Liverpool Moment

We were in Liverpool for the day. This was 1968; I was eleven.

My mother’s friends had no children, and the conversation held nothing for me. I went outside.

The flat sat opposite a football pitch where a handful of boys were passing a ball back and forth. I stood and watched. One of the head boys ambled over and looked me up and down.

‘What’s your name, then?

I told him. My bohemian mother had blessed me with a made-up, vaguely feminine name. Thank god.

A pause; then—

‘D’you want to play?’

‘I don’t know how.’

He shrugged.

‘S’alright luv, c’mon then.’

I hesitated. I’d never before had boys want to include me. This was a strange, unsettling, exciting experience.

Nervously, I smiled.

My girlhood is covered in more detail in my Girl series.

This is #6 in the Transitional Moments series.
Livename, #5: Clocked (in the best possible way), #7: Viennese Moment

I make a spare living doing this. You can support my work and get draft previews and my frequent ‘Letters Home’ for less than the cost of a coffee.

Like what you read? Give Allison Washington a round of applause.

From a quick cheer to a standing ovation, clap to show how much you enjoyed this story.