it and someone else's date of birth which made me nineteen years old. The photos I recognised from one of our dates when he had pulled me into one of those photo booths and taken a bunch of pictures with me sat in his lap. I had been horrified when he made me sit alone for one of the pictures but when he pocketed that one I was secretly pleased that he wanted to keep it. Now that I realised he had a purpose for the photo and I wasn’t sure whether to be happy he had gone to effort of getting me fake ID or disappointed that he hadn’t really wanted a photo of me to keep.
He had already given me a few photos taken at one party or another - some of groups of our (his) friends, a couple with him sat with his arm around me and some which were on my own since he had taken most of them. I had thrown away any with just me in them.
Now I was holding one half of the four tiny photos of us - the striking difference between us only dropped my confidence even lower and I wished I could cut myself out of the pictures.
Chris knew so many people and we went from dinners, to gigs, to birthday parties, and various other events and before I knew it June was over and the heat of July was hanging over us. There was always something exciting going on in his life and for some reason he wanted me along for the ride. I don’t mean literally since although Chris had a car he never came to pick me up and seemed to have no interest in meeting my family. Since he rarely mentioned any members of his family, I tried not to take it personally. It seemed as if he had adopted his close knit group of friends as his family, and I got to know them well enough since most of my time with Chris was as part of the group’s active social calendar. I'd yet to start University and hadn't kept in touch with anyone from school, so I had nothing to invite him to but he didn't seem to mind. Although I’d taken on a part-time job which occasionally had events on evenings and weekends, I barely saw the girls from school so my social life was almost non-existent apart from the time I spent with Chris and his friends. He assumed I had a social life beyond spending time with him and I didn't bother to correct him - not exactly another lie, more omission of the facts.
My usual excuse to my Mother was I meeting a friend for a catch up and movie, while in reality I would get a taxi to meet Chris in whatever bar or party we were going to. It surprised me how easy it was to lie to her about my whereabouts. Somehow it just seemed easier to keep the truth from her. He was nineteen and spent most weekends at gigs and alcohol-fuelled parties. More often than not, Chris stayed on at the parties long after I had left in time to get home for 1am. I was a little put out the first time he kissed me goodbye on the pavement as my taxi pulled up. "Baby, it's a party, I can't help it if you have to go home early. I work hard and I deserve to let off a little steam at the weekends. Don't make a scene in front of my friends. I'll call you in the morning." he said. It was like he had his answer ready before I had even finished making a fuss and handed me a note from his wallet before closing the taxi door.
That ‘morning’call was usually late in the afternoon, if it came at all, and his voice always sounded hoarse as he spoke. The weeks passed quickly over the summer and it became my routine.
He should have been out of my league; I knew I'd never be perfect so I tried everything I could to at least make myself perfect for him. I wore his favourite colour blue and listened to his beloved bands and watched the movies he loved. My empty social calendar meant I was always available for him, but I had the sense not to make that obvious by keeping up the pretence that I had lots of other things going on too. I'd read every magazine article on 'keeping your boyfriend happy' and 'how to play it cool to keep things hot'.
He could be unpredictable, and it was
He had already given me a few photos taken at one party or another - some of groups of our (his) friends, a couple with him sat with his arm around me and some which were on my own since he had taken most of them. I had thrown away any with just me in them.
Now I was holding one half of the four tiny photos of us - the striking difference between us only dropped my confidence even lower and I wished I could cut myself out of the pictures.
Chris knew so many people and we went from dinners, to gigs, to birthday parties, and various other events and before I knew it June was over and the heat of July was hanging over us. There was always something exciting going on in his life and for some reason he wanted me along for the ride. I don’t mean literally since although Chris had a car he never came to pick me up and seemed to have no interest in meeting my family. Since he rarely mentioned any members of his family, I tried not to take it personally. It seemed as if he had adopted his close knit group of friends as his family, and I got to know them well enough since most of my time with Chris was as part of the group’s active social calendar. I'd yet to start University and hadn't kept in touch with anyone from school, so I had nothing to invite him to but he didn't seem to mind. Although I’d taken on a part-time job which occasionally had events on evenings and weekends, I barely saw the girls from school so my social life was almost non-existent apart from the time I spent with Chris and his friends. He assumed I had a social life beyond spending time with him and I didn't bother to correct him - not exactly another lie, more omission of the facts.
My usual excuse to my Mother was I meeting a friend for a catch up and movie, while in reality I would get a taxi to meet Chris in whatever bar or party we were going to. It surprised me how easy it was to lie to her about my whereabouts. Somehow it just seemed easier to keep the truth from her. He was nineteen and spent most weekends at gigs and alcohol-fuelled parties. More often than not, Chris stayed on at the parties long after I had left in time to get home for 1am. I was a little put out the first time he kissed me goodbye on the pavement as my taxi pulled up. "Baby, it's a party, I can't help it if you have to go home early. I work hard and I deserve to let off a little steam at the weekends. Don't make a scene in front of my friends. I'll call you in the morning." he said. It was like he had his answer ready before I had even finished making a fuss and handed me a note from his wallet before closing the taxi door.
That ‘morning’call was usually late in the afternoon, if it came at all, and his voice always sounded hoarse as he spoke. The weeks passed quickly over the summer and it became my routine.
He should have been out of my league; I knew I'd never be perfect so I tried everything I could to at least make myself perfect for him. I wore his favourite colour blue and listened to his beloved bands and watched the movies he loved. My empty social calendar meant I was always available for him, but I had the sense not to make that obvious by keeping up the pretence that I had lots of other things going on too. I'd read every magazine article on 'keeping your boyfriend happy' and 'how to play it cool to keep things hot'.
He could be unpredictable, and it was
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