Moz

My very last day of University, rumour had it that tomorrow they were going to give us our final results. There wasn’t an official results day, but apparently if we went in tomorrow, then someone would let us know what class of degree we’d got. Because of course work and stuff we all knew we’d passed but tomorrow would be the cherry on the cake. A bitter sweet cherry because, although it would be good news for all, it would also mark the beginning of the end of these weird and wonderful friendships that had grown up over the last 3 years. Tomorrow we’d all get together for one last time in the dreary coffee lounge on the 4^th floor, have a coffee and then go and see what was what. Today, well today it was just me and Moz on Wimbledon Common, chatting, hold hands, wandering aimlessly and wondering what the future had in store.

I think I was falling in love with Moz, and I think that meant I was growing up. When we’d met on day 1 I thought she was a posh bitch from London. She stood for everything I hated - privately educated, big house, rich mummy and daddy. But that was my problem not hers. What she actually was when I had broken down the stereotype was a beautiful woman, charming, warm, caring, far more intelligent than me both academically and emotionally. So I was wandering and wondering, wondering if I should be holding hands with her. After all Jem back home would not approve. Jem my girlfriend, my childhood sweetheart, the love of my life. It had survived the three years of uni, I couldn’t ruin it now, could I?

The next day was all you could hope for and more, all be it set against the backdrop of melancholy. The sun was shining and the park in central London we’d found to celebrate our results felt insulated against the world. Time stopped for those few wonderful hours. We’d all passed and what’s more we all got the same grade so there was no bragging, no one-upmanship, just a chance for the 8 of us to bask in each other’s success.

And of course when you’re that age you won’t believe in endings, so none of us even began to think that this would be the last time we were an 8. Moz, she spent the entire day with her head in my lap or on my chest or shoulder, perhaps she, wise beyond her years, sensed this was the end. Her beautiful eyes sparkled in the sunshine as she looked up at me but was there a trace of sadness or is that my memory playing tricks? It was soon time to disperse, families wanted to celebrate with new graduates, people had work to go to, I had a train to catch. Hugs, kisses, backslaps and promises were aplenty as we said our goodbyes. Moz said she come with me to Paddington, she said it was on her way, it wasn’t.

 We stood on that platform hand in hand, looking at each other. This was the time, the time to kiss her. My train was being announced, the rush for seats had started, it was now or never.

As the train took me home there was a little wicked smile on my face. I didn’t know if I’d ever see her again but her lips had been so gentle, her tongue so soft and her smile so genuine after we’d broken the embrace that I knew I’d never regret, I’d never forget my kiss with Moz.