It's a week since we submitted our group project on the Franco War Memorial.
Today we are gathered at our tutorial to get the results.
My pessimism is completely unprepared for the disappointment it is delivered.
We get a B minus!
I punch the air in delight!
A spontaneous response to a very mediocre achievement.
But I am as gobsmacked as the rest of my group at our relative success.
Not only did we not fail.
We actually performed just above average.
Given that a grade D is a pass, I figure we still have a great deal of wriggle room on the next 2 assignments.
I'm pretty sure we're going to need it.
Maisie is looking particularly pleased.
She probably feels her coordination skills played an enormous part in our result.
They didn't.
Today she is wearing an exceedingly short skirt and revealing a variety of fleshy parts (I'll spare you the details).
I must concede I am feeling a tad remorseful for yesterday's excessively harsh comments about her overnight physical transformation.
Once again I force myself to reminisce about my own youthful blunders.
Because in all honesty I recognise a part of myself in Maisie.
I was fairly innocent when I went away from home to college.
And I only had to make the journey from South East London to Middlesex.
Maisie has traveled half way across the world to be here.
From Texas to Dublin.
It can't be easy for her trying to find her feet.
Particularly in those shoes.
At that age, I guess we all try to either fit in or stand out.
Or both.
I had been terribly self-conscious as a teenager.
I remember my sister buying me a gorgeous red jacket for my 17th birthday.
But I refused to wear it for a whole year because I thought it was too 'loud'.
I didn't want to draw attention to myself.
Crazy.
But by the time I went to college, I was gradually gaining in self-confidence.
I had been in love for the first time.
I had consequently lost my virginity (it was rubbish).
And I was hardly ever to be seen without that red jacket.
As the first semester progressed, I was drawn to a very different look than Maisie.
I tried to emulate the post-punk, new-wave image.
I started buying tie-dye t-shirts and batik leggings.
Suede ankle boots.
Fishnet tights.
I listened to Siouxsie and the Banshees, The Cult, The Cure, Echo and the Bunnymen, The Cocteau Twins...
There was a girl in my year who had purple dreadlocks and I thought she was the coolest person on campus.
I desperately wanted hair like her's.
But I didn't have the nerve.
My poor parents would have been horrified!
So I just spiked mine up a bit.
(Maisie and I at least have back-combing in common).
And tied scarves around my head.
In a post-punk new-wave style.
You'll have to use your imagination.
As I look at Maisie, and absorb her awkward in-betweenness, I am overcome by a sudden warmth towards her that was previously absent.
I have the urge to take her under my wing.
Share with her my very long list of gaffes.
Urge her not to make the same mistakes I made.
Or even different ones.
Steer her on the right path.
But I know that's not advisable.
She will just have to go her own way.
Struggle to find her independence.
Learn to stand on her own 2 feet.
Or in her case, teeter.
Maybe I'll be there to catch her if she falls.
I look at her shoes again: it's inevitable.
©Alacoque Doyle
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