He complimented me on my T-shirt, oddly enough, before casually handing me the next five years of my future.
“Did you get everything you wanted, Adam?”
I ignored him. Never had a bloody manilla envelope been so difficult to open. I retreated to the car, wishing the back of my T-shirt said “bugger off, I’m opening my A-level results”.
You see, I try not to think about the future. As Einstein said, it comes soon enough. So I wasn’t much more than vaguely aware, in the preceding days, that I needed to pick up my A-level results that morning. I certainly didn’t wake up at 6 am to check online. I got up at half ten, and cursed the gap in my curtains.
Keeping a cool head when others around you are losing theirs, though, contrary to what Mr. Kipling would have you believe, may well be a sign of simply not understanding the gravity of the situation. I was reminded of this fact when, having opened, read, digested and been fully satisfied by my results, a phone was thrust into my hand and a familiar accent greeted me.
“Hi, Adam, you might not remember me, it’s Shaun, from the Guernsey Press.”
I was quite pleased when I arrived at school to pick up my results and saw the TV camera just packing up. I wasn’t going to have to give some asinine soundbite, broadcasting my results and what I’d be doing with them to those unfortunate enough to be watching BBC Guernsey. Apparently unsatisfied with this retention of dignity, my mum called the press. So there I sat this afternoon, having a chat about my epilepsy, cancer and future with Shaun “not-a-reporter,-promise” Shackleton, and trying to ignore his mate, Mr. “FastFlash” Photographer. Thankfully I’m not photosensitive. I mean, I’m not exactly photogenic, either, but it could be worse.
Because epilepsy sucks – there’s no two ways about that. But I have heard my train a comin’, and I am gonna leave this town. Thank fuck for that.
I’m going to the University of Bath, to study Natural Sciences.