Peter McFeely

Ciara held the boy’s gaze across the swaying bodies, smiling from the bottom of her made-up eyes with the thin black plastic straw perched between her tongue and lip. The sweetness of the coke masked the cheapness of the vodka. The glass in her hand added a few years to her age, separating her from those who clutched luminescent bottles. A couple of girls she recognised from school crossed her eyeline. She grinned at one and turned around. “You don’t know that guy do you?” asked Jenny. “Nope”. “You going to?”. Ciara chewed the straw. “Nope!” She and her friends laughed.

The bar was getting busy. That strange time when the causal drinker was replaced by the next generation, filtering in before bouncers became discerning about who crossed the threshold. One patron was returning home with a light buzz, most likely to a catalogue-furnished home, spouse and children and a life left unfulfilled. The other was escaping their parents’ eyes, with dreams yet to be unrealised. If they passed each other in the doorway, the afternoon drinker gave them a knowing look and nod of the head. Sometimes he was bitter and smiled in the knowledge that the eager youth would most likely wind up like him. Other times he trod down the street disheartened by the memories of his own unbridled enthusiasm which was now tethered and sedated.

The air was filled with wetness, a blend of sticky booze and sweat sprayed from side to side as the teens bounced on the sodden floorboards. Ciara whipped her head round and round, right hand clamped to face and toothpick sized straw between teeth, careful not to spill the precious drink. The pressed tin sign which hung to the side of the stage looked down on the crowd like a befuddled parent over a misbehaving toddler. “No drinks on the dance floor” it stated without conviction. Ciara had long been disobeying such futile orders from her own parents. You’re too young to drink. Be careful with boys. Don’t take drugs. Cover your breasts. It’s not that her parents were conservative, just that they knew full well the realities of drunken teenage years. In truth they paid only resigned lip-service to their well-meaning instructions. It seemed their daughter acted with conviction only when being denied something. In Ciara’s early teens, her father had attempted to leverage this instinct through amateur reverse-psychology, encouraging her to complement her Christmas dinner with some wine. While the family enjoyed the festivities, Ciara and her elder cousin got sloshed and she spent the closing hours of the Lord’s birthday reproducing brussel sprouts over the bathroom floor. Since then, her parents committed to a course of ineffective advice of abstinence. In reality, they knew the vast majority of what she did. They knew who the band were and in which bar the girls went to see them most weekends. When her mother had dropped her off at Jenny’s a few hours ago, she knew fully that a night of rented movies and pyjamas did not lie ahead. She knew about the extra clothes stuffed in the bottom of her bag, those entirely unsuited for an evening on the sofa. Had Ciara forgotten who did her washing? Her mother also knew that Karen would buy alcohol with her sister and bring it to Jenny’s – a necessity given the paltry earnings from their part-time jobs and their desire to put the funds towards a summer holiday that had not yet been discussed never mind sanctioned. She knew that the girls scrimped and saved their lunch money, surviving on a diet of malnutrition, supplemented by sneaked snacks from the family fridge. Had Ciara forgotten who did the shopping? Nonetheless, there was no point in confronting her daughter, as she knew that it would only further fasten Ciara’s stead. Her mother had instead found ways to turn Ciara’s thinly weaved attempts at deceit into a source of humour. She was hardly as tech-literate as the teens, but she could just as easily Google a movie review. She took great pleasure in prompting Ciara for feedback on that evening’s viewing, mentally ticking off parroted statements in a bizarre bastardised form of Bingo.

“Heeeeeeey!” Sarah and Beth joined the trio amid a whirlwind of arms and air kisses.
“I say it every week – but I FUCKING love these guys!”
“Yeah they are awesome.”
“And cute too.”
“Who’s your favourite?”
“Um, Marcus?”
“He’s too emo. I like Jacob. He’s dark.”
“Me too.”
“You guys are so predictable – chasing the mysterious guy. You just want to be cool! And it’s pretty obvious that Beth was going to say the lead singer. She says that every time we see a band!”
“Oh fuck off. Every time we see a band I like the hottest guy. There is a reason that they make him stand at the front! You’re just weird, you like the drummer don’t you? I don’t even know his name!!”
“James right?”
“No – it’s like Henry.”
“It’s Jonathan! Stop being assholes, you guys know that!”
The shrieks of laughter clashed with the guitar riff.

“How long have you guys been here?”
“Maybe half an hour. This is our second drink,” Karen waved the glass at face height.
“Plus the vodka at Jenny’s.”
“Oh my god. It was so bad. Karen left the mixers in her sister’s car…”
“… and I could hardly call her and get her to ring the front door and give them to Jenny’s mum…”
“… and you know her whole family are hippie-health freaks…”
“… Fuck you…”
“… So we’re there with only vegetable juice, some weird smoothie and water!”
“It was so gross.”
More ear-piercing laughter.
“I think it tastes nicer straight anyway.”
“Said nobody sane ever.”
“Well you should have just got your sister to come back. I’m sure my mum knows we are drinking anyway.”
“I thought she only lets you out on the basis that you won’t drink?”
“Yeah. She says that but…”
“Beth, I still can’t believe your parents are so cool with you drinking.”
‘Yeah, it’s great. But I wish they’d just let you guys all come hang out.”
“Doubt my parents would let me anyway. Not after your mum told mine that she found your weed!”
“Yeah… bitch.”
“Do you have any now? I’d love a joint.”
The weed was one thing Ciara’s mum didn’t know about.
“Nah – I don’t keep it in the house any more. I’m sure my mum is searching my room now! I get Tania or Laura to keep it – they might come out tonight, will I message them?”
“Nah – its OK.” Nobody much liked Tania.
“I’m going to get a drink. You guys all want one? Come help me Jenny.”

Ciara recognised most of the people in the bar. She and her friends had been coming here for over a year now. They knew most of the bar staff and bouncers by name. They must have known they were under-age, but then again it was hard to tell given the way they dressed. In any case, the bar had a pretty unprofessional policy that if you had facial hair or tits you would probably get in. There were other groups of girls from her school but the exciting bit was the boys. There were some cute ones from the mixed school, but they came in a big group with the girls with whom they spent every day. Those girls were dicks. Then there were older boys, some from the closest university and others who had turned their backs on education at the earliest opportunity. In the last year, Ciara had kissed two Uni guys from the same group of friends and they would always buy her a drink if she talked to them. Then there were the old guys. They were just weird. The nasty ones in their football shirts who refused to leave when the band came on, having spent all day at their perch. Then again, they must have hated Ciara and all her friends for ruining their day. They probably slept in those bar stools so maybe they had a right to hate them. There were the bikers who sat the back, with their long beards, tattoos and leather vests. They loved the music but Ciara was certain none of them owned a motorbike. Then, each week there would be a new cluster or two that she didn’t recognise. It was always fun to pick them out. Whichever the group, Ciara knew how to get their attention and it made her feel good when she caught boys looking at her.

“Here you go bitches.” Drinks were passed around, minor alterations to the same cheap vodka added at the bar.
“So any gossip?”
“Apparently Steffi Barnes shagged Hot Mark from the cafe.”
“What? How did that happen?!”
“Where’d you hear that?”
“Karen’s sister. She and her friends were talking about it. Laughing at him for sleeping with someone our age.”
“Um… Jealous?!”
Shrieks and screams rose up from the little black straws.
“What about anyone else? Hey. Sarah – anything new with you?”
Sarah started to shake her head and then froze.
“Beth! You bitch!”
Beth and Jenny laughed, dancing tiny lassos in their high heels. Their eyes bulged as they prompted Sarah.
“Tell everyone!! It’s amazing!”
“Oh my god.” She turned to Ciara and Karen, “I was going to tell you – I just didn’t expect Beth to be such a DICK…”
“What??”
“I had sex with Barry Jones last week.”
“What?!” Ciara and Karen screamed. Beth and Jenny shrieked. Everyone laughed and danced the little lassos.
“Where? When?”
“Beth and I went to Maggie’s after here last week. We got talking to him and his friends, went to some party, smoked a bit, did some shots and then we had sex in the downstairs toilet. I was only going to give him a BJ but … you know…”
“And? How was it?”
Sarah chewed on her straw before smiling, “amazing.” The girls shrieked.
It wasn’t amazing. It wasn’t even very good. It really hurt and she hadn’t actually really wanted to do it. Plus she bruised her bum really badly on the sink and dropped a shoe in the toilet. She’d never thought she would lose her virginity in a toilet and certainly not to Barry Jones. But Barry had been insistent once they had locked the door behind them. She didn’t feel like she could say no and, after all, she and her friends had been talking about sex for years. Wasn’t it right that she did it once she had the chance? Looking back on it she wasn’t sure, but the rest of the girls were excited so Sarah told herself it was a good thing and something she should be pleased about.
Ciara hugged her friend. She was happy for her but also pretty disgusted. Barry Jones was one thing but in a toilet – did she not have any class? Ciara was sure she would lose her virginity among candles and rose petals – it would be perfect. She just needed to find someone she was wiling to fuck.

“So which one of you two will be next?” asked Jenny.
“Karen, I still can’t believe you and Tom haven’t yet.”
“Yeah. We just never have the chance. I mean we aren’t really even going out – we just get pissed and mess around. I don’t mind waiting though – I want it to be special.”
“Yeah…” said Jenny, “it doesn’t really happen like that.” Sarah had to stop herself nodding too vigorously while Ciara judged Jenny for doing it in the back of her car.
“So what about you Ciara? Maybe tonight could be the night?”
Ciara only half heard as she scanned the bar for the boy she had caught looking at her earlier in the night.

Next >