a skill I don't even think about anymore.

I shove my coat on the stand thing, it has some fancy name I can't pronounce.

e slamming is not a temper thing I just always like to know whether I'm on

my own or not. My mood ofen depends on that.

Oh, what a sight to greet me, my mother spread-eagled on the floor with

some awful racket that she likes to call music blaring. I think it's Doctor Hook

I've heard enough of Sylvia's Mother to last me a lifetime. It’s obviously her

yoga time, cool she should be totally zoned out, and if I’m lucky she will

not even notice me sneak by her. ere are times I wish I were blind and

deaf as she proceeds to drape herself across a chair. I wonder can she not

smell the fear emanating from me. She tried to teach me once clapping her

hands like an excited toddler and began manipulating my body into all sorts

of unmentionable positions. I felt like I was playing twister but with no visible

means of steadying myself should I start to fall.

'See, it's working, you're already at least fify per cent nimbler than the last

time we tried.

'Mom, do you mean last time when I had the flu? You tied me upside down

and lef me there for half an hour.'

'Don't exaggerate dear, it was at the most fifeen minutes and I do believe it

cut your out of school time by half, the rush of blood to the head or something.'

I could not argue her point, but I think it was more the heat that surged

through my body when her book club arrived an hour earlier than she thought.

ey must have thought I was enjoying some weird bondage session.

Mr Roberts has never looked at me the same since. I begrudgingly must

admit to myself that since she has got me to participate now and again my

posture has improved. Being a stroppy teenager, I could never tell her that.

Snapped back to the present with a Kimmyyyy!

Oh no, it must be at the end of her session. My mother is the eternal

optimist, trying to find a bad bone in her body would be the equivalent of

opening a tin of beans and attempting to pick which one made you fart. She is

the biggest tree-hugging, flower power hippy you are ever going to meet. Her

hair, right now, is indescribable - frizz is too general a word and insufficient to

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describe what is going on with my mom's hair. I have asked