Am I Normal Yet?

by Holly Bourne

  Lottie shook her head. “There are some films, but barely any; it’ll take you ages to work them out. Like none of the Lord of the Rings films pass, and none of the original Star Wars. Even the last Harry Potter film doesn’t have two girls having a conversation in it. It’s screwed up, isn’t it? Like, women aren’t worth a storyline unless they’re discussing men and what men do.” She wrapped her arms round both of us, dragging our heads towards the table and dangerously close to our remaining breakfast. “Still so far to go, ladies, still so far to go.”

  I mulled it over some more whilst removing myself from her embrace. I didn’t like my face being so close to a dirty plate.

  “Okay, I get it. But we’ve just spent half an hour discussing the best way to eat eggs. And before that, we argued about which song from a musical best sums up our lives. And, just yesterday, you were explaining The Female Eunuch to me…so, surely we’ve earned the right to discuss your new boyfriend?”

  “Ahh, yes,” said Lottie, patting my head, like I was the dunce student. Which I was, compared to her, who basically snorted academia in her spare time. “But if we were in a movie, then they wouldn’t show any of that. They would just cut straight to this breakfast, to the moment you guys ask me about Tim.”

  Whilst I sat there with my brain still throbbing, Amber reasoned with her.

  “Come on, Lottie. We’re your friends, we care about you. We’re interested in Tim because he’s something in your life, not just because he’s a guy. I promise that you can tell us how deliriously happy you are without pooing on the sisterhood.”

  “Eww.”

  “So…is it love?”

  Lottie visibly melted before us, her face softened around the edges like she was in a dream sequence. “He’s…he’s…” She went quiet and started playing with the bottles again. “He’s really thick…”

  “Umm, Lottie?” I said. “That’s not very loved-up sounding.”

  “But he’s totally cute with it,” she protested. “And I’m not being a bitch – he told me himself he’s a bit thick. Everyone at my old school calls him ‘Tim Nice But Dim’ from that old TV show or whatever…but he is very sweet and I’m smart enough for both of us anyway. And…oh God, this is going to sound REALLY bad but he’s a proper man’s man, you know? Like HURR, or something. He’s all muscly and protective and macho and sporty and everything I am technically really against, but actually, am annoyingly attracted to.”

  “I hate that,” Amber said, nodding. “I know I’m supposed to fancy nice guys who only watch Ethical Porn or whatever, and will never treat you badly blah blah blah…but then…well, I fell for that football standerupper twat, didn’t I? Because he made my loins go fluttery.”

  Lottie and I sniggered at the use of the word “loins”. I turned to her.

  “You seem really happy, it’s nice. I can’t wait to meet him properly.”

  She pulled a face. “I guess. But it’s early days, isn’t it? And I’d much rather spend this wonderful breakfast time chatting to you guys about stuff other than my boyfriend.” A grumpy waitress came over and took our empty plates. “Anyway, what’s going on with Joel and Guy’s band then?”

  “You’re talking about men again,” I pointed out, as I rummaged for a tip in the depths of my purse.

  “Damn it. This Bechdel test is harder than you think.”

  Twelve

  The following lunchtime, I found myself alone.

  Jane and I were supposed to be going for a coffee, but she’d once again cancelled. And Lottie and Amber both had an art coursework deadline and had holed themselves up in the studio. I went to the cafeteria and plonked some food on my tray, wondering how embarrassing it would be to eat it by myself. Very, I reckoned. But I was hungry.

  I paid and stood with my tray, scanning the place for somewhere to sit. There were clumps of people everywhere, almost all the tables were busy and would therefore involve me perching at the end like a huuuuge loser.

  Panic panic panic panic…

  And then I saw Oli sitting in the corner. He had a whole table to himself, with his knees resting up on it. His headphones were plugged into a small screen balancing on his lap. I grinned – something about him just made me feel all…cute. I walked over.

  He looked up when I put my tray down.

  “Hey,” I said. “I’m friendless today. Can I sit here?”

  His head jerked backwards, making his headphones fall to his chest. “Bollocks,” he said, and went to grab them, his screen sliding off his lap. “Ahhh, nuts.” I smiled as he collected up his things, muttering swear words under his breath. Finally he gestured to a chair near him. “Of course. That would be…erm…great. Sit down. Sit, sit.”

  Seriously, the guy could be awarded a medal in Shyness.

  I sat and watched him watch me with his nervy jumpy eyes of basily goodness.

  “You’ve got a nice spacey table here,” I said to him.

  He looked round at it, almost in surprise. “I guess… Nobody ever sits in the corner. Have you noticed that?”

  “Not until now.” I took a bite of my sandwich, chewed for a bit, then pointed to his technology. “What you watching over here, all by yourself, anyway?”

  Oli turned the screen round and I saw Jack Nicholson frozen in his iconic white hospital costume. “One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest,” he said, though he didn’t need to. I’d watched it countless times, comparing it to my time spent sectioned. Thankfully, things had changed since then.

  “Classic,” I said, impressed.

  “You wanna watch some with me?” he stuttered.

  I put my sandwich down. “Sure.”

  I budged over to the seat next to him and he handed me one of his earphones. The intimacy of it made me all quivery. There was something about sharing headphones, creating your own auditory world together that others couldn’t hear, that I thought was so romantic. It helped that we had to practically rest our heads on one another, restricted by the short cord between each headphone. I tried to concentrate on the film, but Oli’s close proximity was distracting. He was so twitchy! His leg jumped up and down, making the screen rock. He also smelled amazing which didn’t help my attention span. We sat like that for ten minutes or so, watching Jack Nicholson’s amazing performance, until my tummy grumbled and I flicked the earbud out so I could concentrate fully on my sandwich.

  Oli paused it. “You like the film then?” he asked.

  I took a sip from my Coke bottle. “Yeah, I do… I like all that ‘what is madness?’ stuff.”

  I didn’t tell him why, obviously.

  But he gave me a huge cheekboney smile, like he totally got it. “Me too, me too. There aren’t enough films about it. Being mad, I mean.”

  I returned his smile. “There so aren’t. And the movies only focus on the really ‘exciting’ mental illnesses, like schizophrenia or personality disorders where the main character needs to have sex a lot.”

  “Where are the boring ones about depressed people who just don’t get out of bed?”

  “Exactly! They should make a film about depression where it’s just one person, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling for an hour. Then it’d be authentic.”

  “Yeah…” Then he went quiet.

  I took a bite of my sandwich, struggling to digest as being around him made me feel all warm and cottonwoolly. Though his nervousness did make me more nervous. I wondered if he liked me. He certainly looked at me a lot during lessons. He wasn’t looking at me now, rather scrunching his hands up in a ball, squeezing his fingers one by one. I was about to try and break the silence but he spoke.

  “Do you ever wonder,” he asked, “how we decide what’s mad and what isn’t? There’s so much crazy stuff in the world – everything’s a mess most of the time – but then people who can’t handle it are called mental and have films made about them… But what if they’re just reacting to the weirdness of the universe? Isn’t it more weird to just think everything’s okay, when it clearly isn’t?”


  I drummed up the courage to move my chair closer to his, to show I agreed with what he’d said. He still wouldn’t look at me.

  “You know…” I said. “I think they’re re-releasing this at the cinema soon, so young people like us can see it on the big screen.”

  In other words: Ask me out please, ask me out please, ask me out please.

  I watched his face as he dropped his earphones again, and ducked down to pick them up. Then he looked at me. Something passed, something good.

  “I…I…” he said, and I urged him on with my eyes.

  Please ask me out. I really like you.

  “I…I…” And when his face dropped I knew he wouldn’t. “I… It’s a pity we’ve just watched it then, isn’t it?” he said.

  “Yeah,” I said, still smiling. “It is.”

  Thirteen

  My phone beeped from under my body. I turned over on the grass and looked at the screen.

  “Who is it?” Jane asked, from behind a pair of sunglasses.

  I grinned. “Oli.”

  “Has he asked you out yet?” Joel asked, from under Jane. She was lying on top of him – her head on his head, like they were a sandwich.

  “Umm… No, not yet.”

  Autumn had slid back into summer for one last gasp before winter snatched all sunshine away for six months. It was mild and bright and lovely. Half of college sprawled out over the grounds, huddled in groups of not-so-new-any-more friends. I was sunbathing with Jane, Joel, Guy, Lottie and Amber. Although Amber was attempting to use her sketchbook to shield her face from the rays.

  “I’m so jealous of your skin, Lottie. You tan so easily, whereas I’m going to have to spend my entire ginger life plastered in factor 30.”

  Lottie arched an eyebrow. “Yes, but think of all the wrinkles you won’t have when you’re older?”

  “Annnnnd, I’m going to stop complaining now.”

  Lottie smiled. “Never stop complaining, Amber. It is why I love you so very dearly.”

  Guy snorted. “Who is this guy any way?” he asked, an unlit fag dangling from his lips.

  Lottie tilted her head up from the cushion she’d made out of her jumper and answered for me. “He’s this super sweet guy from her film class. But he’s so shy it’s ridiculous.”

  “He’s not shy,” I said, defending him. “He’s just…umm…shy.”

  Guy lit his cigarette, took a deep drag then exhaled deliberately into my face. I coughed and glared at him.

  “He sounds like a pussy.”

  “He’s not a pussy!”

  “Oh yeah?” he said, tauntingly. Then, with no notice, he grabbed my phone out of my hand.

  “Hey,” I said, clambering to get it back but he fended me off with his cigarette.

  “Hey, what animals do you like? I’ve always wanted a monkey,” he read off the screen. He made a look of utter disgust and chucked my phone back at me. “See, told you. Puss. Ay.”

  I collected my phone off the grass and dusted the mud off it. “He’s just making conversation. I like monkeys too.”

  “Whoop whoop, why don’t you just marry the guy?”

  Amber sat up and joined in. “He has a point,” she said. “Did he honestly just message you about animals?”

  “Just this one time.”

  “And what else does he message you about?” Lottie asked. I had everyone’s attention and I didn’t like it. I felt defensive of Oli, and his cheekbones, and our future children’s cheekbones.

  “Umm. Films sometimes.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Er. What we did at the weekend?”

  Guy finished his fag and stubbed it out in the grass. “And yet he’s never said, ‘Why don’t we do something this weekend?’”

  I didn’t reply, just looked at his fag butt. Wanting so badly to pick it up, carry it over to the bin and then wash my hands twice. Maybe three times.

  My phone beeped again. I looked at the screen and broke into a huge grin. “HE’S ASKED ME OUT,” I yelled, waving the phone at all of them.

  Lottie and Amber shrieked and ran over to read the message. Lottie read it aloud.

  “‘Fancy cinema this weekend?’ Aww – finally! I’d about given up hope.”

  I beamed at everyone, then quickly stuck my tongue out at Guy. A date! With a boy! To the cinema! Like people do!

  BAD THOUGHT

  You’ll have to sit on a cinema seat that’s already been sat on by hundreds of thousands of dirty people.

  BAD THOUGHT

  He’ll want to buy you popcorn. How can you explain that you won’t be able to eat the popcorn?

  BAD THOUGHT

  What if he realizes within minutes that you’re a massive weirdo freak and runs out leaving you alone to fester in the germs?

  “So…?” Lottie said, examining my suddenly pale face. “Are you going to message him back?”

  “Shouldn’t I wait a while?”

  “Yes,” Guy said.

  “No,” Amber butted in, ignoring Guy. “Message him back. He’s shy, he’ll be dying by now.”

  I flicked through our plans for this weekend. “Isn’t Anna having another party on Saturday? Should I invite him to that?”

  Amber thought about it and shook her head, sunrays bouncing off her hair. “Hmm. No… See how the cinema goes and then, if you still madly fancy him, you can tell him about the party and invite him along.”

  “Perfect,” Lottie joined in. “And then if the date is terrible, you can tell us all about it at the party.”

  I couldn’t hold in my smile as I shot back a message.

  Sure, cinema sounds great. Sat during the day? X

  “Argh,” I squealed. “I’ve sent it. I have a date.”

  Lottie and Amber pulled me in for a bear hug and, surprising us all, Jane unearthed herself from Joel’s grasp and joined in on the hugging action.

  “I’m so excited for you,” she squeaked.

  Guy and Joel rolled their eyes at each other in an ergh-girls way and I felt a bit silly. I broke apart the hug. “Come on, girls, calm down. Bechdel test, remember?”

  Jane scrunched her eyebrows in confusion. “Bechdel what?”

  “Oh, don’t worry, Jane. It’s not a test for you,” Amber said.

  “Huh?” she asked as Lottie and Amber burst out laughing. Bitchily. My stomach twisted for Jane. I would always defend her…when it wasn’t me complaining about her or calling her names in my head. My phone beeped with Oli’s reply, breaking the awkwardness.

  Sounds good. See you Saturday.

  And we did more squealing.

  The college bell rang in the distance and the others groaned and picked up their bags and litter. I lay back in the grass, a mixture of euphoric and petrified about the impending weekend.

  Lottie stood over me, blocking out the sun. “You not got class?”

  “Nope. Free period.”

  “Lucky bugger. You staying around here?”

  I yawned and stretched. “Nope, don’t think so. I think I’m just going to walk home.”

  “Not fair. Anyways, come on, love birds,” she said to Jane and Joel. “We’re late for philosophy. See yas.”

  I waved them all away. All of them apart from Guy who, to my surprise, still sat next to me on the grass.

  “You not got class either?” I asked him.

  He shook his head. “You say you’re walking? Whereabouts do you live?”

  “Ashford Road.”

  He stood up, shaking grass from his band T-shirt. “That’s right near me. I’ll walk with you.” It was a statement, rather than a question. He held out his hand to pull me up off the ground. I took it gingerly.

  “Okay, I guess,” I said, wondering what the hell we were going to talk about for the thirty minute walk.

  For the first ten minutes, apparently absolutely nothing…

  We veered along the pavements in a hazy sunshiny stupor. The awkward silence hung heavily over us like a cloud of conversational napalm. It only dispersed when
Guy brazenly lit up a cheeky spliff and I sighed dramatically.

  “What is it?” he asked, blowing out the smoke slowly.

  “Don’t you ever wanna, like, live in reality?”

  He looked bewildered for a sec, before looking at the small rolled-up flaming paper in his hand.

  “This is reality. It’s natural!”

  “It’s a mind-altering substance.”

  “It’s a plant.”

  I sighed again. “Whatever.”

  The fragrant smell floated past me on the wind and I tried not to cough. Silence descended once more and I wondered why he’d walked with me. Especially as he seemed a bit pissed off. He spoke first.

  “So, you looking forward to this date then?”

  I gave him a sideways look. “I guess.”

  He took a drag and giggled a bit under his breath. “And this one’s not a nympho?”

  I glared at him. “Not that I know of… No.”

  “He’s just a pussy.”

  My glare intensified. “I object to that word.”

  “What word? Pussy?”

  “Yes. It’s sexist. And vulgar. What’s having a vagina got to do with not having any courage? You’re a misogynist.”

  “I’m an a-what-a-nist?”

  “If you don’t know what it means, then you definitely are one.”

  He giggled again in response. “You’re funny.”

  “I’m not trying to be funny. I’m trying to be angry.”

  “That’s what makes it so funny.”

  “It’s only funny to you ’cause you’re high. Alone. On a Thursday.”

  He laughed again, his eyes already red. “I’m not alone, I’m with you.”

  “That’s not what I’m telling the police if they pull over and arrest you.”

  His laughter got more and more amplified. I let him giggle himself out and watched him finish his joint and flick it into a bush. Younger girls had started crushing majorly on Guy since the big church gig. I’d heard some girls from the local secondary school, my old school, discuss his fitness in the fish and chip shop, and some of them followed him and Joel around in town. I examined him now. The sun lit his face from behind, giving him his own little golden lining, detailing his unruly mop of hair. He was attractive, I guessed.