here's one I prepared erlier

First Love

It was love at first sight, and I was eleven years old.

On Friday night while Mum and Dad were busy with the crowd from the pictures, I’d take my pocket money and go shopping. Friday was when the shops in Petone stayed open until nine o’clock. With half a crown ‘burning a hole in my pocket’, as Mum would say, I’d visit my favorite stores.

The bookshop two doors down first. There’d be plenty of new comics in there to tempt me, but I’d resist. Then I’d do a slow walk past Lebezeits to admire the pretty china ornaments and sparkling glassware in their window. Faster past the yucky smelly butchers shop, where the butcher-man would be cleaning out the last of his window display. A little further down Jackson Street was bookshop number two. This shop was a bit smaller that the other one, but I always thought it was much more interesting because they had a book exchange.

It was always the stack of used Superman comics I was most interested in. I sorted through the pile, but that week there weren’t any that I didn’t already have, nothing to spend my money on there. I crossed over Jackson Street and began my wander back towards home. Mckenzies was always worth a look. They sold all sorts of thing; Clothes, china plates and cups, but not as fancy the ones in Lebezeits, cooking pots, exercise books, and toys.  But I didn’t want any balloons at 3d each or new colouring in pencils for my half a crown. Maybe the toyshop next door to the library might have some of those cut out dolls. On the way I had to go past Woolworth’s, they’re the same as Mckenzies and I wasn’t going to bother going in.

I was nearly past the big open doorway when I saw him.  He was lovely, and I forget all about the cut out dolls. I went into Woolworth’s pretending to look around. From the schoolbooks counter I could see his back. It didn’t matter that he was a bit small or had sticky out ears, 'cos I thought he was kinda cute. He looked good in that yellow jumper and red braces. His short curly hair was the same black as his trousers, and he had white sandshoes on. When I got around to the front of the store again, I was sure that his gentle brown eyes were looking into mine, ‘cos he was smiling a bit, and his hand was raised in a wave. I was smitten. Then I heard the big clock above the library strike half past eight, time to go home.

Next morning over my breakfast corn flakes I told Mum all about him, she just smiled back at me. I told Dad about him over tea; he just smiled back at me too. It was all I could talk about. The week just dragged by, but finally Friday night came around again.  I didn’t have to look far for him. He was in just about the same place as before. I tried not to stare; Mum says it’s not polite to. All I wanted to do was touch his small pink hand, but there were too many other Friday night shoppers around.  Too soon the clock struck and it was time to go home again.

Saturday morning, and Mum says, “Time to change the beds”. Don’t want to, but I start anyway.  Pull off the blankets and the sheets. It’s dusty and my nose itches. It gives me the sneezes. I put the top sheet back on the bottom, and the clean one on the top. Throw the blankets back on and then the quilt. More sneezes. I’ve just about done, when Dad calls my name up the stairs. His voice is hard, like he’s angry with me. Oh dear, what’ve I done?

 “I’m coming.”I call. “Just finishing making my bed.”

 I wonder what it is he’s mad at me about. I don’t remember doing anything bad.  The stairs don’t go straight down; halfway they stop, turn onto a landing, and then go down to the kitchen. I walk down slowly. One foot down then two on the same step, one foot down then two.  The door’s open into the kitchen, and I can see Dad’s feet standing at the bottom. And Mum’s are next to them! Oh no, I must have done something pretty bad for them both to be waiting for me. My feet bump into something on the landing; I wasn’t watching where they were going.

 I can hardly believe my eyes! White sandshoes. Black trousers. Yellow jumper. Red braces. Short black curly hair. Sticky out ears. Brown eyes, and that smile.  I look up, Dad’s face is serious, but his eyes are laughing. I look back not really believing, but it is. I pick him up, ‘‘cos he’s quite small really, and give him a big hug. Now Dad’s laughing, and Mum is too, and so am I.

“Thank you,” is about all I manage can say.  All week I’d been on and on and on about him.

“He’s only thirty-nine and six “I’d told them, over and over and over again.

 And now here he is. He’s mine, my very own toy chimpanzee