Chalk Girl

I seem to be listing random episodes of my life here in no chronological order. I perhaps would argue that none of it has been random, it has all been proper preordained across the linear plains of destiny. If it has been, then something went slightly wrong half an hour ago. I was due to meet a potential connection in a short skirt and vibrant make-up, but a jobsworth came between us on purpose and prevented our meet and greet from occurring. We might not have hit it off at all, although that is not the point. The young girl might have bolstered my spirits, and I her’s. Ah well, we can’t win them all. If our paths are bound to cross then I’m sure we’ll bump into each other again when there isn’t somebody in a position to shoo me away. If not, it’s okay, there’s no bitterness or bad blood. I’ll rather think of the real and trusted connections I have made over the time of my life.

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One connection the bad guys couldn’t come between was Chalk Girl, going back to the year ’97. She is so memorable. I was in a bail hostel, after a good six month sectioning, the talk of the town after setting my house on fire (which was all bullshit by the way). The council wouldn’t have me, my mum wanted nothing no more to do with an off-the-rails outlaw arsonist son, college was over, the only thing keeping me in check was an English teacher who remained in contact because she saw promise in my writing. I wrote an illustrated poem for her office wall to thank her. She’d bring me Pringles and Strawberry water in a goody bag. She’d pick me up, take me to my hometown to play out with my townies all day, then run me back home, all at her own expense in her free time with no burdens whatsoever. She thought she was steering me away from the dark side, but I was once so high in her car on the return 50 mile trip that I removed my garments on the back seat because I thought I was hyper ventilating…probably related to severe dehydration from too much amphetamines!  

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Rest in Peace, anyway, English teacher. I won’t mention names because like so many other figures in authority who have or have had a hand in my life, it becomes a touchy subject and gets a tad complicated. I’ll have to name a dozen of them if I name one. She was a stern yet kind chisel-featured woman with a heavy swell of bosom, think of an attractive Blue Fairy in her late fifties. She passed away some years later, I was made aware of the sad news with a text message that aimed straight for the heart chambers. I used to write down all my text messages and emails onto note paper, to preserve a hard copy of all electronic transactions. I was kinda anal about things like that. A particular writer advised that one should never throw anything away to do with writing. Laminating shopping lists is going a bit too far though. One of my mate’s shopping lists was large enough to wallpaper the spare bedroom, he would say. Or was it the receipt from the supermarket? It was either the list or the receipt, one of the two. Either way, the excursion to buy weekly food would take him and his bird two whole hours. She insisted on perusing every single aisle in the store, one by one at a time. I’m in and out with a couple of Pot Noodles and microwave meals in under five minutes. Cor blimey! He said the only thing worse than shopping was watching Harry Potter in its entirety. 

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Anyway, Chalk Girl. I was in this rough-arse bail hostel right. It’s all another story. Full of unforgettable characters. Chalk Girl is fit, OK. Same age as me, adorned in an angelic white flowing gown, sitting on my knee quite often and giving me a horn on…then one time while playing pool she takes the pool cue chalk and rubs it all over herself. Her face was like a blue mask. She smelled like a pastel factory. But it was the way she did it. It was so SEXY. It was like she was playing with edible food or something. She was licking the chalk with her pointy tongue and wiping it around her lips. WTF is wrong with this broad??? I was thinking. It was a private, personal performance. I should have swiped her into an empty bedroom and nailed her (or made passionate adolescent love, however you wanna describe it) but I was too stubbornly shy to do a thing about it. What I would do for a second chance with her! I wonder how she is getting on in later life? If she was an escort, I would pay 300 an hour. I have plenty of pool cue chalk at home because I’ve always been very careful not to lose it when I use it.

This post (approx 850 words) is dedicated to: Chalk Girl xx