Year 8 cool-kid teens were slouched on the back seats of the bus like
every American high-school movie I’ve ever seen. I often wonder who I’d
have become if I wasn’t so terribly different.
Who would I have hung out with?
Scott Parker perhaps?
What music would he have let me blast out of the speakers in his dad’s
man shed?
Would I still have my collection of limited-edition Giraffe mugs?
Would he require sole ownership over the leaf-green one, as an initiation
ritual to sit at the older kid’s lunch table?
I do this a lot. I like making up scenarios in my head and thinking about
how they would play out if I change the variables. Scenario, an outline of
a film, stage work or novel. More often than not, fictional.
Our bus trudged along like a desert camel. Although, a desert camel’s
fur coat reflects sunlight, meaning they don’t suffer in the hot climate. We
drove along unnecessary speed-bumped roads for stops no one wished
to alight at.
We were all headed to one place but that’s where the similarity between
me and them ended. By the end of the journey I knew the lady sat next
to me better than the Game of Thrones family trees.
Sharon, three kids, to two dads, just trying to be mother of the year.
Going through a heavy break-up with a man called Mick. Something
to do with him not being able to pay the Netflix account. It’s crazy how
much people share on a bus ride.
Hi, I’m Henry Carmichael, I like animals and I’m on the autism spectrum,
do you have any factor fifty?
I imagined, (in the highly unlikely event that I ever voiced this blunt
greeting) Sharon’s awkward grapefruit smile. A Grapefruit is only called
a ‘Grape’ fruit because of the fact it grows in clusters, just like grapes
do. But that’s where the similarity between the two fruits end. In many
ways Sharon, her friends and I, all benefitted entirely from my inability
to interact socially. More speaking oxygen for them, more internal
stereotyping for me. A dynamic I am most used to.
92