Ghosts

I would see her quite often in the smoking room (this was a time when smokers were only semi-lepers, before expulsion to makeshift bike sheds and the elements). I would look forward to seeing her as she was very attractive but it was hard not to notice the squint of her eyes. She dresses like the girlfriend of a Hell’s Angel; a bit like Cher but cuter and with spiky hair. Zoe Wannamaker. Weirdly sexy.

I wouldn’t often get the chance to speak to her directly, she seemed to have no end of companions, but I would listen to the conversations she was involved in. They were invariably about ghosts and ‘ghost-hunting’ not an area I knew very much about. I considered myself a non-believer of such things. I have revised my view subsequently.

She has become a curious object of my desire, but I’m not sure she notices me all that much as I puff on my roll-up and furtively glance at her.

The smoking room had a transient community; the company changed as folk felt the urge to come in and smoke. Some would have their smoke and leave other would stay for hours, missing lectures.

It smelled stale like something unwell. The walls were becoming discoloured.

It was a little haven away from more sensible types. The odd tutor would amble in and this would cause a frisson. Tutors were like royalty.

It was a tutor who commandeered much of my biker’s moll’s time. I hated him passionately.

One day I found myself in the smoking room alone with her. She told me she was going blind. Some degenerative eye condition she had suffered from childhood. She told me she was preparing for her imminent blindness in a variety of ways, but mostly psychologically. In truth, she could barely see me sitting no more than ten feet away.

For some reason, this didn't 'sink in' the way it should have done and I'm afraid I became a little tongue-tied. What do you say to someone who tells you they are about to go blind?

So I asked her about the ghosts....