Friday, 30 March 2012

Wipeout by Natalie Bowers

At first, I thought people were just being kind.

“For the tenth time,” said Cath as we nursed our coffees in library foyer, “you did not climb up the fountain, rip off your top and declare your undying love for Geeky Steve.”

“But I remember doing it.”

“It must have been a dream.”

“It seemed so real.”

“That's alcohol for you.”

Cath's theory made sense, but I couldn't shake the feeling that what I thought had happened had actually happened, and during our first lecture, I began to wonder if I was going mad.

“That's better,” I said, sliding into the seat next to Ryan.

“What's better?”

“My trousers.”

“What about 'em?”

“They were inside-out.”

“They were?”

“Yeah. You told me they were.”

“No I didn't.”

“Yes you did.”

“Must have been somebody else.”

At lunchtime, I ditched the madness theory and decided upon conspiracy instead.

“Where were you?” asked Layla as she sat on the grass, baguette in hand.

“What d'you mean?”

“You were supposed to meet me in the launderette. At break.”
“I did.”

“No you didn't.”

“Yes I did. I was there before you.”

“No you weren't.”

“Yes. I was. Don't you remember? I tripped over that bag of wet washing and landed in a puddle of water. I had to go back to my room to change.”

Layla laughed.

“Oh, I'm getting fed up with this,” I said and stomped off back to the dorm. It was clear that something was going on, but I didn't know what. Not until after I'd run into to Ian. Literally.

“Sorry!” I said, blushing as I grasped his hand and hauled him to his feet.


“For knocking you over?”

“You didn't.”

I was about to say, “Yes I did,” but then a thought struck me, and, on impulse, I grabbed him by the collar, pulled him toward me and gave him a huge, wet, lip-smacking kiss. My cheeks now blazing, I let him go, span around, dashed down the corridor and waited breathlessly outside my room.

Moments later, Ian appeared around the corner. He said, “Hello,” and walked right by me as if nothing had happened.

So that was it … I rocked up to my last lecture wearing nothing but pyjamas. At dinner, I stood on a refectory table and sang, “My humps, my humps, my lovely lady lumps,” and afterwards, I skinny dipped in the campus lake. No one batted an eyelid, and when I asked them about what they'd seen, none of them, and I mean none of them, could recall my actions. They weren't being kind; I wasn't going mad; and there wasn't any conspiracy. Somehow, I'd developed the ability to make people forget my most embarrassing moments. It was like a gift from God. Until it disappeared.

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