The One - Number One

By Grace Pilkington

Five years ago I got drunk, turned to my best friend over a watery beef bourguignon and told him I was in love with him. We are now married and have a little boy called Alf who is currently worming his way across the floor hunting for something dangerous to chew on. He is a thrill-seeking, milk-loving, squawking little chunk of all the heavens I've ever imagined. And better.  

So before I realised my 'one' was right in front of me, I was pretty sure every other lad was him. I was constantly 'falling in love' and from very young, I was looking for and finding 'the one'. Maybe I'd overdosed on Wuthering Heights or perhaps there are lots of ones out there for everyone, just for different times/life stages etc. And then there's one that seems to work through all the life stages. Anyway, I decided to write a series called 'A Whole Load of Ones' and this is The One number One' 

The One - Number One 

'He’s the one, I really am sure this time’

Says 12 year old me,

drinking Dr Pepper and pretending it’s red wine.

I’m hovering in the mirror and my best friend lurks behind:

‘Well, make sure you page me with all the goss’

‘I will’ I say applying bright pink lip gloss,

I spray Charlie deodorant at a just pubescent armpit.

Jason is the one’s name and let’s face it, he is fit.

I cock my head to the side,

‘He’s just so cool, I love how little he seems to care,

And he’s so good looking and actually has facial hair!’

He did.

A nice fluff above his lip and a dropped voice,

Unusual for fourteen,

‘He’s just quite manly, if you know what I mean?’

We’re going to the cinema to see a fifteen,

I’m wearing a short skirt and high heels – terrified I won’t get in,

I pull up my breasts so they perch in my Wonderbra and touch my chin,

I can’t face the idea of being told I’m too young and asked to step aside,

whilst my moustached man leaves me at the door, without popcorn and pride

I frantically smoke a Marlborough light on the way as if to alleviate stress,

but it’s to be cool – I can’t actually inhale so it couldn’t be more pointless,

He’s waiting for me, wearing a hoodie and his wicked smile,

We make it in and I awkwardly totter behind him to the aisle.

He turns to whisper in my ear, half way through,

‘Grace can I just say – I really like you’

I can taste his breath; Spaghetti Bolognese,

I feel sick with love, in  a complete daze,

My heart is on the flutter,

my insides now melted butter,

It’s official, he’s the one, for life, I’m sure it’s him,

that’s it; I’ll say 'I love you' and see if he can move in.

WAIT – don’t get carried away, it’s the first date,

stick to ‘like’, play it safe, don’t gamble with your fate,

‘I really like you Jason’

‘No Grace, I really, really like you’

Oh my god, it’s happening.

He is going to say he loves me, oh Jason I love you,

What is your sir name? Is it by any chance Montague?

I know it, this is it,

Oh! His hand is on my right tit,

I’m going to be chilled about this, I mean we’re in love and it’s hardly fair

to brush him off pure pad, I mean I’m 12, my boobs are hardly there.

‘I really, really like you Jason’

I say, sitting back slightly and trying to stay really chilled and cool,

but the truth is my foundation is running from my mouth’s fall of drool,

My sight blurs with tears and premonitions

of us unwrapping wedding gifts,

‘Oh Jason, that’s so typical of your Uncle Chris’

‘Does he really think we’ll need this?’

I say, whilst holding up a Panini toaster,

or a whole set of hideous coasters.

No  – back to reality.

I watch his mouth start to move, that beautiful tuft of hair start to rise,

I’m dreaming of us, picnicking for eternity, under the bluest of skies.

He speaks!

‘Well if you really, really like me and I really really like you, you’ll give me head.’