VIRGIN SPRINGS AND SLIPPERS
At first I tried to tiptoe. But tiptoeing in bare feet on sharp stone gravel hurts. I made more noise muffling cries than when I walked normally. When I walked normally the gravel made a loud crunching sound. I presume intended. For security.
I tiptoed back to my room close to tears, put on my slippers and recommenced tiptoeing painlessly. It proved far more comfortable but I felt foolish. I was hardly the true romantic…Traversing a sharp stoned quadrangle to the girls' dorm in slippers. And what would I do when I arrived at the other end?
Would I abandon my slippers and retrace my steps the next day to retrieve them? That spoilt things entirely before they even began. It wrecked the concept any sort of spontaneity. Trashed the anticipation of the recklessly, unleashed lust that would lead to lifelong love.
I was, after all, a hot blooded, quixotic, dreamer. I was the adolescent Casanova, hell bent on unbridled passion wearing slippers to guard my feet from sharp stone gravel. I decided I should abandon the slippers entirely and walk flat footed and steadfastly towards her room.
Then I would work out how to climb up the ivy. That was far more dangerous. Besides who in this hellhole would be awake at this time to here my crunching footfalls? My biggest challenge would face me on arrival at the leaf matted wall.
It took me quite a long time to get there. I tried to put aside the pain I felt in the balls and heels of my feet by imagining what lay beyond that open window and lace curtains. But I realized about fifty yards in that it was probably the worst thing I could do. I visualized myself thinking about the horrible aching in my feet during our first kiss. I imagined her asking me what was the matter. I imagined myself explaining about trying to tiptoe across sharp stone gravel and how much it hurt. I imagined myself explaining how I was going to wear my slippers. It all began to fall apart.
I gave up and tiptoed back. Once more I was close to tears… Until I found my slippers.
As I lay in my bunk feeling I had let myself down I began to think about what I would have done had I gone the full distance. Would the ivy have held my weight? Would I have been strong enough to climb it? How far up was her window? And which one was it? Did she even like me? Did she even know who I am? What was she called? What the bloody hell is cider made out of any way?