Not My Problem

by Ciara Smyth

I got all the hassle and they got to be brave and everyone else got to act like our school had always been this rainbow utopia.

“Well,” I said thoughtfully, “what do you need?” And that was how it started.

“The instructor says I won’t be able to be ‘flexible in body until I am flexible in mind.’ I tried explaining that that is not how hamstrings work.”

“Since last year after the exams when all my eyelashes fell out.”

She probably thought coffee was a gateway drug to cocaine.

I heard something that made my blood chill. “Here, let me help.” Kavi Thakrar crouched down beside Meabh and in one move scooped her into his arms.

“Yes, I’m a regular teenage troubleshooter. Come to me with your stupid problem and I’ll fix it; it’ll only cost you a limb,” I joked, relieved

I don’t like old bats who are too senile to spot a pretty obvious problem.

Meabh burst into tears. Christ, how did she have anything left in the tank?

He thought even her ligaments were somehow better than everyone else’s.

Meabh’s face dimmed. Like the sun that shone out of her arse, creating a halo effect, suddenly faded.

That’s why I don’t need to do PE. I get all my cardio from anxiety about what my mother is doing at any given moment.

We watched TV for a bit, but Mam was mostly on her phone.

The profile picture was of Hillary Clinton but I doubted she was getting in touch.

Even though I was up half the night and could feel the eye bags,

I could never relax around them. I was always thinking of whether I was acting right or if the thing I was going to say was stupid.

It’s no fun watching a film when the person you’re with is on their phone.

“I remember getting you ice cream from the corner shop because the ice-cream van on the beach was twice the price. And you cried because you really wanted to get one from the van.”

“Aideen,” she said sharply. “Go and wash your face, please. You know you’re not allowed to wear makeup to school.”

Say what??

But when I thought of Meabh, she didn’t seem like the person we’d hated all these years. That person was a myth we’d built up around her.

I shouted hi to my mother and went straight to my room. I badly needed a nap. Or a shower. Or a lobotomy. Something to shake the day off.

So she’d looked at her phone but she hadn’t opened my message on purpose.

I knew instantly that next December when I got another advent calendar I’d only be able to think of this moment.

I’m not a pervert just because I’m a lesbian.

Yeah, because bickering never leads to sexual tension. Dumbass.