The Places I've Cried in Public

by Holly Bourne

  Then the movie comes to a stop.

  I sigh. I keep my eyes closed, but reach up to brush away the tears that have fallen.

  “Now, congratulate yourself on being brave enough to relive that,” Sandy said.

  “I am brave,” I whisper to myself.

  And I am. I am so, so brave. As is every girl who manages to escape someone like you with even a shred of herself left. I may have lost a lot of tears. I may’ve lost my trust and my dignity and my friends and my hope, but I didn’t lose me. Not entirely. I was brave enough to leave just a sliver of myself that can regenerate and regrow. So many girls don’t. Always, always be the girl who does.

  “And now, float down from the projection room, and step through the cinema screen into the film. It’s now Technicolor. You will feel everything you felt. But the film is about to play backwards, really, really fast, okay?”

  Here I am, sat on a bench on a train platform. And yet, in my head, I’m floating through a cinema screen and emerging onto the same train platform, not so many months ago, when it was cold and I was broken. It’s all in colour and I can feel how much it hurt, and…

  “And go! The film is rewinding – super, super fast – right back to the beginning, where you were last safe.”

  And I’m whizzing backwards in time. Back-back-back through the sticky floors of that London venue, back-back-back through the music room, back-back-back through Sheffield, back-back-back to the Golden Jubilee Bridge, back-back-back to your road, back-back-back to being onstage at the Cube, back-back-back past the good places that were actually all just a trick, back-back-back through the number thirty-seven bus stop, back-back-back through the college talent show, back-back-back to my first day of college and not telling Alfie I loved him and back-back-back up the motorway. I unpack my belongings and make my room up in Sheffield to how it was before I was forced to leave it. And Alfie is here and I do not know you exist, and I am safe. I am safe.

  I am finally safe.

  I open my eyes.

  It’s summer and it’s over. It’s summer and I’ve got my guitar on my lap. It’s summer and I’m going to busk now, even if it’s illegal. Even if none of these busy, sweaty people around me care. I’ve got my voice back, and I’ve got a song to sing.

  I strum the opening chord, and I open my mouth. I used to get scared of performing, but I’ve learned there are much bigger things to be frightened of.

  I smile, and I start to sing.

  I’ve been retracing all the memories

  Sketching the map of me and you

  I just passed the body of my boundaries

  Kicked into the road

  Alongside my truth

  Here are the places I’ve cried

  Here’s the bed I made in your lies

  Here’s the last shred of my pride

  Take it all, take it all, take it all

  It started on a quiet bench

  And it ended, oh, right here.

  I’m finding myself in my footprints

  There’s not much left

  To grow back

  But there’s enough…

  Here are the places I’ve cried

  Here are all the tears that fell from my eyes

  Here are the pointless times that I tried

  Take it all, take it all, take it all

  And here I grow

  Now it’s my spring, now it’s my spring

  And there you go

  I can sing, I can sing

  I’ve finally, finally, learned how to say no

  Here are the places I’ve cried

  Here’s the bed I made in your lies

  Here’s the last shred of my pride

  Take it all, take it all, take it all

  Here are the places I’ve cried

  Here are all the tears that fell from my eyes

  Here are the pointless times that I tried

  Take it all, take it all, take it all

  Some people stop and listen to the song I have to sing, the story I have to tell. They nod their heads, enjoying it. A man tries to offer me money, but I smile and shake my head. Others pretend I’m not there. They are lost in the haze of their own lives and their own problems. That’s okay. I’m not doing this for anyone but me.

  My bag is packed at my feet.

  This is goodbye, Reese. I will not see you again.

  You don’t deserve a goodbye, of course. But this is more for me than it is for you. I’ve got a room in Jessa’s house, where I can finish my A levels on my side of the chimneys, and I’ve got parents who’ve agreed it’s probably for the best. I’ve got a good friend in Hannah to hang out with when I come down to visit. I’ve got a university course to try and get onto, and gigs booked in at my old favourite spots. I’ve got a whole life to try and lead without you, and, by damn, that’s a good life to have. I can never go back to the girl I was before, I can’t undo the past. But I can take my journey and my scars and I can use the lessons they gave me to ensure my future path has fewer tears in it. There’s a trail of salt across the country, from the tears that rolled down my cheeks, marking the path of this mess, but it ends here.

  Because you know what?

  I hardly ever cry any more.

  Holly Bourne is a bestselling and critically acclaimed author. Inspired by her work with young people, and her own experiences of everyday sexism, Holly is a passionate mental health advocate and proud feminist.

  @holly_bourneYA

  @hollybourneYA

  @UsborneYA

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  First published in the UK in 2019 by Usborne Publishing Ltd., Usborne House, 83-85 Saffron Hill, London EC1N 8RT, England. www.usborne.com

  Text © Holly Bourne, 2019

  Author photo © L. Bourne, 2017

  Cover and inside artwork by Jan Bielecki © Usborne Publishing, 2019

  The right of Holly Bourne to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  The name Usborne and the devices are Trade Marks of Usborne Publishing Ltd.

  All rights reserved. This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or used in any way except as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or loaned or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  EPUB: 9781474967051 KINDLE: 9781474967068

  04918/02

 

 

 
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