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‘Connie Gibson. Fucks sake, it’s always Connie fucking Gibson.

Every year, somewhere amidst that indeterminate winter weather that lies between November and February, the buggers haul us into the games hall and tell us that, yes, it’s time for social fucking dancing. There is not a kid whose shoulders dinnae sag with fucking fear the minute they say that. We’ve done it before and we’ve suffered before, yet every year it’s the same thing.

First of all ye line up. Girls in one line, boys in the other. Now, here’s where it starts getting intae the realms of the abusive. The teacher then tells ye to go and pick a partner. Aye, seriously, you, little spotty, 13 year old Gavin; you the un-kissed geek who can barely write the word ‘Girl’ without breaking into a sweat, you have tae go and pick a girl to dance wi. Fuck off.

So a dae whit a dae every year, a jist stand there. And a wait till it’s over and it’s always her. It’s always Connie fucking Gibson. Now, you might wonder whit is wrang wi Connie Fucking Gibson that makes the heart sink so fast? You might wonder why some guys are more willing to take the hand of someone in their own gender than clasp the digits of Connie fucking Gibson? Well, a will tell you why. It’s not that Connie fucking Gibson is a ginger heed. It’s not that she knows mair swear words than aw the guys put together. No, it’s that Connie fucking Gibson went on a very early growth spurt and, in her gym shoes currently stands above me at a not too diminutive 5’11. I on the other hand appear to have misplaced the appropriate growth hormones required of a teenage boy and remain paralysed at a none too distinctive 5’2.

I am supposed to lead this beast in a dance. I am supposed tae take the guiding role and create some sort ae rhythmic magic out of this hulk of ginger hair, endless legs and breasts the size of ma heed. Right ye are sir, here, tell ye whit, once am finished dancing with Connie here how’s about me and King Kong show you that Tango dance we’ve been working on.

A tell, ye, it’s a nightmare and a’ve lived it before. But then, whit’s this? Fuck me! Christopher Corcoran jist took the hand of Connie Gibson! He jist stole ma dance partner! Ya fucking dancer. Never before and a am willing tae bet never again will a feel affection towards that laddie, but right now a could kiss the ugly bastard.

Of course, that means a am still looking for a partner as the skirl of the music starts up. One had better be careful here, if there’s anything worse than being made tae dance the Connie fucking Gibson dance, it’s been used as the teacher’s demonstration monkey. Quickly, a huv tae find someone, something and fast. A must not be alone!

Christ. Her. A hud forgotten about her. Julie McNamara. Julie fucking McNamara. A huv had a crush on her since Primary 3. She was the first girl a even noticed was of a different gender from me. I wis so infatuated even then that a watched where she put her pack-lunch box and went over to read her name tag. A wis a seven years old stalker. And now here she is, a young lady, hair aw scraped back in that severe way, those freckles leading into thae eyes, that smile, that sneering ‘Gavin you’re a posh prick’ smile, it’s aw there. Only difference is, her hand isnae hiding a laugh or writing a cruel note, it’s reaching out tae mine. Fuck me, she’s touching me. Julie fucknig McNamara jist touched me.

The music starts up, it’s the Gay Gordons, the easiest one. The one ma Dad taught me, a can fucking dae this and then, well then who knows whit? This could be it, a could change her mind about me, show her that efter aw these years of being less than nothing, that a could be jist about something. A can fucking dae this. Ma Grandad wis a Scottish country dance band leader. Never met the fella, passed away long afore a popped around tae see whit life wis aw about, but surely it’s genetic? Surely a huv the body of ma own, but the spirit of him within? A can fucking dae this, for ma Grandad, for me and for Julie fucking McNamara.

Only thing is, ma hand is leaking. Ma hand is starting tae drip cold oozing liquid onto her hand. She knows it and a know it. A break free and wipe it dry on ma shorts, ma manky, unwashed shorts. Aw Christ, am smelly and am leaking. Fucks sake. Still, if a cin just dance, this could be ma Dirty Dancing moment, a could waltz her intae ma arms, out that door and into a better life. Come on tae fuck, let’s get this music started.

One, two, three turn, back, two, three turn, a am fucking moving. A may be leaking, but a am fucking moving, this is easy, am doing it man, am fucking doi…’OW, watch it’ she says ‘you stood on ma foot’. This is hell, am an nae fucking doing it, am doing fuck aw. Christ save me, am leaking, am smelling and now, am stomping all over those lovely feet. The dance carries us on, on and down into the seven hells of teenage embarrassment. Ma hand is pishing all over us, ma feet are using hers as ma own private dancefloor and every

My grandfather handed the man a twenty dollar bill and he briefly held it to the light before cramming it in his pocket and turning to open the cage in one fluid motion. The chimpanzee flew out and scaled the man's body without seeming to touch him, stopping to rest on his shoulders, arms wound tightly around his neck. It glanced around the tent with quick, sharp jerks of the head, taking us in without ever making eye contact.

"Well, is this what you wanted? Get up on the table."

My grandfather was getting impatient; hurry up, have fun and so we can get out of here. This made me nervous for, even as a child, I avoided any awareness of the passage of time.

The man with the chimpanzee took two large steps towards me. He thrust his hands under my arms and hoisted me on to the table, yanking the animal from his neck and setting it in my lap. He grabbed my wrists and pulled my arms around the chimpanzee in a loose embrace.

The animal was dense and incredibly heavy for its size and its limbs were hard and thin. It wrapped its legs around me, squeezing tightly, coarse fur scratching my bare arms and legs. Resting its hard skull against mine, it looked up at the man who reached in and adjusted its diaper before stepping back and lifting an instant camera to his eye.

"Smile, sweetheart. If a chimp can do it, you're gonna' have to try a little harder than that."

I was completely frozen.

I tried quickly to imagine a girl who lived in jungle with the animals, as an equal. Would she smile for the camera while holding her chimpanzee friend close? Just another photo for the family album? I had just decided that this jungle girl would be angry and try to protect her animal friends from men and cameras and family albums when the flash of the camera chose my expression for me.

The chimpanzee immediately leaped from my arms and back onto the man's shoulders. The man pulled me from the table and stuck a Polaroid in my hand.

"Enjoy."

Outside of the tent in the blinding sunshine, I walked quickly trying to keep up with my grandfather's brisk pace, holding the developing photo out, away from my body. Although I avoided looking, I couldn't shake the thought that at the end of my soft, hairless arm the image of the chimpanzee's smile and my own blank stare was slowly floating up out of darkness.