You may recall from my last post, re Francoise Sagan:
She was only eighteen when she wrote it so it has a sweet naivety to it (although not as much naivety as my writing at eighteen had, goddammit).
And to prove this, I will now bravely share the following:
While I was staring at the window that night it began to snow. I knew that some flurries were expected but I couldn’t believe my eyes. This was supposed to be summer! Only three days ago it was as high as thirty degrees. Jen and I had been complaining that we wished it would snow as we lay about her bedsit in front of the fan, sipping Kool Aid. Seventeenth was crawling with people in skimpy summer attire, many were lazing under the shade of trees in the small park where beggars asked you for change and musicians played in the gazebo. We would watch everyone passing by as we ate our peppermint ice cream or sipped on a Slurpee. Although we both had little money, there were no pressures or responsibilities to weigh us down. Days were spent on Seventeenth or in Jen’s apartment reading Calvin and Hobbes. Nearly every night we all walked to the Republik where you could dance and buy Vodka-7’s, two for the price of one – as long as you were patient enough to wait at the crowded bar. Little did we know that responsibilities were soon to arise.
The falling snow had begun to thicken. I eased myself up from the floor of my room – my only room excluding the bathroom – and walked across to the window. As my apartment was at the back of our building, my only view was of other apartments across a dirty, gravelled alley, which was home to a bag-lady and one lonely tree. Although the sky and air were transformed with white snowflakes, the ground had barely discoloured. The earth must have been too warm because the flakes melted and disappeared. I hadn’t seen snow for years and I had the experience to myself as I knew that Jen’s room next door was empty.
It was a peaceful scene and the snow appeared to make me happy. I then realised that I hadn’t been as happy as I thought lately, and I knew this was somehow due to Jen. I felt something was missing; that there was something I wasn’t hearing.
The snow continued its night sky drifting, as alone as I was. At the time I didn’t know that Jen was much more alone, or that she had begun to buckle under the weight of a great, looming responsibility. The responsibility of a new life.
I'll admit I was actually closer to nineteen; I can recall writing it sitting at the kitchen bench near mum and dad who were watching tv; I was forced to write it for uni and in my defense will explain I never edited it and wrote it in a real hurry (was cross re it being such a stupid assignment and for a compulsory unit - me and compulsory don't get along); I haven't changed one word although I REALLY was tempted to change the clunkyness of the last line (eek!!!); please don’t throw tomatoes, appreciate my bravery; can naive be synonymous with cute?; kthxbai!
P.S. Am kinda glad I wrote it however, as it does bring back good (and bad) memories for me; it takes me back to when I was 18.
P.P.S. One point to whoever correctly guesses the country. A thousand-kazillion points to anyone who can guess the city.