My Side of the Story

by Will Davis

  So I end up taking a tour. The place is massive, and it's a bit like a house of horror, like you get at one of those old-fashioned fairs or something, 'cos there's wrecked kids stumbling around like the undead and coming out on you unexpectedly from corners with soul-sucking, boozed-up eyeballs.

  I eventually find myself in the bathroom where there's a whole tub of ice with a load of beer dunked in it, so I help myself to another one and sit down on the toilet for a smoke while I collect myself. All I can think is that Al must have taken off. But it's not like her, not without at least telling me, so I get out my phone to write her a text. I've already got one. It says U JERK I CANT BELVE U JUST DMPED ME LKE THAT, HVE FUN WTH THT BITCH! I send her one back saying OK LEZZER BUT WHERE R U? but after a minute I get a reply saying CNT!, SO I figure she really has gone.

  Then this like, vampire-style shadow falls across me and I look up and see Fabian is standing there in this totally wrong PVC coat. His hair is like, saturated with gel and spiked up so that it looks like he's had an accident with an electrode. I could swear he's also got eye-shadow on, and he's looking down at me like any minute he's going to try and suck my blood. It's like, Anne Rice overload.

  He's like, Hey, how's it going?

  I'm like, Are you stalking me or something?

  He's like, I just came for the party, in this all defensive voice.

  He goes to the bath and takes a beer which he tries to open with his teeth. It doesn't happen so he ends up using his key-ring, looking totally shamed and annoyed.

  Then he goes, Got a cigarette?

  I'm pretty fed up, so I'm like, Go back to Psychosville.

  He takes a massive mouthful of his beer and then spits it into the air. It kind of hovers there for a second, this pouch of fluid, and then plummets down and explodes all over the floor. A bit gets on my shoes which pisses me off because they're my Converse, which I had to save up for eons to buy.

  I'm like, Isn't there a rock somewhere missing you being under it?

  Fabian just ignores this. Wanna see something? he goes.

  I'm like, No thanks, thinking he's probably gonna flash me, or worse still get out his knife and start waving it around like it's a trick or something. But instead he starts rolling up his sleeve. He goes all the way to his elbow. I'm like, looking, because you can't help yourself. It's like, an elbow, Wow. Then Fabian reaches across and plucks the cigarette out of my hand. I'm like, Hey! but before I can do anything he plants it on his skin. There's this little fizzling sound as the cigarette goes out. Fabian grimaces and then looks at me.

  I'm like, mega-freaked. What the hell did you do that for? I go, sounding all shrill.

  Fabian just grins like my reaction is a gift I'm giving him or something. Then he rolls up his arm even more and shows me the skin just below his shoulder. It's like, scar central. There's this whole mish-mash of thick white lines running through each other like someone's been playing noughts and crosses with a highlighter on him. It's totally whack.

  I do them with razors, he goes, like they're supposed to be beautiful or something.

  I'm like, You need assistance.

  Fabian's grin reaches Cheshire dimensions. Wanna touch them? he goes.

  I'm like, the definition of No.

  He touches them himself. I look at the door and judge my chances. All these possibilities are racing through my head, like what if he breaks his bottle and tries to stab me with it, or what if he refuses to let me go until I've got like, a matching set of scars or something? It's a full-on situation and I don't know what I'm supposed to do. Probably I should try and talk to him about how scarring yourself for life is wrong etc., but I have no idea what to say. Besides, if he wants to scar himself he can go right ahead the way I see it, so long as he does it many hundreds of metres away from me. I remember how I was thinking about him when Jon gave me that E, and how sad I thought it was because he's screwed up. I don't think it's sad now - at least, not a good kind of sad.

  I'm like, You should totally talk to someone. I try to say it sincerely, but Fabian's like, totally offended.

  He's like, Fuck you. You're just like all the others. Just 'cos you're a faggot you think that makes you all special. But it doesn't. You're just another fucking white nigger like everyone else.

  I don't quite get the white nigger thing, 'cos Fabian's white too so like, how does that work? But I guess with Nazi punks anything goes so long as it sounds good. Fabian suddenly has that crazy look in his eyes and I think, Well at least I tried, though I wish I hadn't bothered. I stand up and step slowly towards the door, half-expecting him to like, tackle me or something. But he doesn't. He just drops his head and then goes, Hey, remember those times?

  I'm like, What times?

  He's like, You know. When we hung out.

  I'm like, Yeah?

  There's this long pause while he studies his lap, and I think maybe he's forgotten about like, existing or something. But then he looks up at me with his crazy look and goes, We should hang out again sometime.

  I'm like, Yeah, sure, thinking I'd rather hang out with Hannibal Lecter. I leave him there.

  Once I've escaped from Fabian I decide it's definitely time to blow. Being exposed to a party of losers is one thing, but being exposed to Fabian's arm is quite another, and it's just too much. I need to go back home and like, purify myself or something.

  The older guys who were on the porch are now sitting giggling on the stairs, and their eyes are like, totally ga-ga so you can tell they must be shrooming it. Me and Al tried magic mushrooms a few months ago after we managed to persuade this old hippy to sell us some in Camden. They must have been duds though 'cos we spent the whole evening after we'd taken them sitting in this juice bar and waiting for something to happen which never did. Or maybe he just hocked us the old Sainsbury's closed-cup variety.

  I make a beeline for the front door, but before I can reach it this hand like, hoists me into the corner behind the coat stand.

  Look, nobody can see us, goes Mary in this tense whisper that lets me know there's going to be no escape this time. How she didn't get the message before is like, mythical. But there's nothing for it.

  I'm like, Listen Mary, I think you're a really nice person . . .

  Any normal person hearing these words would know right away what I was on about, but the thing with Mary is that all her brains are in her boobs. She takes it like, the opposite to how she should. She leans forward before I've even decided on how the next part should go and clamps her mouth over mine. It's big and warm and tastes of lipstick. But I go into shock or something, 'cos she takes me totally by surprise. I just stay completely still and press my lips as tight together as I can, though she has like, this demon tongue which keeps trying to force them open. Probably she's been practising half her life, because we're talking about a real muscle here. After what seems like a millennium she finally gets the message and stops kissing me. Then there's this long pause while she deals with the rejection.

  She's like, I thought you liked me.

  I'm like, I do. But not like that.

  She thinks for a bit. You can practically hear the cogs grinding. Then she goes, Jaz, are you a gay?

  Now I'm the one thinking. I don't know Mary that well or anything. I don't care what Fuck Face and the Tweedles say about me 'cos it's not like anyone ever listens to them, but Mary's pretty popular. She could like, do some damage. Still, since she's a girl and since she's pretty much guessed anyway I figure I may as well tell her. Plus I also figure it'll help her get over being rejected, which I think you'll have to admit is pretty decent of me.

  So I'm like, Yeah, that's it.

  Oh my God, she goes. There's more silence, although it's not really silence 'cos someone's wopped on some super-naff J-Lo track. I can just see them all in the next room bouncing their arses up and down to it. You'd think I'd just admitted I was a pedo or something the way Mary goes all silent. But then, like finally, she goes, It's OK, I wish you'd told me, in this voice that's all
sickly sweet and understanding, which is pretty much what I expected from someone probably born and bred on soap operas.

  I'm like, Sorry.

  She's like, It must be so hard for you!

  Yeah. But it's OK, I go, acting all vulnerable.

  She's like, If you want to talk about it . . .

  It's like, what is it with people and talking? First Mum, then Fellows and now Mary. As if that's what being gay is all about. It's like, what is there to talk about?

  I'm like, Listen, I gotta take off. You won't tell anyone, will you?

  She's like, Of course not! as though the idea would never occur to her. But I'm not too sure. All of a sudden I have this image of her surrounded by her posse and Athena asking her in her Greek baritone, So how did it go? I can just see Mary going all silent and giggly, and then being prodded and whispering in this excited voice, Can you guys keep a secret? which is a bit like asking if you can float lead. Still, I figure there's nothing for it now, so I kiss her on the cheek to let her know how much I appreciate that she's stopped molesting me, and off I go.

  On the way to the bus stop I send Al a text asking WOT THE HELL HPPNED TO U? but she doesn't reply, which is unlike Al. It dawns on me that maybe she's really genuinely mad at me for leaving her alone, which of course is totally unfair since I didn't even want to come and it was her own stupid fault for insisting on it.

  Back at home I find Mum and The Nun in the kitchen. Mum's trying to do some paperwork at the same time as cleaning, while The Nun's reading her some essay in this impressively monotonous voice, like she's deliberately trying to send her up the wall or something. Of course Mum's thrilled that I'm back before the agreed time, but I have this urge to talk to Grandma so I leave them to their excitement and go upstairs to find her.

  She's in her room, the one which used to be mine, and she's lying fully clothed on the bed and snoring with her mouth open. It's pretty undignified really, plus one of her hands has fallen right into her crotch so it kind of looks like she's fallen asleep in the middle of having a wank. I don't want to wake her up but I don't go right away either. There's something really fascinating about people when they're asleep, especially Grandma. I look at her and I wonder what it's going to be like at that age. It's a pretty sappy thing to imagine, but you can't help it when you're looking at old people sleeping. I think about all the time in between being Mum and Dad's age and being Grandma's age, and it just seems so awful that all that time's got to even happen that I practically fall over and have to steady myself by grabbing hold of the bed. I look at her and I wonder if when I reach her age I'll just end up the same, all undignified and wishing death would just hurry up and come along and put me out of my misery. It's like, what's the point? I'd totally rather die suddenly when I'm young, even if it's in the middle of taking a shit or something. When I was younger I used to think about death loads, before I started thinking about sex (which is kind of like the opposite of death so it's funny how these things connect). It's never bothered me like it bothers other people though, the fact that you have to die, because unlike The Nun I'm a total atheist and I don't believe in hell or being made to pay for my sins or any of that other crap. The only thing that's ever bothered me was the idea of dying on the toilet or something embarrassing like that. But I don't think even that bothers me any more 'cos it's not like you'll care about dying on the toilet and how it looked when they found you, or any of that kind of stuff, if you're dead.

  16

  First off, sorry for going off on a total sermon back there. I guess it's pretty hypocritical to go on about Mary and her soap-opera personality then launch into the queen of sappy speeches myself.

  Anyway, this is like, what happens during the week. First off, at our next session with Higgs the whole E-xperience comes out and I'm expected to talk about why I did it and stuff, like it's this totally self-destructive thing rather than something that people do for like, pleasure. Fortunately Higgs doesn't seem to think it's such a big deal. In fact, he's much more concerned with Mum and Dad and how they feel about it. When Mum says something about how she's afraid of me turning into a drug addict Higgs acts all concerned and asks if she's ever considered one-on-one counselling, which she finds pretty shocking. He suggests to them that they try to remember themselves more, which sounds totally cryptic to me. But Mum interprets it as meaning she has to buy like, a zillion self-help books and start learning them off by heart. She starts coming out with totally surreal stuff like. You're only bad when I consciously believe it to be so, or I process everything I just don't proceed with it. Weird/bizarre/scary, I know. The Nun loves it though, and sits there at dinner going, That's just like what the Bible says! and quoting religious stuff right back at her. Dad meanwhile just cooks like he's got an army to feed, which is pretty nice actually 'cos whenever you want a snack there's like a hundred delicacies in the fridge to choose from. But Grandma doesn't have her meals with us any more, so we take it turns delivering them up to her on a tray. She spends most of her time staring out the window with this daft smile on her face. It's really a shame, 'cos it's like she's lost all faith in reality and now the whole world is this one great big cosmic joke to her or something.

  I try to give Al a call on Sunday night, and I get her mum, who manages to look false and frightened even down the telephone. She's like, Oh I'm afraid Alice is a bit busy right now. Perhaps you'll see her at school.

  I have no patience with the Rutlands any more so I'm like, Can't you interrupt her? It's really important.

  Mrs Rutland urns and ahs and gets off the line. Then Mr Rutland gets on and goes to me, Listen, Jarold, Alice is rather busy at the moment so we'd prefer it if you didn't call here. OK? like it's the most natural favour in the world he's asking me. I get super-pissed off but I bite my tongue and just put the phone down, 'cos it's obvious that if I insult them it's not gonna help matters. I end up sending Al a text saying WOT IS THE DEAL WTH U? but she doesn't reply. It's way worse than the last time we had a fight. It's like, I don't even know what I'm supposed to have done wrong here.

  On Monday I don't bother going by her house and I don't see her at the bus stop either. I catch a glimpse of her in assembly though, so I guess her dad must have driven her to school in the end. She ignores me in this really obvious way. I think it's such a joke to ignore someone, 'cos it ends up being like, more effort than it takes to just tell them to Fuck Off. But I decide Fine, if that's the way you want to play it.

  In class it becomes clear right away what a mistake it was to own up to Mary about being gay. Everyone knows, I'm sure of it. It's like she sent them all an email or something. The way I know isn't because people are all sniggers and smirks, or calling me names. It doesn't work like that. It's more like everyone just avoids me, pretends not to notice me or catch my eye. I don't know why I even care, but I do. 'Cos after a while it becomes really quite frustrating.

  Our class is always pretty full 'cos there's only one geography set at St Matthew's, so there's only ever two or three seats left unsat on. I'm one of the first to sit down and wouldn't you know I'm like, in the middle of them. A total billy, because no one wants to sit next to me. And as the class fills up it gets more and more embarrassing. You'd think I had scabies or something the way people pretend not to see the seats, and the thing is that kids are like sheep in this respect. Like psychic sheep. 'Cos they can't all have heard whatever Mary's spreading about me, but they kind of just sense something and because no one else is sitting next to me none of the others want to either. That's what kids are like. Actually that's what all people are like. They just copy each other. It's not like they do what they're told, because they don't need to be told, they just do whatever they think everyone else is thinking they should do. I bet loads of people even get married just because everyone else they know is doing it. I bet that's how Mum and Dad got married.

  Of course Al doesn't sit next to me either, just raises her head till she's practically looking at the ceiling and walks right on over to the other
side of the classroom and sits down next to Sam Gibbons, who's probably the only person desperate enough not to mind her sitting next to him. She buries herself in her textbook like it's the most absorbing thing she's ever come across in her whole life. I reckon that's pretty mean of her. It's pretty clear what's going on with me, so she could have at least given me a sympathetic look or something. She could have at least fucking sat down next to me.

  So it's, like, paradise for juvenile delinquents, like something out of a nursery. But of course it bugs me. You can't help but be bugged when people give you the cold shoulder, even if they are a bunch of losers. It's like, what the fuck has Mary been spreading?

  One guy, this jerk who's called Tony, which is a pretty fitting name since he totally looks like he should be in the Mafia, whispers something as he passes me to the other guy he's with, and I go bright red with shame. I didn't even hear what he said, but I've gone red. It's like I know it's about me, even though I don't. Paranoia, man. It's weird what being made to feel like an outsider can do to you. I wonder if this is how Sam feels all the time, since he's usually the one nobody'll sit next to on account of his super-sized head.

  By the time Fellows arrives I'm like, totally thrilled to see him, even though he looks more than ever like he's on the verge of suicide. But I'm quite glad of that since at least I know things could always be worse.

  All Monday I don't speak to Al, or anyone else for that matter. In English I do my usual trick of coming in super-late and leaving super-early to avoid any chance of a confrontation with Fuck Face. When I get home I hole myself up in my room 'cos The Nun's got her sisterhood round and they've practically taken over the rest of the house. I consider having a rub with Orlando or trying to actually get some work done, but I just feel so depressed all of a sudden it's hard to concentrate on anything other than how shit life is. I start doing reps to try and like, replenish my endorphins, but I lose interest after the first two and give up and lie down and stare up at the ceiling. I feel totally out of it.