Love of my Life

I remember it so well, honestly it's like it happened yesterday. We were sat on that bench in the park. It was pretty fucking cold, like. I had my coat pulled up to my ears. And we were laughing. Like proper laughing. Big fat belly laughs. People kept looking at us as if we'd just swore at the bloody Queen or something, but we were just kids having fun I guess.

            And then she looked at me and said it. Her eyes were like cold stone and she just went, ‘You’re the love of my life, Dean.’

            I wanted to up and leg it then, like. Steady fucking on! We were fucking fifteen at the time. Of course I was the fucking love of her life, she’d had no life! It’s like showing a ten year old The Godfather and them saying, man that’s the best film I’ve ever seen. Course it fucking is, you’re ten.

            Not that I’m saying I’m a Godfather by any means. More of a slapstick comedy: enjoyable at the time but nothing to write home about. Still that way today, right little gawker.

            Anyway, back to the story. She said it and I just kind of looked at her. I wanted to cry I swear. Honest to God I nearly screamed in her face. You fucking what?! But I just kind of laughed. Most forced fucking laugh of my life, I’ll tell you that. ‘Ha ha, thanks.’

            Boy, she was not happy. ‘Is that all you’ve got to say, thanks?’

            ‘Just a bit of a surprise.’

            ‘A nice one, I hope.’

            I laughed again. Not a good move.

            She was proper angry then. Wow. But she didn’t shout or anything, she just left and said she’d talk to me tomorrow. Got off pretty lightly, like. I put my hands behind my head and smiled like a right cheeky chappy.

            And then I was a dickhead. Ignored all the calls, texts, all of it. She wasn’t pushy or anything. She got the hint, I reckon. But she was sad. The last text was just, ‘I’ll miss you.’ Not I miss you or Missing you loads, she WILL miss me. She knew it was over.

            And now I’m a fucking forty-odd skinny bastard working in an office. Not awful but not fun. No one to come home to. And I saw her the other week, spoke to her for the first time in more than twenty years. She was with two little’uns, both dead sweet. And she was perfectly sweet and nice to me who had been such a fucking twat to her. And she looked fucking beautiful. All because she said something slightly overdramatic when she was fifteen.

            And I realised that she had been the love of my life.