Stanzas: Monthly Chapbooks December 2014: Winter | Page 13

Gay as Christmas
Anna Victoria Lynch // Áine-Buaidheach Ní Loinsigh

I

t was approaching the Christmas holidays and the canteen was strewn with various
kinds of Yuletide tat, in varying festive shades. I stirred my cup of tea, watching the
milk dissolve in a pleasing swirl, as you sat opposite me explaining how difficult it is to
hang sketches on a gloss painted wall with Blu Tak. We had met a few weeks earlier,
but it didn’t take long for you to become the first woman I ever loved.
I remember the day we met: I was standing in the college smoking area on a chilly
November afternoon with my friends, one of whom introduced us, labelling you as
his “equally rebellious” classmate. We shook hands tentatively as you locked onto me
with your bright blue eyes; your hair was cropped and dyed the kind of vivid red that
would attract sometimes the wrong kind of attention. You complimented me on my
boots, saying that you once had a pair like them yourself when you went through your
“goth” phase. We continued to meet and enthuse about all the things that bad girls
have in common, like heavy metal and completely black wardrobes, and before long
we were inseparable.
I lost count of the hours we spent together; hours that brought us closer. Every day
I found something new to love about you, but I could never choose a favourite. Was it
your gentle ways in my times of need; those times as you held me when I cried, trying
your best to squeeze my broken pieces back together? Or was it your vulnerability;
those times when you would lie your head on my shoulder, and timidly confess that
I was one of the only people in your life who made you feel safe? Or maybe it
was your fearlessness; when you slid your slender hand round my waist, resting it on
the small of my back as you pulled me into your bosom, looking deep into my eyes,
suggesting we should run away together with a cheeky grin? I could list them all, but
there are not enough hours in the day, and there are certainly too many to choose
from.
Eventually, the time came for you to choose a wedding dress. I knew it was bad
luck to see the Bride in her dress before the big day, but you wanted a second opinion,
even if it meant spoiling the surprise. We went up to the sales assistant, showed her a
picture of a dress you had been coveting on a website, and she helped us to find the
most similar dress in the shop. She lifted it from the rail, handed it to me, and we went
to the changing room. You slipped off your clothes and I laced you into it, tightening
it around the contours of your body. You had such a womanly frame, a frame I both
loved and envied as I peeked over your shoulder at my comparatively flat figure in the
mirror.
Excitement filled your eyes as you gazed at your reflection, you swung your skirts
from side to side like a little girl pleased with her new frock. This was a beautiful
moment for you, and it should have been for me too. But instead I watched you, filled
13