Autumn

Autumn

By Richard James

My name is Richard Nichols, and I met Jenny Dubois during my first year of college, that magical time that only ever happens once. You’re not yet an adult and you’re not a child anymore. You spend your time testing the boundaries of what life can give you.

I was seventeen and had just left school; I had a handful of passes and no real idea what I wanted from life, but I was young and felt sure that at some point I’d figure it out.

The classes I had taken that year were designed to help me achieve my goal, which at the time was to open my own shop, Mathematics, Accounting; Business studies and to my shame English Language resit.

I spent all of my free time in the quad, and that was where I first saw her, shoulder length brown hair billowing gently in the breeze. Blue eyes the colour of sky; a smattering of freckles adorned her cheeks and nose. To me she looked like perfection wrapped in a blue sweater that hugged her modest figure, slim hips encased in blue jeans.

She seemed to be the embodiment of autumn; the season suited her. From the gentle, warm breezes to the changing colours of the leaves on campus, everything about autumn reminds me of her, even now.

I was enchanted by her, although I never said a word. We shared English language together every Wednesday and Friday. We sat next to each other but I showed nothing of the desire that I felt for her.

It was mid November before I knew anything was wrong, it was after our Wednesday class which was the last period of the day. Jenny and I lived in a small village about a mile from the college. I would have been amazed that I’d never seen her before, but for the fact that we had attended schools eight miles apart.

We were walking home, the sky a washed out blue of faded denim filled with scrappy tufts of thin white clouds; a baleful sun coming low to the horizon in preparation for the end of another autumn day, which had been unseasonably warm. Gentle breezes attempted to tease Jenny’s hair from the scrunchy which held her flowing dark mane. She walked with a grace that I had never witnessed before and I was enraptured by her every move.

During all of September and October my feelings for her had grown and changed, from a simple crush to an almost overpowering longing. I ached for her company, but was still too shy to ask anything of her. It was then that she turned to me and said the most wonderful words any woman has ever said to a man.

She told me that my hazel eyes held the power to make her feel safe, to make her feel wanted. She hesitated before finishing, telling me that my eyes could make her feel loved.

A car’s horn honked lazily next to us, an ugly sound from a beat up old Ford; a horrible square brick of a vehicle. She smiled at the driver before ruffling my black hair, removing her back pack and pulling open one of the car’s rusted red doors.
I stood in shock as she kissed the guy behind the wheel and settled into the dingy passenger seat. My heart felt leaden to have her say something like, that then to watch her go with someone else. It hurt like a physical pain.

The dirty red Ford pulled away, clouds of dust and God-knows-what-else billowing from the exhaust. A receding image of her flowing brown hair. Leaving me to resume the walk home alone and suffering.

I spent the next day, with an aching almost burning need to see her, to have her tell me that her words had meant something. To tell me I meant something. That I wasn’t deluding myself with dreams of her, with visions of kisses stolen.

Thursday passed with a slowness that can’t be described. I couldn’t concentrate; I spent my time staring out of windows at the leaf strewn grounds. There were times when I saw her, walking slowly. A powder blue scarf coiled around her neck. Her usually fluttering dark hair hidden under a black beret and sunglasses over her beautiful eyes; even from the third floor I could tell it was her.

My heart leapt at the thought of her. When the class ended I was first out of the room, barely jotting down the assignment for next class; something to do with co-efficients. My next class was in an hour, I was free till then.

I raced along the corridors, to disapproving looks from fellow students, but I didn’t care. I had to find her. I searched the quad, but only succeeded in acquiring more stares from other students. I hurried outside, in hopes of finding her huddled under one of the beech trees with a group of friends I wouldn’t know.

As I pushed open the double doors leading outside and walked out under an overcast sky. The dark clouds promised rain. The wind was cold, but not unpleasant. I rounded the corner leading to the courtyard where I had seen her from the third floor. I found her sitting alone beside the only oak in the courtyard; knees drawn up to her chest, hands clenching at each other, hugging her knees.

I walked over to where she was sitting, taking my time, so she would notice me. All
I caught was a quick glance in my direction, before she stood up and walked toward me. I smiled as she drew closer, catching a whiff of her perfume; it was something light and sweet smelling. I found it intoxicating.

She returned my smile in that half-assed way of hers. I found it beautiful and compelling. We talked for a while, over trivial things. How was last period? What was she doing for lunch? Any plans for later? Did she want to walk home?

When I finally gathered the courage to ask the questions that had been on my mind all day, we had five minutes until the next class, more by luck than any planning on my part.

Swallowing my pride, I asked her who that guy was yesterday. I guess if I’m honest, I already knew. I could tell something was wrong, even before she told me.

He was her boyfriend, his name was Simon Michaels; she had met him during her last year of school. They had been friends first and then he had asked her out. She had heard rumours about him but she had chosen not to listen to them. The rumours that he was a womaniser were, she said, just lies spread around by his stalker ex-girlfriend who refused to admit it was over.

My heart sank with every word she spoke about him, about how loving, and sweet, and kind, and nice, and most irritatingly, how good he was in bed. I hated him, I hated everything about him. From his banged up car, to his sexual experience with Jenny. I loathed his very essence; his very existence.

My blood thundered around my body; full of hate and shame. That’s when I asked
it. A question I didn’t know was on my lips. A question I didn’t know I had been waiting to ask.

How long has he been hitting you?

The words hung in the air as if suspended. I felt numb and cold. How could I say something like that to my best friend, my perfect girl? I stammered apologies, sounding like a bumbling fool more and more with each syllable.

Jenny held up her hand to silence me.

Even until my dying day I will never forget what she did next. She just smiled sadly and removed her sunglasses, revealing a badly covered up black eye. The make-up around which was flaking and oddly drew my gaze more rather than averting it, with her other hand she gently tugged at the scarf round her neck exposing more bruises. These were small and almost perfectly round. I knew how these had got there.

I placed my hand gently on her cheek, all shyness forgotten. Then we were kissing. Soft sweet kisses. The feeling of silk on my lips, as hers touched mine, and the comforting warmth they brought.

We skipped last period and walked home early. We headed in unspoken agreement to hers; our hands gently clasped. Once we were in the confines of her home, we kissed again. This time our mouths opened, letting our tongues explore alien environments. We passed hours in slow deep kisses; arms draped around one another, feeling the heat of our bodies together, wanting but not daring for more.

She pulled me upstairs and along the hall, to her room. The thick green carpet muffled our footsteps. The walls were a cool light green, covered with pictures of animals and impressive landscapes. We sat on her bed exploring each other more intimately than I thought possible, until finally we could hold out no more; and became one.

I lost my virginity to Jenny, that day in her bed; with her arms wrapped around me and her legs holding me into her, as we writhed and struggled, wrapped in white sheets, sharing the sweetest kisses. That day we looked into each other’s eyes as our climax took us, and declared our love to each other.

I left that day with hasty promises to call her later, to love her forever. I walked home in a daze, feeling completely different, but exactly the same.

I dwelled on memories of how her skin felt, the swells of her breasts as she arched her back, the sound of her voice as she whispered my name, the scent of her perfume surrounding me and the gleam of the lamp light reflected in her eyes turning them into pools, through which I could see her soul.

That night, we talked on the phone for hours, covering every topic we could imagine; but we were skirting the issue. We had had sex, she had cheated on her boyfriend; what did that mean for us?

When we eventually hung up I couldn’t sleep.

When I finally drifted into a light sleep, I dreamt of her; her face beneath me, her whispered sweet words of encouragement as we lay entangled neither ending nor beginning.

I awoke feeling drained, as if I hadn’t slept at all.
When I arrived at college, Jenny wasn’t waiting for me. It worried me a little, but not too much.

I went straight to English Language, which was behind the gym in a dingy room normally used for media studies. I was expecting to see Jenny in her usual seat by the back window, but she wasn’t there. My unease deepened, but I rationalised to myself; she could be sick.

The whole day dragged on, I spent my free time looking for her. Then at lunch I called her phone but it went straight to voicemail. Now I was starting to get worried. Was she regretting yesterday? Had she broken up with Simon? Or was this a hint that she’d given me up?

I was hungry so I walked to the local newsagents; the cafeteria food sucked. I grabbed a sandwich from a stand up fridge in the back, before picking up a coke and heading to the till.

I also picked up a newspaper that was lying on the side, thinking since Jenny wasn’t in, I’d need something to do between now and last period. I will never forget that front page, no matter how hard I try.

The headline read: Lovers Tiff - Teenage Girl Pushed in Front of Bus.

The photo that took up most of the front page was one of Jenny, smiling.

I still say she embodied autumn. Every year reminds me of her.


Word Count: 1989 Words.