The Bull

For the first time since starting university, I ventured into our student union. It was a double-size mobile classroom that served as our bar, café and social hub. Painted black inside with the main lighting coming from the bar and the stage, it was small, just a little dingy, but atmospheric. The bar was positioned across from the stage to the right of which lay a quartet of dartboards that gave our student union its nickname, 'The bull'.

The smell of stale alcohol, sweat, and perfume pervaded the place. As I entered, the band, made up of 1st and 2nd-year students, belted out 'She Sells Sanctuary' by The Cult.

I squeezed my way through the throngs of inebriated but good-natured pseudo-intellectuals and ordered the first of many 50p pints of subsidised beer I would consume over the next four years.

Frank and Michael, my flatmates, and the way of these things, my new best friends, pushed through to stand beside me. Grinning we took in our new surroundings. Away from the ever-watchful eyes of our parents, we felt like adults for the first time.

A group of lads got up from their seats to push their way to the bar and without thinking the three of us practically ran to claim their now empty table.

“On your feet, lose your seat”, Frank shouted gleefully.

The band kicked up a notch, and we cheered and sang along. Amid the tumult, two girls shouted over the music,

“Is there anyone sitting here?” they asked, pointing to the empty seats at our table.

Before we could form a response they plonked themselves down and shimmied their chairs in beside ours.

For the first hour we, as a table, were two distinct groupings, with little or no interaction between us. The girls only spoke to us to ask,

‘Mind those pints, would you?’ If they were going for a dance, or,

‘Mind those seats, would you?’ if they were going to the bar.

Apart from that, although some furtive glances were exchanged, nothing else was said.

At 11 pm, the band, in an attempt to stoke up the crowds now failing enthusiasm, announced the first girl to hit the bullseye on the dartboard would get a free round of drinks for their table.

No sooner had the announcement been made than the two girls bolted from our table, moments later arriving breathless but first to the boards. A swarm of sweaty, giggling rivals filing in behind them.

We drank and looked on amused at the spectle playing out before us. Then, to our utter delight, one of the girls from our table threw a dart dead centre of the board and we all excitedly shouted Bull!

A few minutes later, the triumphant girls came back with a tray of drinks. Sitting a JD & Coke in front of each one of us, the brunette said teasingly,

‘I’m Sam and this is Tracey. I thought I'd better say something as it didn’t look like you girls were ever going to get up the nerve to speak to us’.

I opened my mouth to frame the question we boys were all thinking, but again she spoke first,

"I'm captain of the first-year ladies darts team", she said with a mischievous smile.

We were silent for a split second before breaking into deep belly laughs. Introducing ourselves, we finally began talking and our two groups melded into one.

Sam leaned across the table and spoke almost solely to me. My heart fluttered as she did so and I blushed furiously. Thankfully, the darkness of the bar saved me from being too seriously embarrassed.

Tracey talked to Frank and Michael, small-talk mostly about college and their shared classes. I did my best to tune them out and to concentrate only on Sam.

As the night drew to a close, I waved goodbye to my friends and walked off towards my second favourite spot in my new city, the kebab takeaway. I was just nearing the bottom of the flight of steps leading to the concourse of restaurants and shops when I heard Sam call my name.

My heart thumped, and I turned too quickly for my alcohol-soaked brain to cope, tumbling to the ground, with my ankle twisting below me. As I tried to get back to my feet I was flooded with the sensations of perfume, a warm body next to mine, and hairspray-laden hair tickling my neck. Sam gently helped me to my feet. She had come to my rescue, and her immediate proximity and caring touch drove the throbbing pain from my mind.

It may have been our shared inebriation, or our surreptitious glancing at one another all night, but in this moment of closeness we, as if to some unheard but insistent cue, both leaned forward into our first kiss. It seemed like minutes but more likely seconds until, overcome by the magic of the moment; I leaned too far forward and lost my balance, tumbling to the ground once again. This time I laughed a joyous laugh as Sam struggled to right me for the second time that night.

I look back fondly at that unseasonably warm September. My first time away from home, my first term in university, and my first night with my new friends in 'The Bull'. Sam, as she sits beside me now, many years later, tells me she is amazed that she married such a clumsy fool as I had then been.

Smiling, she leans forward and kisses me gently on the lips, her hair gently tickling my neck. And we could, once more, be that young couple kissing outside 'The Bull'.