Above the Vaulted Sky - Page 13

              ‘No cigarettes either?’ I venture, praying this will lead to some form of conversation.
              She shrugs. ‘To be honest, I don’t really like them,’ she admits, looking down like it’s a shameful thing to say in the current company. ‘They make me really light-headed.’
              ‘You want to try weed,’ says Graham, the man in the know.
            I see myself bristle. ‘Like you would know,’ I state with surprise confidence I didn’t know I possessed.
            Graham had been annoying me so much in the weeks leading up to the meeting by the smoking hut. Always trying to be something he wasn’t, to fit where he didn’t belong. And I was the spare, always dragged along to places when I would have much preferred sitting at home or visiting my favourite haunts in London.
            Everyone in the circle laughs at my comment and the warm buzz of acceptance drifted through my chest then and now in my spiritual form. Everything I feel is echoed two years down the path of my life and across barrier between life and death. I wonder is that the point of re-experiencing these moments: to gain a different perspective on them.
            ‘What are you reading?’ Penny asks me and I turn back from a disgruntled Graham. I see she’s looking at the book protruding through the hole in my bag. Its corners are old and yellow like it’s been carried in there far too many times. I remember never leaving my house without it.
              ‘Just this old book I found once.’ It’s my turn to look down. I know I’m thinking that my reason for finding it isn’t exactly romantic or brag-worthy and I really don’t want to mess things up before we’ve even begun. I roll my eyes to myself watching the scene. A year later my hobby would be seen as the height of cool, but at that moment I hid everything I collect away, in boxes underneath my bed.
            ‘Can I see?’ she says, her eyes lighting up at the prospect and I know I can’t refuse.
              I sit next to her and set my bag down. I watch myself, knowing, feeling the pride at my manoeuvre to gain the seat beside her without looking weird.
              I draw it out.
              ‘The Alchemist,’ she reads slowly. ‘Seriously. You’ve read this book?’
              ‘Yeah,’ I say carefully. I don’t know if this is a good or a bad thing and she can't know my secret.