Watching Fireworks Fly

Bonfire Night was not the waste of time I had expected it to be. It
started off badly, ?4! And the first person I saw was a girl I hate
more than anyone has hated anyone before. Her name is Gemma and her
face is like the smell of burning gas. I chose my night-sky gazing
position as far away from her as possible, but I could still see her in
the distance and couldn't help but think that sometimes it would be
nice if one of the rockets went astray. I stood and watched the
fireworks fly across the sky, and as they were banging their last bang
and the bonfire was on its last sizzle, I looked around at the people
who surrounded me - small children messing about, lovers entwined,
groups of friends drinking and laughing. All of them a million miles
away from my life. I ate my hamburger with relish and wandered around
looking at the various groups for a long time, watching them enjoy
themselves until I saw a face in the distance that was also alone and
made me stop still. It was Anya.

Anya was continually the source of my teenage angst and continues to be
beyond. I've known her since Primary School and because of our surnames
- Anya Morecambe and Will Noone, we sat next to each other in the
alphabet dominated classroom. It was the start of the long running
hatred I had for Gemma because she came to our school later on and so
sat between us, smelling of verrucas. But for a while I was in seven
year old's heaven. I thought she was the prettiest girl in the school
but she only came third in the league we did at playtime. I would have
married her there and then if it had been legal and if she'd given her
consent. She is the type of girl you want to put on your knee and thank
God you're a man, and not being with her was the worst thing since
unsliced bread. I grew up wishing she was ugly, because then not so
many people would have wanted her attention and affection and I would
have had her all to myself. Her sense of humour, her luminous glow and
fresh outlook on life eluded all that did no more than stare. All those
pure parts about her would still be there without her model good looks
and I could picture myself with her if she was not so pretty, I would
not always look and feel inferior, as I can't help but do every time
I'm stood near her. I like to boast that, unlike most people, I fancied
her before her tits got big. I suppose a good thing about me is that
nobody is going to want me for my scruffy unkempt hair, my skinny puny
body or my unexciting face. People would want me for who I am -a nice
enough 20 year old who is slightly obsessed with music and is idling
his life away.

It was while I was stood rooted to the spot looking at Anya in the
distance that I decided I needed to get my life moving. Simply looking
at her makes my heart beat twice as fast and it makes fireworks fly
across the sky, in the case of Bonfire Night literally. I looked at
myself and saw the pathetic figure I was turning into. Due to
circumstances possibly beyond my control I was turning into a bit of a
loser. But with the bang of a rocket in the sky I tried to snap myself
out of the zombie that I had turned myself into. The zombie who was
obsessed with a girl, who was unable to shake off names he'd been
called in the school playground. The zombie who was losing all his
friends and couldn't be bothered to get any new ones. I needed one of
the rockets flying across the sky to go up my backside so that I would
get a move on in my life. I wanted to achieve something, I didn't know
what, I just felt that the day that I was born my mum would have wanted
me to do more than just watch porn. Do more than listen to CDs and eat
ham sandwiches. I needed a good woman to give me a big kick up the
arse, but like everything else I had to do it to myself. The childhood
name calling is self explanatory and it goes hand in hand with my
hatred for Gemma. I can still remember the dread I felt at playtime.
Most people could take being called names, but I couldn't. When she
told me at the age of fourteen that I was the ugliest boy she had ever
seen I believed it. She ruined me, or at least I ruined myself by not
spitting in her face in reply. From the age of 12 until Bonfire Night
aged 20, Gemma made me miserable. But then I decided that all that had
to stop.