Alan Gent

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The woman sat on the other side of the desk on the verge of tears. The contents of her shopping bag lay strewn in front of her, with the red sweater and blue blouse in plain view. The rain hammered on the large office window, obscuring the perfect view of the city and Harbour Bridge below. I was happy about the way my store manager was handling the situation, and the police woman stood nonchalantly over in the corner. She had the air of someone who had seen it all before.

I suppose it was the way she tossed her head that brought me up with a shock. She only did it once, but I knew. There was no doubt about it. It was ‘Super Sally’! The years rolled back……

After Dad died, Mum really had to struggle. I swore I had the same pair of school shorts for two whole years. Luckily Mum was able to get most of my stuff from the second hand shop, or some of the neighbours giving her hand-me downs. She always made sure us boys had enough to eat though, even if sometimes I think she went without herself. I did what I could to look after Bertie, my younger brother, and had to grow up quickly. I used to make breakfast for us both when Mum went to work, or we simply missed out when there was nothing in the house, which was often.

At school I was always a bit embarrassed when it came to Physical Education, and some of the boys saw my shoddy underwear. They used to tease me about it, but I couldn’t really say anything. It was rotten being poor, when they seemed to have so much. I was at that age when the girls all looked good, especially those that were the ‘girlfriends’ of some of the boys in my class. Sally Barfield had come to school late in the first term, and was immediately popular. She had long blonde hair, big green eyes and a very infectious giggle, that you could hear echoing round the corridors between classes. She flitted from one conquest to the next, never keeping a boyfriend any more than a couple of weeks. Of course, even though she was in my class, all the boys she went out with were in the senior years. She soon got the nickname ‘Super Sally’.

Despite all this, and knowing I didn’t stand a chance, I was besotted with her. I simply couldn’t get her out of my mind. Everything she did seemed to be perfect. The way she walked, the way she talked, the way she tossed her head…. Just about every song I heard was about her, it seemed.

It was coming up to the school dinner dance, and all the boys were talking about it. It was a way the boys could all mingle with the girls—new friendships were made, some lasting, some not, but mainly it was a way for the boys and girls to show off to one another. The boys would dress in new gear, and the girls would have special dresses their doting parents bought for them. The school newsletter came home a few weeks before, and I saw Mum reading it, and looked sadly at me.

“Sorry, Jimmy,” she said, “I don’t think I can afford…”

“It’s OK Mum,” I lied, “I didn’t really want to go anyway.”

I don’t know how she did it, but the very next payday, Mum managed to do something amazing. There on the bed when I came home from school was the most fantastic new shirt! It was perfect! My Saturday morning job at the pet shop didn’t give us much, but Mum insisted I should use it for the ticket. “I’ll manage,” she said, despite my protests.

The school gym was a blaze of light and colour on the night of the dinner dance, and after the meal, the tables were all moved back against the walls, and the music cranked up. All the good dancers were anxious to do their thing, and quickly got on the floor. I watched Super Sally dance with three or four different older boys, and stood gloomily on the sidelines, trying to get up courage to ask her. I suppose what pushed me into it, was seeing Andrew Quail from my class go up to her. I was amazed to see him on the floor with Sally, who was apparently quite happy to dance with him. As soon as I was able, I went up to her where she was standing with a group of her friends and said “Sally, I was wondering if...” I got no further. She turned round to me, looked me up and down as if I was the lowest form of existence, and said: “You! Why would I want to dance with a smelly specimen like you. Leave me alone and crawl back where you came from!”

I just about ran back to the other side of the hall and was barely able to contain the tears that seemed at any moment were going to embarrass me even further.

But that was not the end of it. When I got outside for the long miserable walk home, a group of the older boys followed me out and surrounded me.

“So you want to dance with Sally, eh?”

And before I had a chance to say or do anything, in a very short space of time I was on the ground in the mud, my brand new shirt  ripped in several places, and I had blood streaming from my nose. I looked up to see Sally standing triumphantly over me.

“Stay away from me, little boy!” And with that toss of her head she walked off laughing with her entourage.

I got over it. And here I was, with Super Sally opposite me. Me. Area manager of Hollinger’s, happily married to a wonderful woman. In control, and with the power to exact revenge.

Her eyes met mine.

“I’m sure she didn’t mean any harm,” I said. And to her: “Have a nice day, Sally.”