furtherfield on Mon, 27 Aug 2001 15:54:37 +0000


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Syndicate: Marc Garrett's St Valentines Day


Marc Garrett's St Valentines Day

It was St Valentines Day and I was about thirteen years of age, may be
twelve. At break time at Cecil Jones High School I frantically searched for
the one and only girl who I believed I was in love with. What made it
feel so urgent was the possibility that she fancied me. After all we
did seem to get on, we laughed and talked with each other nearly everyday.
Which was a miracle in our school that anyone actually managed to
communicate at all.

Looking back to those days makes me feel very ill. Remembering all the boys
posturing, creating gang territories, dictating their parents' bigoted
opinions into the gladiator's awesome arena known as the playground.
A terrifying place harbouring pure survival, emotional and psychological
warfare. The night before I had spent hours in my bedroom painting and
drawing a rather large, very expressive picture for her. It measured
approximately A3 size, give or take a few inches. After wasting some crucial
and valuable  minutes fighting through the chaotic heaving throng of manic
children. 
          
I noticed her about to go back inside to her class. I rushed over to her and
greeted her with a polite good morning in a nervous and gentlemanly  manner
and she responded courteously. As I handed the image over to her I could
feel the butterflies fluttering around in my stomach. Because I had created
the picture myself it felt more real. Not like all those sad mass produced
efforts that people generally buy. This was a real gesture of love exuding
from the depths of my frantic heart, made from my own hands. She took it
gracefully with an excited smile.

This made me feel warm inside. She then looked at the image that I had
lovingly painted and drawn for her and only her. Then her her smile
gradually disappeared. The image was of me as a robot pulling my heart out,
becoming human and offering her my heart as an ultimate gesture of love. She
said it was sick and then threw it in the bin and never talked to me
again...

dido diary extract...
http://www.dido.uk.net/mgarrett/index.htm

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