Buzz Off

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In primary school, we used to play ‘buzz off’. Wherever there was a series of poles, you’d join in on whoever was already playing the game and yell ‘buzz off’ if you touched their pole. Then, they would need to find another pole. And when you were touching a pole, you were safe from the person who was ‘it.’ 

For every five to six participants, there would be one ‘it.’ The best games were when there was a lot of people. It would be hectic, and fun, and there was always someone being ‘buzzed off.’ And even if you weren’t very fast, you would still be able to catch someone.

But you would only play ‘buzz off’ if you were in grade two. It was a thing just for the grade twos. And that entire year, it was the absolute best game. But after grade two, everyone strangely loses interest, as if the entire game was a fever dream. And as you progress through primary school, you see the grade twos every year playing ‘buzz off,’ and you’re tinged with nostalgia. A longing wistfulness. But you are no longer in grade two, and you are no longer allowed to play. 

And sometimes you think of the days when you chose not to play ‘buzz off.’ Maybe you didn’t feel like running. Maybe you took too long eating lunch. Maybe you were bored of the game. And you think of the rainy days where you were forced to stay inside. And you might wish these things never happened. So you could’ve played ‘buzz off.’

And the next thing you know, you’re in grade six. And you’re about to graduate from primary school, and you see the grade twos play ‘buzz off’ one final lunchtime. Then you leave primary school, and you might never think of it again. 

But you’re now twenty-five. And you realise you haven’t thought about ‘buzz off’ for years. You haven’t played it since grade two. You’re an adult now, and you need to take things seriously. You’re sitting at a coffee shop next to the beach, and the palm trees look perfect for a game of ‘buzz off.’ But you don’t know anyone who might play with you, and you’re not sure anyone else even knows the game. Perhaps it was all a fever dream. A figment of your overactive imagination. 

But you do indeed have an overactive imagination, so you sit there and you imagine yourself, seven years old again, in your dark green school uniform of a k-mart t-shirt and shorts. And you don’t remember any faces you might’ve played buzz off with in primary school, but you imagine thirty other children, with their little green hats for sun protection. And suddenly they’re all playing ‘buzz off’ again. The rings of the palm trees are gritty under their hands, blood pumping with childish exhilaration. And their little legs kick up the sand, their giggles and excitement escaping from you. The other customers glance a little. But adults are good at minding their own business. 

The book in your hands is now closed, and you rest your eyes from Catcher in the Rye by JD Salinger, a slim story you should’ve been able to finish by now. 

But you’re mesmerised by the game of ‘buzz off’ unfolding before you. In the muggy summer heat, you imagine how it might feel to join them. For sweat to run down your face, for the sea breeze to cool it off. Your fingers itch to feel the texture of the tree trunks. Your heart wants to beat with the wild, stupendous excitement of ‘buzz off.’

So you pack up your things, and you finish your iced coffee. The ice-cream has melted into a layer of liquid vanilla sweetness, and the rolling condensation leaves a few drips on your shirt. But the heat will dry it off soon, anyway. You dab your lips with the serviette and the doorbell chimes as you exit. 

It hits you, an oppressive cocoon of warmth. The palm trees looked much closer through the window. You cross the road at the zebra stripes, and know you’ll regret the sand in your shoes. And you’ve reached the first palm tree. It just so happens that your t-shirt today is a washed-out green. 

But you’re now twenty-five. So instead, you lean your back against the tree trunk and you let yourself slide down into the sand. The shade provides scant protection from the overbearing summer sun, and the sand is thankfully bearable.

And this strip of the beach is generally quite quiet, as it’s rather inconvenient. And it’s really too hot today, everyone preferring the refuge of indoor air-conditioning. The nearest people are out of earshot.

But you are now twenty-five. And as much as you may wish for the magic of ‘buzz off,’ you know you will never play ‘buzz off’ again. But perhaps you knew it, the moment you crossed into grade three. Perhaps you knew it, when you were in grade six.

Something, deep inside you, has been lost. 

You are now twenty-five.