by Will Davis
I'm like, Just put me out of my misery.
Stop trying to be smart and listen up, says Mum, in business-bitch mode. There's a few things we've got to discuss.
And we mean it, adds Dad, like he's even a factor.
I'm like, You mean there's a few things you're going to tell me.
Mum chooses to ignore this and continues: We've decided that you're going to stop going out. Full stop. She waits like she's expecting me to start whining or something. I'm like, Yeah, and?
And you're going to get counselling.
I'm like, Huh?
. . . and we're going to come with you, she goes. It's all precautionary, but we've thought about it and we agree it's for the best.
She takes a deep breath like this has all been much harder for her to say than for me to hear, and then goes, in a softer voice, What do you think? Will you do it for us?
I'm like, It's a great idea. You should both go. But leave me out of it.
Mum nods like she was expecting me to say exactly this. She's like, Look Jarold, you have to understand that this is hard for your father and me. We don't mean that we're angry at you. You are what you are, and we can both accept that. But we need time to adapt. It's your duty to help us understand.
It's like, duty? To these losers?
Dad's like, You can't talk with us normally so maybe a therapist can help. We just want to understand. He sounds like he's dying of thirst or something.
So they wait in, like, total anticipation while I sit there and consider, as if I've actually got a choice in the matter. But the truth is I really don't see what harm it can do. I mean, I'm not exactly gagging to be given the third degree, but there's no way anyone's ever gonna tell me I'm less sane than Mum and Dad, so what the hell?
I'm like, OK, but if they want to lock you up don't blame me.
Mum's face just floods with happiness. She's positively like, radiating, and Dad even goes so far as to put his hand on my shoulder, which is just totally unnecessary. I bear it for a couple of minutes, during which Mum launches into this speech about how we're going to be all right and how we're a strong family, and then I lose it, and I'm like, OK, can you go now?
That shuts her right up, but they comply. Thankfully. It's a downright infringement of my privacy to get me in my own bedroom, I think, which everyone knows is totally sacred to the teenager. I mean, they're probably scarring me for life, not that they can see beyond themselves. I send Al a text saying OMIGOD PARNTS + ME R GOING 2 HVE THERPY!!! She sends me one back that says GD. U NEED IT.
10
Anyways, to my surprise the therapy happens the very next day. Yeah sure, Mum, it wasn't pre-planned in the slightest. What am I? Retarded or something?
What's totally unfair about it is that The Nun doesn't have to come too, though actually I decide I'm rather glad about this because it turns out she wants to come, and when she gets told that she's, like, not invited, she starts whining like she's nasally challenged.
But this is a family thing so I have to come too, she goes.
Mum's like, This is between your father, me and Jaz. You don't have the same kind of problems.
Dad's like, We'll deal with your therapy next year, trying to make a joke out of it, but he can't pull it off so it hangs there in the atmosphere like a cloud of carbon monoxide. Mum gives him her death glare and The Nun decides that Life Is Not Fair and goes up to her room to pray or something.
So this is like, a big-deal family scene.
Our shrink is called Dr Higgs. He's about forty and looks kind of familiar. He has this neutral expression like, frozen on his face and when he frowns or smiles it looks like he's putting it on, which makes him seem like this human computer. He totally deadpan too, so it's a bit like having Morticia Adams treating you, but Mum and Dad seem really pleased when they meet him, and Dad's whole body relaxes when he shakes his hand. When Higgs comes to shake mine I make a point of giving his hand a really firm yank so he knows who he's dealing with. He peers at me like he's giving me some kind of classification already, which I find totally depressing. It's like, This Is Your Type And This Is How I Shall Act To Deal With It.
Mum and Dad get sat on a big white sofa while I'm sat apart from them on an armchair. Higgs shows us to the places, so it's blatantly deliberate, though Mum and Dad don't seem to notice. Quite what this arrangement is supposed to do is beyond me, but presumably the human computer knows what he's on about.
Once we're all settled (it takes Mum an era to get comfortable) Higgs asks me how I feel about being here.
I'm like, Yeah, this is totally what I want to be doing with my Sundays.
Higgs smiles in a kind of I-don't-know-if-that-is-supposed-to-be-funny kind of way and turns to Mum, who he seems to know instinctively is the boss around here.
He's like, So tell me what you've been experiencing.
I'm thinking, Oh shit, which is perfectly justified, since Mum launches into this intergalactic speech about Stuff. It's kind of like a toned-down version of her usual woes, but it goes on for ever, and by the end of it even the guy who gets paid to listen looks dazed. He kind of does his robot smile and says, Why don't we start right at the beginning? which makes me laugh, and then everyone looks at me, so I'm like, a multiple of What?
Higgs is like, Can you tell us why you laughed?
I'm like, Because of your face, which is the truth but it comes out sounding really rude, and Mum hisses, Jarold! like she's ready to slap me or something.
But Higgs stays calm and says not to worry it's a perfectly normal reaction. I keep trying to decide where it is I've seen him before. So far he's mostly been addressing Mum and Dad, but each time he turns to me I try to get a good look and think hard. For some reason I'm drawing total blanks. Maybe it's just because he looks like what your conscience would look like if it took on human form, like in some X-Men episode or something.
Anyway, at first it's like the whole session's this total waste of time, since basically after Mum's rant Higgs just asks all these really dull questions that don't seem to be leading anywhere like, What's everyone's favourite hobby? and, What's the best holiday you've ever had? It's like, who gives a shit? At one point even Mum gets impatient, probably 'cos she wants to start talking about herself again. She's like, Is this really important? Shouldn't we be talking about our feelings towards each other? like she knows this guy's job much better than he does. That's her being a lawyer for you. But Higgs puts her right back in her place by calmly telling her that therapy isn't like some pill you can take that just makes everything OK again - it takes hard work and dedication.
I'm like, Maybe we should just go.
Everyone just ignores me, which makes me kind of mad, but a few minutes later Higgs goes to me, So you're not uncomfortable being here, Jarold? so I guess he must have heard after all.
I'm like, Whatever.
Higgs is like, Do you feel any resentment towards your parents for bringing you here?
I look at Mum and Dad, who both look down at their laps. It's kind of funny. That's when I realise I don't feel resentment so much as pity. It feels like an act of charity or something, me being here, because if I'm honest I guess I think that it's way too late for this sort of thing. There's fucked up and then there's just fucked, and that's what we are.
I'm like, No, not really.
Higgs doesn't look too impressed by my answer, but he can see that I'm not biting so he switches his attention to Dad. He surprises us all by asking him what he's feeling. There's this pause with tumbleweed blowing through it. It occurs to me that I've never thought much about Dad as a separate human being from Mum. Apart from as an idiot, I mean. I look at him now and it doesn't seem fair, and I feel guilty, a bit like I felt with Mr Fellows after the fight.
Dad's like, Well, I don't know . . .
Higgs waits. Dad stares at his lap until it gets to hot for him to look at and then he looks at the far wall instead, where there's this picture of a load of black-and-white diagonal lines. It'
s a total cryptogram and once I've noticed it I soon find myself totally absorbed by it too.
Mum's snaps us both back to attention by going, Answer him!
Dad stutters a bit and then goes, I just want us to be happy.
Next thing I know is everyone's looking at me again. I realise I've started laughing - like, big time. It's obviously totally inappropriate, but it's like some kind of hysterical reaction or something. And then it turns into crying. Don't ask me why, because crying is not my style. It's like, the most un-ironic thing you can do. I don't know - maybe it's some kind of reflex response to cheesiness or something, like when you see Titanic and you cry at the end even though the stupid couple drowning is like, justice or something. Or maybe it's a delayed reaction from being exposed to the sight of Fellows in his leather trousers. In any event Mum jumps up and rushes to my side (partly for Higgs' benefit, I'm sure) and thrusts her boobs in my face till I'm not crying but gagging instead.
I'm like, Get the hell off me!
Mum ignores this, or maybe she doesn't hear because my voice is, like, muffled by her chest. Of course Higgs finds it all extremely significant, and through the gap in Mum's silk shirt I see him staring at us and reaching for his pad like he's watching some never-before-seen display of mutant behaviour. He notes something down, meanwhile I attempt to prise myself free from Mum's mauling.
I'm like, Don't read into this. It's just a thing.
But why are you crying? goes Higgs. Can you tell us?
He sounds all smug and self-knowledgey, which pisses me off a bit, so I'm like, It's the dust, yeah? in this really sarcastic voice. Mum sighs and goes to sit back down next to Dad, who's watched all this with big fearful eyes that look like they should belong to Bambi, not some grown man.
Higgs is like, so thinking this is all deeply important. I don't know. Maybe it is. Maybe they've been getting to me more than I've realised.
To cut a long therapy session short, it turns out Higgs is on my side. He's like, Jarold is young and it's good that he's got a definite sense of who he is. You (Mum and Dad, who look pretty shocked at this point) need to support him and be there for him when the inevitable difficulties start to arise.
I don't know what the inevitable difficulties are, but Mum and Dad are silent all the journey home, whereas I'm sniggering like a lunatic on the inside, though on the outside I say nothing, since I figure they've got enough shit to deal with. By the time we reach our street Mum is actually weeping a little, and Dad puts his arm round her, and just like that time when we went to see Grandma at the hospital, for this one instant they look like just maybe they do bring each other some happiness from time to time. I suppose there must be a reason they got married in the first place. But then I get to thinking about it and it seems like it can't be right if the only time they're happy is when the shit hits the fan.
That night Mum actually kisses me on the forehead, which normally would have me going, What am I? Like Black Beauty or something? but this time I let it slide. Dad comes in to say goodnight too. He makes a sort of shuffling with his arms from across the room, which is about as close to a hug as we've come in the last five years. I don't know if this means the therapy is working already or if it just means we've reached a new level of screwed-upness. I get a text from Al saying HOW DID IT GO? I send her one back saying FCKED. DN'T ASK.
11
So this is my third shitty day at school. I know, it's like all I have is shitty days. Well, yeah. But it's especially shitty because it's a Monday, so I hope you can try and empathise just a tiny bit.
I get cornered by Fuck Face and the Tweedles outside the canteen. It's totally stupid of me, but it's been over a week since the whole writing-on-the-collage incident, and the school's stopped its stupid inquisition into who did it now, so I guess I figured maybe he'd have forgotten about it too, what with being thick and all. No such luck. I've totally let my guard down and me and Al have split up after lunch 'cos she's got maths and I've got a free study. I've got this essay due on Twelfth Night which I'm just dying to get stuck into, so I spend a while dawdling and reading the artwork on the wall (it's a total canvas here and the school gave up trying to keep it clean like, years ago). I'm just debating over a few improvements when there's this voice which goes, Well, well, well, like a pantomime villain, and I turn round to see it belongs to Tweedle Dum. Fuck Face and Tweedle Dee are standing behind him like the definition of ugly.
Fuck Face is like, You got some nerve, poof.
There's no chance of me bolting but I give it a go just in case, and the Tweedles instantly span out to my left and right like sheepdogs penning me in. Fuck Face advances and so I look around for help. There's a couple of kids sitting on the wall truanting it not far away. But they're watching what's going on like it's a documentary on the Discovery Channel so you can just forget about relying on them for any help.
Tweedle Dee is going, You're in deep shit, boy, as if I thought maybe they were just going to ask me a few questions for some school project.
I'm like, Listen, it was just a joke, yeah?
Yeah? Trying to be funny were you? goes Tweedle Dum, I don't think old Joe here finds it very funny - do you, Joe?
Fuck Face's nostrils flare and these two great black holes appear in the middle of his face, like they should have a ring put through them or something.
Well, Tweedle Dum goes, We can be funny too.
That doesn't strike me as probable. I'm like, For fuck's sake! and the Tweedles launch into their specialised grunts, which is their way of trying to show contempt. It's like, they must have the most fascinating conversations. Then Fuck Face pushes me against the wall and gives me a full-on blast of his death breath. You've got to feel sorry for the guy, I guess, since he's been afflicted with this thing that means he's never gonna be able to kiss anyone, let alone pass on his genes.
Anyway, I'm like, practically dead already, but I can see he's just getting inspiration for whatever it is he's going to do to me. The Tweedles have a few suggestions. Tweedle Dee's like, Take his pants! and Tweedle Dum's like, Just kick the shit out of him.
So I'm like, preparing myself for the afterlife when salvation arrives in the form of Mr Fellows, who's on patrol duty, slacker-searching. He literally arrives just as the first blow is about to strike, and he's like, What's going on? in this special voice that even the most measly teachers can summon up when they have to. Fuck Face and the Tweedles sort of look at each other in turn like they're swapping expressions or something. The truant kids watching in the background beat a hasty retreat.
Fuck Face is like, Just having a laugh, Sir.
He drops his fist which was looming terrifyingly close and which looked a lot like the hammer of Thor or something.
Fellows is like, Jarold?
I just bow my head, because spragging at this point is totally unnecessary. He's caught them in the act. I'm not really expecting him to do anything much other than tell them to get lost or something, so I'm surprised when he launches into this rant that would have impressed even Mum. Probably he was just looking for some excuse, but boy does he let old Fuck Face have it. He's like, I'm going to call your mother and tell the headmaster and I'm going to be watching you from now on and if you set one foot out of line I'm going to come down on you like a Yorkshire shithouse!
It's always weird when a teacher swears, 'cos it's like supposed to be against their religion or something, except with the ones who try to be all cool, like Dr Head from the science division who's quite young (like, comparatively) and says bugger and shit a lot, like this is supposed to give him kudos (it doesn't - everyone just calls him Dr Dick-head). But when Mr Fellows swears it sounds like the wrath of God. Even Fuck Face, whose destiny is like, to drop out of school, is left trembling by it.
He goes, Sorry, Sir, in this tiny voice like he's been castrated.
Fellows is like, It's not me you should be apologising to.
Fuck Face looks at me aghast. I'm aghast too. Next time there's going to be no e
scape, I can see that in his eyes, which are like, burning full of hatred.
He's like, Sorry, in this voice that's like, the opposite of sincere.
Fellows is like, Get out of here.
Once Fuck Face and the Tweedles have fled, I find out that the whole righteous-anger thing has all been for my benefit. Fellows pats my shoulder in this ultra-cringe-worthy, fatherly sort of way, which is downright freaky, not to mention totally unnatural.
He's like, If kids pick on you, don't let them get to you. You have every right to be what you are, Jarold Jones. Just you remember that. Every right in the world. Never let them make you feel ashamed and never let them tell you otherwise. Are you OK?
I'm like, totally not OK, but not because of Fuck Face. It's like, you can tell him to come right back and finish the job, because seriously this kind of talk is like being forced to drink milk and orange juice. It's enough to make you long for the good old days of fascism. Since my senses have sort of shut down in an automatic response, I give him a shrug. But Fellows hasn't finished with cliche-ising me yet.
He's like, I mean it. Jarold, I want you to feel you can come to me if you have any problems, OK?
I'm like, OK already.
Fellows is like, And I wanted to talk to you about the last time I saw you. In that club.
All hope of a swift end to this torture vanishes. I'm like, a deeper level of Oh brother.
The thing is, I do understand what it's like, he goes, Discovering you're attracted to other boys and not knowing what it means. The realisation. And then all the nights lying awake wondering about yourself and wishing you weren't different. I've been through it all. I was young once too, you know.
He says this like it's meant to be a joke, rather than something that actually is quite hard to believe. It's weird, 'cos it is always kind of hard to imagine older people you know were once young. Like, trying to see them as teenagers, asking stupid questions and making stupid mistakes, and getting all interested in sex and making jokes about it. I've tried to imagine Mum and Dad when they were younger, but it's like trying to imagine having a third arm or something. It's easy to imagine them as screwed up, because they are, but not as screwed-up sixteen-year-olds.
