At my high school, the sixth formers were allowed to wear their own clothes. If you’re from the USA or another country that doesn’t have uniform rules, this will seem trivial to you. Similarly, if you’re from the UK but transferred to a separate college at 16, you may also find this fact of little consequence.
However, many schools south of the London border, ran vocational and A level courses; thus, once we completed our first exams, we continued going to school, studying in the same classrooms as we did in our former years. The only difference was that we now had the privilege of wearing what we liked. It seemed like it was a big jump to go from adhering to a strict uniform to picking a casual outfit out of our wardrobes, so much so that we often arrived at our lessons inappropriately dressed. We couldn’t seem to just do the ‘American thing’ and turn up in a hoodie and jeans. There was a gay guy in one of my classes who would always wear a cream suit with a red bow tie, but he got away with it by being so camp.
One day, I entered my form room to see my best friend Joanne, looking agitated. The attendance register was about to be taken before we all dispersed to our various lessons, but as the teacher was late, Jo wanted to take advantage of this by dashing into the corridor.
“Follow me out of the door. Keep really close behind me! Very close!”
She glanced across shyly at a group of boys who had gathered near the teacher’s table. They appeared engrossed in a magazine and were not taking any notice of Joanne, but nevertheless, she seemed very keen to get away from them as quickly as possible.
I frowned at her intently.
“Eh? Why? What are you up to?
“Please!” Came her desperate reply, “Just follow me out really closely!”
I’m sorry to say that I was not a very loyal friend to poor Jo. I knew she must have done something daft and assumed that if I obeyed her instructions, I’d miss it.
So, instead, of dutifully acting like her dance partner, I hung back to peruse the view from behind.
It was a chilly day in March, yet she was dressed like she was going to a summer ball. She had on a 1950’s party dress, with a tight bodice and one of those skirts that splayed outwards like an umbrella. At the back of the dress, there was a deep V-shape cut in the material. Showing through the V was white lace and it was evident that this was not part of the original garment. I wondered if her mum was pacing around at home, furious that someone had stolen her net curtain. It was indeed a bedroom curtain that Joanne was wearing. She had always been creative and had thought that stuffing her mother’s drapes under her dress would make it look classier.
The net had shifted and was trailing way beneath the hem of the dress. *Charlie had truly died and gone to Heaven.
When she explained her haberdashery endeavours of the morning, I laughed so hard that my stomach hurt for the rest of the day. One thing bugged me though: I hadn’t covered her ‘shame’.
She had entered the classroom knowing she looked ridiculous. Efforts to shift the lace back into place hadn’t worked and while she had kept her back to the wall, thoughts of me coming to her aid had given her hope. I had let her down. She’d been relying on me to protect her from further embarrassment, but instead,
I had refused to be the friend she needed me to be.
What is a true friend? One who laughs with you is great. One who doesn’t get offended when you laugh at them, is even greater. But better still, is one who not only watches your back, but supports you in times of desperation. One you can reply on to protect you by walking closely beside you or behind you, just at the right time.
*See previous chapter
