The humble spoon. It looks innocuous. Some might call it benign.
Some have no imagination.
I don’t have a lot of time for people who pride themselves on their knife skills. Cutting out your victim’s heart with a knife, where’s the artistry in that? Also, a knife takes away the element of surprise. You pull a knife, people scream and fight and beg for their lives before you’ve begun to have any fun.
I get my spoon out, people laugh. They think they’ve been pranked, look for the camera.
Once you’ve raised expectations, you will disappoint people. You’ll disappoint yourself; you’ll always look back on that time you raised the bar and cleared it by yards and you’ll wonder why you can’t clear it again. Until the day when you do, when you accomplish a bigger leap than last time. Yes, you’re back.
Only, the following day it gets harder than ever. You marvel at the evidence of your own brilliance, not quite able to believe you raised the bar higher yet.
Trouble is, she’s noticed cracks in the smooth façade she presents to the world. The calm demeanour for which she is known used to come easy. More often than not, these days it doesn’t come at all.
She’s taking steps – beating the stuffing out of a punching bag at lunchtime, tai chi in the evening. They have the effect of a fire blanket on a wildfire: extinguishing patches while the blaze rages on.
She wonders if years of pent-up fury are looking for release.
Honestly, this isn’t how I expected to spend New Year’s Eve. Mum had to cover for another nurse at short notice – again – and felt bad for leaving me on my own. So she asked Aunty Callie and Callie said, ‘yes if she’ll come to the bowling alley.’ Bowling sounded boring, but Callie’s cool. Her friends are, too. And one of them brought his teenage brother along, Colin. I quite like Colin. We make a good bowling team even though we keep messing around.
I hope Colin’ll kiss me at midnight.
Somehow, I’ve ended up in the right place by accident.