perhappened mag
issue 2: ROAD TRIP
ode to the coach
drivers on school trips
KATIE KIRKPATRICK
god, how you must hate us. tinny speakers
are playing a whispering game, turning
pixie lott into ed sheeran and making you
want to rip the ears off the side of your
head like a paper doll. the bus smells of
sour cream and onion pringles and the
chemical marshmallow scent of sun
lotion and you can’t even open your
window. one of the kids on the back
row is about to throw up into a plastic
halloween bowl and you can conjure
up exactly the sound that sour liquid
rainbow will make when it hits the
plastic. what a treat. at the same time,
another kid starts crying and you fumble
for your foam earplugs just as the teacher
taps you on the shoulder, foundation
dripping off her face like a melted ice
lolly. she reminds you of your year six
teacher, the way she used to finish
all her sentences with ‘actually’ and
count to ten on double-jointed fingers.
this woman’s short fingers are decorated
with fake silver rings, gems sparkling
like tiny sequins from an arts and crafts
project. she tells you to stop at the next
petrol station and you think oh, good,
more time with these creatures. but
when they all crawl off the bus, you
take a breath and stand up, looking
down the aisle like it’s the climax of
the film and you’re face-to-face with
your arch nemesis. one of the kids
has left their ipod wedged down the
side of their seat and as party in the
usa starts playing and miley cyrus
starts wailing about LAX you think
jesus christ, we’re in peterborough.
are playing a whispering game, turning
pixie lott into ed sheeran and making you
want to rip the ears off the side of your
head like a paper doll. the bus smells of
sour cream and onion pringles and the
chemical marshmallow scent of sun
lotion and you can’t even open your
window. one of the kids on the back
row is about to throw up into a plastic
halloween bowl and you can conjure
up exactly the sound that sour liquid
rainbow will make when it hits the
plastic. what a treat. at the same time,
another kid starts crying and you fumble
for your foam earplugs just as the teacher
taps you on the shoulder, foundation
dripping off her face like a melted ice
lolly. she reminds you of your year six
teacher, the way she used to finish
all her sentences with ‘actually’ and
count to ten on double-jointed fingers.
this woman’s short fingers are decorated
with fake silver rings, gems sparkling
like tiny sequins from an arts and crafts
project. she tells you to stop at the next
petrol station and you think oh, good,
more time with these creatures. but
when they all crawl off the bus, you
take a breath and stand up, looking
down the aisle like it’s the climax of
the film and you’re face-to-face with
your arch nemesis. one of the kids
has left their ipod wedged down the
side of their seat and as party in the
usa starts playing and miley cyrus
starts wailing about LAX you think
jesus christ, we’re in peterborough.
Katie Kirkpatrick (she/her) is a student from Cambridgeshire with an offer to study French at Oxford. She won the 12-18 category of the BBC Proms Poetry competition 2019, has been published by Young Poets Network and emagazine, and is forthcoming in Eponym Magazine. Twitter: @katiejohannak.