Miss D’Opportunity

Miss D’Opportunity stood right behind me.
Her voice faded from background to mindfront
As I tried, and failed, to listen to the band;
As I goaded the music to make me sad
And tried to remember what the heart-felt lyrics felt like,
A voice full of bubbles from a pink plastic hoop floated into me
And asked me to move because she couldnÕt see.

’Pop!’

I sat down in the muddy midnight marquee
And her sugary voice thanked me
With the sweetness of a Fun-size Mars bar:
Leaving me wanting more.

I couldn’t sit for long because my legs hurt.
I got up and motioned for Miss D’Opportunity to stand where I was.
She was leaning against a post and was comfy where she was, so declined,
But she asked why didn’t I sit on the small table at the bottom of the post.
So I did.
’Aaahh! That’s nice’, we cooed to each other as I sat down

And she ruffled my shoulder in jest as if I was a small boy
Just for a second
And I rested my arm on her knees in jest as if I was making myself at home
Just for a second.

Joke shared we watched the band.

But could I concentrate on Damien Rice any more?
Could I feel the heartfelt lyrics any more?
Could I feel sad about my ex-girlfriend any more?

Her voice was warm and kind and playful and loud and lovely.
It fell onto my head like a fresh waterfall and played around the jagged rocks of my mind:
Smoothing,
And her touch was gentle and warm and soft,
It made me feel like I had just got home to a roaring log fire from an eight month trek around Everest:
I melted.

Slowly swaying to the music,
I felt her leg against my back in the crowded tent
As I sat like a lion at the feet of his goddess.

’I’m going to talk to her’, I thought. ’As soon as the band finishes I’m going to talk to her and she’ll like me and I’ll like her and she’ll ask me if I want to go with her and her friends to see another band and we’ll go there and talk and not really watch the band and I’ll look into her eyes and she’ll look into mine and we’ll have an understanding that this was meant to be, that we were meant to meet, that she was meant to stand behind me in a muddy field trying to watch Damien Rice and that I was meant to be born tall so that she wouldn’t be able to see over me in a muddy field trying to watch Damien Rice...’

’Oh no!’, I thought, ’I need a piss’.

The only way to relieve myself was to leave my place in the packed tent and go and find a bush.
’How long can I hold it?’, I thought
’He’s going to finish any minute’, I thought
’Oh no! An encore’, I thought
’What would happen if I waited until the end and tried to talk to her’ I thought.
I could just imagine going up to her and saying ’Hi! I’m Simon. I’ve just wet my pants’.
With such reasoning I left the tent,
Hoping, praying to find her later.

I ran outside, stumbling through the darkness to the nearest bush
For the longest piss of my life
And ran back and tried to move forward into the crowd to regain my place next to Miss D’Opportunity.
But it was busy and I couldn’t make my way through
So I leant against a post and waited for Damien Rice to finish.

Last song.
’Where is she?’ I thought ’Where is she?’
I tried to look over the crowd but couldn’t see her.

’Blurb gurgle viss, jate?’ a voice said.
’What?’ I replied to the small, dirty, dreadlocked man by my side looking up at me.
’Who is this, mate?’ he said again
’Damien Rice’ I said
’Who?’
’Damien Rice’ I shouted, helpfully.

The person standing infront of me turned round as they recognised my voice
The person standing infront of me happened to be an old friend I hadn’t seen in five years
’Oh my god!’, I said
’Shit!’ I thought ’How am I going to talk to that girl now?’

The band finished and the crowd dispersed as I was locked in some mock-shocked conversation with my old friend.
The band finished and the crowd dispersed along with Miss D’Opportunity.
The band finished and the crowd dispersed along with my future happiness,
Into the darkness outside.

Miss D’Opportunity.

Who was she?
How would I ever find her again?
What if she was the one?
How would I ever know if she was, or wasn’t, the one?
How would I even find out what her name was?

I wouldn’t.

Just through that second of shared touch, and shared experience, I had fallen in some kind of love
And now I was heartbroken
For as quickly as she had come into my life she had left it
Leaving my head full of ’what if’s and ’if only’s.

’It just wasn’t meant to be’
Are the only set of words I can find comfort in.

© Simon Parkin