Happy in spite. It’s an oxymoron, surely? I am twenty-four and driving away from the city of Sheffield where I spent my university days. I am listening to an audiobook, windows rolled down, my life packed away into the shoebox boot of my car. I am one of those disgustingly self-important English Literature graduates, and a car journey away from an old home is the perfect time for some disgusting, self-important reflections. Happy in spite. Those words – happy, spite – sit on my tongue uncomfortably, a little too big to get my teeth around. Does the taste of sugar do well to mask the venom of that second word? That bitter abstract noun? Will heat make honey toxic – will malice de-crystallize the structure of mirth? I am happy, yes, but must I sit in spite? My heart is a rattlesnake magnet, the poles of the chambers repelling, pushing, attracting, humming in my chest, restless electricity, opposing forces. Happy in spite of what happened, happy in spite of where I’ve been, happy in spite of it all. Must I carry this spite forever, must my heart continue to clatter against itself, must the back of my throat stay clogged with old smoke?
I do not think I am a particularly spiteful person. But then, I suppose nobody does.
I am, as I said, driving. My cheeks and lips are salty from tears I am unable to cease. There is an empty bottle of Corona underneath the passenger seat from a night at an outdoor cinema. The car smells of old coffee dried to Styrofoam cups and cigarette smoke blown lazily through open windows. I am nostalgic for times not too distant. I am nostalgic for times when I was at my lowest, when I could not see the light through my window. I am nostalgic for dark blue nights and golden afternoons drenched in autumn rot. I am nostalgic for moments that raise bile in my throat just thinking of them. The last painful few months where things began to fall apart come flooding back to me in the smell of stale smoke and the opening chord of a song. Each memory has a different flavour, mixing in my throat like some foul cocktail. The drink will make me sick.
I thought maybe I’d leave Sheffield with some grand story to tell. And I did. But I know if I were to frame it now, during my two-hour drive away from my lost friends and my lost love and my lost home, I know I would not have the heart to frame it as anything other than a tragedy. And I know that would not be a fair assessment at all. I know I will flavour my story with sadness and spite, and I will forget to do justice to love.
And so, I will not tell the story of how it all fell apart. I will not tell the story of how it all went wrong. I will not tell the story of the painful parts. I will tell no story at all. Instead, I will tell you only that I am happy.
I suppose that is the word I have neglected thus far. I suppose it is not a weakness, to admit to spite behind joy. Instead, it is rebellion, to admit happiness in the wake of hate. Happy in spite. I suppose it is a dare- a dare to drink from that bitter coffee, let its flavour sit on your tongue and taste the honey thick at the bottom of the cup. I suppose, after all, I really am happy in spite – in spite of the pain, in spite of the grief, in spite of the loss.
I am twenty-four. It is sometime early in a spring evening. Sunlight is pouring like pale honey over fields of cornflower and knapweed. I roll the windows down, the cotton-soft breeze tasting like pollen and fresh grass. I am driving towards the rest of my life. I am moving away from everything I know, and in spite of that, I am happy.
– Rose Williams
Rose Williams is a third-year student originally from Leicestershire, studying English Literature and Creative Writing at YSJ. At university, she is also the current chair of the creative writing society, Inkwell. Her work has been published previously in the YSJ science fiction magazine, Terra Two. She enjoys writing primarily long-form fantasy work but also has an online blog where she shares pieces of shorter fiction, poetry and essays in her spare time.
“Happy in Spite” was shortlisted in the debut competition held by the Where Ideas Grow Blog. The competition theme was ‘Growth’