Human Remains

of Helen’s feet, Helen running away. And Helen’s hair like a halo around her face, the shape of her mouth when she whispered that word to me… HELP. I had probably misinterpreted the whole situation; I had most likely got it all wrong. But none of that mattered as I relieved the arousal in the shower, thinking of all those things in combination, and the fact that it might not be what the world thought of as normal never entered my head.
    Helen acted strangely towards me after the incident in the alleyway. She stared at me at school. When she was with her friends she would say hello to me and they would all dig her in the ribs and laugh at her. She would sit next to me at lunchtime and start talking to me about what she’d seen on television the night before. I fended these approaches off as best I could, but, as much as they were unsolicited, they were not unwelcome. Every time I saw her I had that same jolt, the one in the alleyway as she’d walked towards me with that word silent on her lips.
    The girl I’d punched – I assumed she made a full recovery. I never heard anything more about it and I never saw her again.
    Helen didn’t refer to the incident in her monologues, which made her approaches to me even more odd. Her friends all seemed to think she had gone completely mad in talking to me. But it continued into the summer term, our last term, when we were all busy with the pressure of A-levels and the heat and the hay fever seemed to grow worse every day.
    Helen’s last exam was on the Thursday; mine was on the day after. She went to the pub with her friends straight after the exam, and by the time I finished my afternoon’s cramming in the library she was walking home. I caught her up because she was walking unsteadily, smiling and singing at the world in general.
    ‘Colin!’ she said when she saw me. ‘It’s all over – isn’t it wonderful?’
    ‘Not for me. I have my last physics paper tomorrow.’
    ‘Pfft, physics.’
    She swung her bag around her ankles and we walked to the alley. We’d walked this way – together – most days since that incident in the winter, but no word about it had passed between us. Today, though, she seemed to hesitate as we entered the path, even though it was brightly lit by the sun overhead.
    I’d never felt comfortable with a girl before Helen, and it had taken many months of her smiling at me and talking to me to get me to this place of trust. But in the last couple of weeks, just in that tense, hot summer full of study and pressure and intense concentration, I had started to wonder if she was attracted to me. Once I’d got the idea into my head it wouldn’t leave again, and I started to try and interpret everything she said, all the little comments, the laughs, as maybe her way of trying to flirt with me.
    It made no sense to me, the complicated system of interaction between the sexes. The way the girls stood, the way they moved. Apparently you could tell if someone liked you by the way they behaved towards you when you were near.
    It was Helen’s last day at school. Exams ended, she had no reason to be there any more and the rest of her summer would be filled with lazy days sunbathing and shopping, going away with her parents and going out in the evenings with her girlfriends. This would be our last walk home together. And my last chance to decide whether there was anything in it.
    ‘You should ring me,’ she said, as we walked along. ‘We could meet up, you know. If you felt like it.’
    ‘Or you could ring me,’ I said, already knowing she wouldn’t.
    ‘Write your number on my bag,’ she said, fishing a black marker out of her canvas satchel and pulling off the lid with her teeth. I had no choice but to comply. There was a small unadorned patch of canvas on the inside of the flap and she flattened her palm beneath it to provide support while I wrote my phone number, followed by my name in neat capitals. The ink bled into the canvas and I wondered whether she would be able to read it. Her head was close to mine, the sunlight shining on her hair. I gave her back the pen and we continued walking.
    ‘Helen,’ I said, as we got towards the end of the alley.
    ‘Mm?’ she said, stopping too. She looked sleepy, her eyes half-open, shading them against the bright sun with one hand as she tried to look at me.
    There was nothing I could think of to say, so I kissed her. I pushed her gently back against the wall and kissed her. Even now I don’t