Written from the Heart

*** Beep, beep, beep…
The end of lesson signal was instantly drowned out by a sudden flurry of movement, as the classroom filled with a wave of familiar sounds: the clicking and scrabbling of pens, the rustle of bodies and paper, the clunk of chairs against tables, the raised voice of a teacher above the bustle.

I saw only him - his perfectly sculpted features and smooth coffee-coloured hair that flicked in perfect symmetry ...
...before the end of the day - that was what she had asked for. It was so simple I almost laughed in spite of myself. It was such an idyllic cliché that I felt embarrassed at myself for even considering it. But nevertheless, through my mind ran an instantaneous slideshow of impossible situations conjured up by my overactive imagination. It was ridiculous. In fact, the whole thing was ridiculous. Now, when I think about how it all started, I still shake ... more

*** Beep, beep, beep…
The end of lesson signal was instantly drowned out by a sudden flurry of movement, as the classroom filled with a wave of familiar sounds: the clicking and scrabbling of pens, the rustle of bodies and paper, the clunk of chairs against tables, the raised voice of a teacher above the bustle.

I saw only him - his perfectly sculpted features and smooth coffee-coloured hair that flicked in perfect symmetry at his neck.
Choose a good deed to do before the end of the day - that was what she had asked for. It was so simple I almost laughed in spite of myself. It was such an idyllic cliché that I felt embarrassed at myself for even considering it. But nevertheless, through my mind ran an instantaneous slideshow of impossible situations conjured up by my overactive imagination. It was ridiculous. In fact, the whole thing was ridiculous. Now, when I think about how it all started, I still shake my head in disbelief when I wonder how something so ridiculously insignificant could have escalated to this level of utter loathing. How utterly ridiculous it had all become… ***

As far back as I can remember, I was always the 'shy' one. To some extent, I suppose I still am, though not as notably as I used to be. As a child I was never particularly confident with expressing my true opinions if they might disagree with someone else's, and I preferred to take the easy way out of any potential disagreement by just trying to 'go along with the flow', as it were. In a sense, this was my way of getting on in life and maintaining my popularity, even at such a young age, by attempting to fit in with everyone without causing upset. Because of this, I can honestly admit that through all my younger years I had never had any kind of argument outside of my somewhat typical family life, when I would bicker constantly with my brother. At school, I became almost like the friendship-mending counsellor to all my friends, helping to fix broken relationships wherever I could. I hated to see my friends fall out with each other, so I made it my unspoken duty to resolve each dispute as quickly as possible. Although now I reflect on this, and cringe at the childish seriousness with which I used to deal with such trivial reasons that used to cause so much anguish, at the time it seemed so important to us.

I am not entirely sure if there was ever a single event which signified the end of this blissfully ignorant period of my childhood. Perhaps it had something to do with drifting at first very gradually, and then much more rapidly apart from my 'best friend' at the time, ending in eventual hatred? Or maybe it was the seemingly tragic end to my first primary school boyfriend? Or was it possibly the momentous shift up to secondary school where I fell victim to the unwritten rules of so-called 'friendship groups' that changed my outlook on life forever? Whatever it was, I began to discover the bad side of people as well as the good: their irritating mannerisms, spiteful attitudes and scornful arrogance, to which I had previously been blind to.

Ironically, the more new friends I made at secondary school, the deeper I fell into that inescapable whirlpool that is the not-so-secret world of girly 'bitching'. Malicious comments swirled about my ears, as I struggled to adjust to this new, hostile environment. I regret now my somewhat childish response to this. As you can surely imagine, I did the only thing I'd ever known, and 'went along with the flow'. Unwittingly, I allowed myself to be carried away by this surging tidal wave of social pressure, brainwashed by the necessity to fit in.

I don't think I really registered at the time that it was wrong; it seemed to be what everyone was doing, so I saw no harm in talking about people behind their backs in this way. Even though at first it was against my nature and I felt awkward participating actively in conversations of this type, I believe it did me just as much harm just by listening to other people rant and rave about their petty hatred for others. Often, the conversations would tend to focus on the same few individuals, and I began to absorb appallingly biased pictures of these poor girls, some of whom I had never even met. Worse still, I would then repeat these opinions to other people as though they were my own. Of course, I had no real reason to dislike any of these individuals, yet it was accepted, and I might even go as far as to say it was encouraged, that they should be talked about in such an atrocious fashion. Being the inoffensive little girl that I was, only once or twice did I allow myself to even consider that the same sort of things were undoubtedly being said about me behind my back at the same time.

As you can imagine, when any of this 'bitching' leaked out and found its way to the girl in question, consequences were devastating. In fact I remember one such incident from about year seven or year eight, which to this day has not been entirely resolved. However the personal significance of this event to me is one that no-one else could possibly appreciate, without fully comprehending my childhood perspective with regard to disputes between friends. At first I was just rather surprised that although I had of course been equally involved in the 'bitching' prior to the quarrelling, which I regret to admit had been going on for some time, throughout the entire argument I somehow managed to retain my old role as neutral friendship counsellor. Though I said nothing, the guilt wrenched me apart inside, that this unwitting girl believed I was innocent and had always stuck by her. Her deepest trust in me made it impossible to actually admit my cowardly two-faced role in this argument, and I just could not bring myself to cause her any additional hurt, at a time when she was so dependant on me for love and support.

From that point onwards, I vowed to myself that I could never let this happen again. In a way, I suppose I wanted to prove to myself, let alone anyone else, that I could resist this peer pressure for perhaps what would be the first time in my life, and make a stand for something I truly believed in, almost to redeem myself and prove myself to be worthy of her generous trust. Only then would I be able to rid myself of this remorse that gnawed away inside me every time she acknowledged our apparently unblemished friendship.

It was surprisingly easy. The realisation that I didn't actually have to go along with these conversations hit me with great satisfaction, and it was with an air of smug confidence could honestly tell people that I no longer 'bitched' about anyone: I was above that now. At the outset, once or twice I found myself beginning to drift back into these conversations purely out of habit, but now that people respect me for my sincere approach, I find it a lot more effortless. Gradually my relationships with people became much more open and honest, and I believe that this indirectly helped to boost my confidence in general at the same time.

One particular boy, for instance, I had begun to drift apart from because his arrogance used to frustrate me to the point of not even being able to talk to him without feeling physically violent towards him! After he demonstrated this to an extreme, following an argument with another boy, something inside me snapped. I seethed with anger, and blurted out to him all the rage that I had been bottling up for so long. It just felt so wonderful to be able to get it all off my chest so easily with no restraints.

In retrospect, it was probably the best thing I could ever have done to him. Of course I could not change his underlying personality, yet the significance of this sudden interlude was that he finally knew how I felt. Miraculously, he accepted this with good grace, and strangely enough, it was this that not only made him bearable, but actually succeeded in drawing us closer together than we had ever been. It became almost a private joke between us, and he took every opportunity to tease me about how much I used to hate him. In fact, an element of this sill remains today, and we are both comfortable to acknowledge this deeper respect and understanding that exists between us by mocking each other with exaggeratedly critical names, reminiscent of that day.

And then there was George*.

George had always been the trouble-making type, taking pleasure out of causing as much commotion as possible with his playful, jokey traits, yet no one could ever help but adore him all the same. I think this may have something to do with his irresistible cheeky grin and cute turn-up nose that made him undoubtedly one of the best-looking boys in the year, combined with the way that he was so different to the other boys at school who would simply lark about and infuriate everyone, purely because he could be so random. It fascinated me that he could be so spontaneously quirky, and this endeared him to adults and children alike. Everyone had a 'soft spot' for George, and his perfect little existence just soaked up the attention and affection that oozed from anyone around him.

We used to have such good times together, George and I. In particular, a school trip to Spain stands out in my mind as one of the happiest weeks of my life, when we spent the entire week just having fun together. It must have been at least two years ago now, but I also recall a show we were in together, and while we were off stage we would just sit listening to his MP3 player and talking about anything and everything - in complete harmony. They say opposites attract, which would explain why his outgoing personality drew him so close to a quiet, reserved girl like me, then pushed us violently apart as I began to discover my new, more confident self.

I suppose the day that set it all off must have been that last fateful cinema trip together. It was the four of us: me, George, Tim and Zoe. I can picture the scene now as we sat in Pizza Hut, with George and I on one side of the table, and Zoe next to Tim opposite us. Afterwards it amused me when I realised how much we must have looked like two dating couples, to the group of girls on the next table, which seemed really odd because originally we had gone out as a group, yet somehow that was how we tended to divide by no rational means.

A few weeks later (I believe it was during half term), we planned a similar trip out. As we had invited George to the previous outing, we felt it was only fair that we invited Tom, who was very much part of our friendship circle, instead of George, as we felt as though we were leaving him out of things. Inviting both would simply have been out of the question. George by himself could cause enough havoc, but inviting the two of them together was just a lethal combination that would have caused absolute mayhem. We reckoned that as it was the holidays, it would not matter that we had left out George this time as we wouldn't see him until we were back at school, by which time it would be almost forgotten. And so, Tom came.

It must have been about halfway through our first week back, when one afternoon, out of the blue, I received a text from George. As my eyes scanned the screen, my initial shock sent my heart beating wildly, the uncharacteristically aggressiveness of the words stunned my brain into instant turmoil. As I stared, stunned, at the message, the words began to etching themselves deep into my consciousness, his words echoing uncontrollably around my head while I struggled to retain my calm and decipher its cryptic significance. As my alarm subsided, an uncomfortable bewilderment crept up on me. I read it again: "So I'm childish am I? Well didn't wanna go to ****ing town anyway." The words glared out at me, livid and fuming, yet it made no sense. What on earth had I done to him? Did he really hate me that much that he couldn't even say something like this to my face, and without even explaining it? I just couldn't believe that this was the very same George who had been talking to me completely normally only that day at school. As many times as I read those heated words, I was genuinely flummoxed.

Eventually, I replied as casually as I could, asking for at least an explanation, however his second message left me more puzzled than ever. Completely contradicting my expectations, he told me he had only been joking! I contemplated the likelihood of this. On one hand, this was exactly the sort of random thing that George would do. Nonetheless, I felt that this was somehow different, and it left me with an uneasy discomfort which settled back into my mind until I had all but forgotten it.

Although undeniably it was roughly from that point onwards that our friendship began to disintegrate, I do not think that the text itself played a very significant role in this, it only helped me to understand and accept what I recognized was happening to us. I no longer found his jokes amusing. Now, he was merely immature and irritating, not just to me, I realised, but to others too. In fact, it would not be an exaggeration to say that most people thought him to be childish and annoying beyond words, yet naturally, as 'bitchy' fifteen-year-olds, out of his hearing we will talk and talk, saying nothing to the victim in person.

One thing in particular which used to really get to me, was his way of biting people (randomly, of course), when they least expected it. At first this was slightly amusing, and just another weird but accepted cult of his. Although this may sound like a slightly ridiculous reason for two people to argue, in the end it was not just the biting itself that infuriated me, but the way in which he used this as an alternative method of communication to simply talking to me. Eventually, he never even said 'hello' to me, and instead he would just walk up to me and bite my arm, then walk straight off again without saying a word. Once, I did confront him about this, pointing out that his bites actually hurt people. At one point, Zoe even had a huge purple jaw-shaped bruise on her arm, which I sincerely doubt could have been a result of anything other than this. Despite my not-so-subtle hinting, George's attitude remained as ignorant as it ever had been, and my anger began to swell up inside me.

On the evening of Thursday 12th June, my phone began to ring. Curiously, as I was not expecting any calls that night, I peered at the brightly lit screen displaying a flashing green handset next to the words "Number Withheld". Cautiously, expecting a prank caller, I frowned at it a moment, then answered.

"Hello?"
"Hi Sam, it's George."
My heart sank. Whatever he was about to say was surely nothing good, considering our current state. "Erm, hi…" I said hesitantly.
"I want to talk to you seriously," he said, "and I want you to be completely honest with me, alright?"
My pulse suddenly quickened with apprehension. "Ok," I replied, before he continued:
"Because I can tell that we haven't been getting on that well recently, and I want us to sort things out."
Understatement of the century, I thought, yet relief washed over me that at least he too accepted that there was an issue, and hopefully wanted things to get back to how they used to be between us.

He started by asking me how he was "childish", as I had apparently called him. Although obviously there was no point in denying that I thought he was, I honestly could not remember using that particular term to describe him, though I admitted it was likely that I would have said something to that effect.

Patiently, I explained on behalf of the rest of the people too afraid to speak the truth to him, the various things which I knew irritated not only me. My intentions were never to argue, only to attempt to resolve the dispute with as little fuss as possible by keeping completely calm and rational, and when he spoke again I could tell by the measured tone of his voice that he felt the same. His voice was deep and level, the kind of strained voice people always talk in when they are trying to suppress their rage while appearing composed and reasonable, so that it ends up sounding forced and fake. And somehow, this frightened me a great deal more.

By this time I had realised how hurt he had been when he was told that we had gone out without him, which would explain that hateful text, although I personally still could not understand why it had affected him so deeply.

And that was the point at which we began to disagree. While George insisted that Tom had most definitely been invited to the first outing all along, I was certain that this had never been the case, as I had actually been there myself whilst it was being organised, and not once did we mention inviting Tom. Consequently, we began talking over each other, each persisting that our own version of the story was right, our voices gradually rising to combat the other. Though I know this is slightly hypocritical of me, I became frustrated that he was no longer even listening to what I was trying to explain, wildly exaggerating the significance of everything I had said to him already about how I hated him. In no way was this reasonable, and my annoyance swelled to such an extreme that I could no longer stand the ridiculous situation that it had become. I just wanted him to shut up so that he would stop talking such absurd nonsense. It had all gotten so out of hand.

I was startled to realise that silent tears now rolled pathetically down my cheeks, and hopelessly I just sat there as he promised me in that infuriatingly level voice that never again would he make a joke to me if it upset me so much. In desperation, I cried softly:

"George, that's not what I mean, and you know it's not."
"Well," he told me, his voice heartbreakingly toneless, "You don't have to worry because from now on you're talking to the mature George."
"George..." My voice was nothing but a feeble plea, broken by tears that spilled freely now. How had it come to this?
"So I'll see you at school then." His coolly casual words wrenched my heart in two. There was so much I should have said; so much I could not say.
"Yeah." My voice was hollow, cracked by a lump in my throat that threatened to choke me. We had nothing left. "Bye then-" My voice broke entirely on these last words, and anything else I had wanted to say was lost.

Long after I had hung up the phone, I sat staring unseeingly at the blank screen. I realised I had been physically shaking, and my t-shirt clung to me in a damp layer of cold sweat, chilling me to the core. I was shivering uncontrollably, my breath coming in short gasps as I struggled to comprehend everything that had just happened. His empty, dispassionate words still ricocheted around my churning mind, haunting me as I cursed myself for allowing this to happen in this way, because now I knew there could be no going back now that such hurtful words had been uttered. My heart felt as though it had been brutally torn from my chest, and in the emptiness that it left behind, sick understanding gathered, whilst I fought the desire both to rip every limb from his ostentatious body or to kneel down and beg for his forgiveness. My world had been turned upside down in a matter of minutes, and it would never be the same again.

Since that day, we have barely even spoken together. In fact we've had further arguments since then, but none of them broke my heart in quite the same way that he did on that fateful evening. Apart from my obvious inexperience in dealing with this type of disagreement, I was inundated with horror at how deeply our relationship had been severed and how close we once had been, only weeks before. It was so hard being around him at school, because naturally we still both belonged to the same close group of friends, so on numerous occasions we would end up at the same parties. This would often be unbearably awkward, and I hated the way that every time he did or said something comical I instinctively wanted to laugh, then remembered that we were supposed to hate each other and recoiled with notable discomfort.

At the time, I was simply overwhelmed by the hostility between the two of us, having never even quarrelled with a friend before, only with family. Some may say that there is no difference, yet the impact that I feel it caused to my life at the time and also to the way I live today is so great that I believe the fact that it was between me and a friend is highly relevant. As I have explained, throughout all my primary school years I backed away from conflict and took a passive role in any disagreement, and in fact I do not think it is an exaggeration to say that the only times I cried during these years that was not caused by injury, was when I was upset by relatively serious arguments between close friends of mine. It was this, not disputes involving myself directly, which caused me severe heartache as a child, and I believe that this alone was the reason that I never really prepared myself to be able to take an adult approach in later life. Had I even spoken out about small, insignificant things, I imagine this would have helped to develop my confidence bit by bit, altering my personality from an earlier age when we were all more inclined to change, rather than almost having to force these adjustments upon my character, at a time when my personality should have been much more settled and matured.

Due to this, I regret somewhat that from an early age I was never given much prompting or assistance to help develop my self-confidence and set myself up to be able to speak out assertively when necessary. I had always admired others, like George, who seemed to ooze that buoyant self-belief, and been fascinated to some extent that some people were just naturally that way.

Perhaps, therefore, when I finally realised I actually had a fair amount of confidence myself, my reaction was that I wanted to be able to prove myself to other people, that I was not just the shy little girl I appeared to be at first. Following this, I believe I may have actually become overconfident, so certain of myself that I began to abuse this new quality I had acquired by flaunting it to others, particularly in the case of George. Although other people have comforted me, saying that there was nothing else I could have done in the situation, I still believe that had we started the same argument between him and my old self, there would have been none of the aggressive determination that dominated our dispute, none of the obstinate stubbornness that I has always been present in my character, as I have become aware of lately, after noticing this reoccurring theme in numerous family quarrels. It actually amused me just recently when I noticed that my brother also has this unfortunate trait, in that we can both be unwaveringly persistent when trying to prove a point to the extent that it becomes childish.

In actual fact, just by writing this account and being able to organise my thoughts on paper, it has truly helped me to comprehend things I have never spoken of before. By putting so many unspoken emotions and concepts into black and white, I have even found myself thinking more deeply than ever to attempt the impossible task of expressing my perceptions honestly and precisely, discovering more about myself in the process. Only by understanding and accepting my faults can I learn from my past and from mistakes that I made, which at the time I did not realise were inappropriate, being so caught up in my own exasperation that I did not consider fully the consequences of my actions.

I sincerely hope that sometime in the near future, enough time will have passed to make it possible for us to put aside our differences and begin to gradually reconstruct the relationship we once had. Never again will I let something so trivial ruin what had been such a happy relationship, simply because of my childishly stubborn ways, which I now almost feel hypocritical about, in view of the fact that the underlying cause of the argument had been the issue of George's immaturity. Although in a way I am glad that we did talk about our feelings instead of continuing with the fake contentedness that 'bitching' tends to bring on, at least it has certainly taught me when to step away from something that will clearly not be resolved by shouting matches!

Yet the one thing which still manages to frustrate me every time we begin to argue, is how I cannot seem to get across to him that I have never actually hated him, through all this time. He just does not seem to understand that I only want him to accept that he may not be perfect, and try and change his ways for the better so that his friendships are not tainted by the way that he just takes everything too far, because he can never tell when enough is enough. I'm not even asking him to change at all - in fact I honestly would not want him any other way even if I could. All that I ask is that he accepts what I am trying to tell him, just as the boy I described earlier managed to do, meaning that we reached a new trusting level of understanding between us, cementing our relationship forever. All I ever wanted was to help rescue our friendship in the first place by being open and cooperative, yet somehow I know that rescue from our current situation would be close to impossible, taking into account every hurtful thing that has been said and done since then.

*** As I watched him disappear into the thronging crowds, I thought sadly that I had already failed at my 'good deed' before I had even started.
It was just ridiculous. *** 

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