I'm writing a short story. Since it's originally in swedish, I translated it in google translate, so the language sucks in the english version. So, the english version is below the swedish one.
"Här ska du skriva om din ungdom" hade hon sagt, "här ska du skriva om kyssar och folköl".
Det hade hon inte gjort, för hon hade ju aldrig druckit folköl. Ännu mindre hade hon kysst någon.
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Första gången han talade till henne var på en torsdag. Alla flickorna i klassen hade gjort sig till när han kom gåendes i korridoren. Sträckt på sig, putat ut med sina nya fina bröst och försökt se oberörda ut. Själv hade hon stått kvar med skolböckerna framför brösten, som inte fanns. Istället hade hon fokuserat blicken på de ord som stod skrivna på väggen. Ord om kärlek och hat. Själsord som gav henne rysningar och citat ur Beatles låtar. "I wanna' hold your hand" "Remember to let her under your skin". Hon hade önskat att hon förstod de fina orden, men hur hon än försökt - hade hon inte förstått dem. Hon hade skyllt på att hon var okysst.
Senare skulle hon förstå de där orden, han skulle hjälpa henne. Men idag var första gången han talade till henne.
"Ursäkta mig?" hade han sagt.
Hon hade inte reagerat, varför skulle han ha talat till henne?
"Ursäkta mig?" sa han igen. Denna gång lite högre.
Hon hade flyttat på sig, hon stod väl framför hans skåp.
"Oj, förlåt!" hade hon sagt. "Jag visste inte att det var ditt skåp".
"Det är det inte heller"
"Jaha, okej.."
Hon hade inte förstått vad han ville henne; Skulle han börja reta henne nu? Släpa med henne till toaletten och trycka ner hennes huvud i toaletten?
Det hade han inte gjort. Istället hade han sagt;
"Vad heter du?"
Hon hade undrat varför han undrade. Hon hade svarat i alla fall;
"Jenny"
"Jenny?" hade han sagt. Som om han inte hade hört.
"Ja"
"Okej, tack så mycket" hade han sagt. Sen gick han.
Efter det hade alla flickor i klassen svärmats runt henne. "Vad ville han Jenny?" hade de tänkt. "Som bin kring honung" hade hon tänkt.
Nästa gång han talade till henne var på en tisdag. Han hade kommit fram till henne när hon stod vid skåpet och sa;
"Vill du gå på bio med mig på fredag?" hade han sagt med självsäker röst.
Som om det var så självklart att han skulle fråga henne om det.
"Okej" hade hon sagt.
Den fredagen hade de gått på bio. Hon hade inte berättat för någon. Vem skulle hon berätta för? Hon hade inte så många vänner, egentligen hade hon inga vänner. Det fanns några flickor i klassen som hon umgicks med, men de var inte särskilt nära. De visste ingenting om henne, trots att de hade försökt komma nära inpå flera gånger. Frågat; "Ska vi ta en fika efter skolan? Jag har pannkakor hemma!" Varje gång hade hon sagt att hon var tvungen att gå ut med hunden, trots att hon inte hade någon hund. Hon hade ingen anledning till varför hon sagt så. Kanske var det för att hon inte ville släppa någon nära inpå. Hon ville inte att folk skulle få veta vad hon tänkte på. Vad hon skrev i sin dagbok om kvällarna. Om sin avundsjuka och sin sorg. Avundsjuk för att hon inte fick vara som de andra fjortonåringarna samtidigt som hon var sorgsen för att hon var avundsjuk.
När filmen var slut hade de gått ut.
"Röker du?" hade han sagt och tagit upp ett cigarettpaket ur fickan.
"Nä, egentligen inte"
"Bra, inte jag heller" han hade lagt ner cigarettpaketet i fickan och log.
English (Folköl = Beer)
Blank white pages in a hard black book. The black book was a diary. A diary she had received from her sister before she ran away to London.
"Here you should write about your youth", she said, "here, you should write about kissing and beer".
That she had not done, for she had never drunk folköl. Still less had she kissed someone.
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The first time he spoke to her was on a Thursday. All the girls in the class had committed to when he was walking along the corridor. Stretching, putat out with their new beautiful breasts and tried to look unmoved. She had been left with school books in front of her breasts, which did not exist. Instead, she focused her eyes on the words that were written on the wall. Words of love and hatred. Själsord who gave her chills and quotes from Beatles songs. "I want to 'hold your hand" "Remember to let her under your skin". She wished she knew the nice words, but how she tried - she had not understood them. She had blamed that she was okysst.
Later, she would understand those words, he would help her. But today was the first time he spoke to her.
"Excuse me?" he said.
She had not responded, why should he have spoken to her?
"Excuse me?" he said again. This time a bit higher.
She had moved on it, she was well in front of his locker.
"Oops, sorry!" she said. "I did not know it was your locker."
"It is not"
"Well, okay .."
She had not understood what he wanted her, he would start teasing her now? Drag her to the toilet and pushing down on her head in the toilet?
He had not done. Instead, he had said;
"What's your name?"
She had wondered why he wondered. She had responded in all cases;
"Jenny"
"Jenny?" he said. As if he had not heard.
"Yes"
"Okay, thank you very much" he said. Then he went.
After it had all the girls in the class swear attention around her. "What did he Jenny?" they had thought. "As bees around honey," she thought.
The next time he spoke to her was on a Tuesday. He had come to her when she was standing at the cupboard and said;
"Want to go to the movies with me on Friday?" he said with self-assured voice.
As if that were so obvious that he would ask her about it.
"Okay," she said.
On Friday, they had gone to the movies. She had not told anyone. Who could she tell? She did not have so many friends, in fact, she had no friends. There were no girls in class that she socialized with, but they were not particularly close. They knew nothing about her, even though they had tried to get close to several times. Asked, "Shall we take a snack after school?" I have pancakes at home! " Every time she said that she had to go out with the dog, although she did not have a dog. She had no reason why she said so. Perhaps it was because she did not want to let someone close. She did not want people to know what she was thinking. As she wrote in her diary in the evening. If her jealousy and her grief. Jealous because she could not be like the other fourteen year olds while she was sad because she was jealous.
When the movie was over they had gone out.
"Do you smoke?" he had said and took up a cigarette packet from his pocket.
"Nah, not really"
"Good, neither am I" he had put a cigarette package in his pocket and smiled.
pictures from scenes of my room.
