My Side of the Story

by Will Davis

  Mary keeps catching my eye in the canteen or wherever and giving me these meaningful smiles. She catches up with me at one point and tells me how sorry she is about it all and how she knows I was 'overwrought' when I said that thing about the breast reduction, which like, doesn't mean it wasn't still a valid suggestion as far I'm concerned. But I guess maybe it's nice of her to be understanding about it, even if it is totally sickly.

  I keep expecting to get called to someone's office or something and get like, forced to cry while one of the stupid counsellors there holds my hand and says stupid things about my right to life like I'm an idiot or something. But Mum must have called the school and told them she had the situation under control because nothing happens at all. I'm pretty sure she called them up to demand they like, arrest Fuck Face or something for trying to kill me, even though I told her not to.

  That's all that's notable really. There's no sign of Fuck Face, or Fabian of course, and the Tweedles sit at the back of English class looking like they've been, like depro­grammed. We're nearly off Twelfth Night now, and I can't wait. I can't stand the fact that we keep having to reread the final scene, where they all find out who's who and laugh about it and then all get married like that's supposed to solve everything or something. I can't stand Shakespeare full stop I've decided.

  OK. There is one more notable thing, and it's pretty weird. It's just me. I'm clearly not my normal self. Don't ask me why, but maybe the whole banging my head against the wall kind of lobotomised me or something, 'cos I'm just not thinking right. It's like, I can't be bothered to crack jokes, or listen to lectures, or chat to Al, or get excited or do anything much of anything. At home the only thing I can think of to do when I get back from school is have a long bath and a wank, which is totally sad. Al keeps going on about going back to Starlight and eventually she manages to drag me there, but the whole evening is this total ordeal because I keep thinking about Jon and how that turned out and like, what's the point?

  So basically I'm turning into a full-on manic depressive, and it's like I'm watching myself from outside and I can't be bothered to do anything about it. In our next session Higgs picks up on the fact that I'm even quieter than usual and tries to get me to talk about it. Mum tells him about the whole thing with Fuck Face and all this stuff about how it's affected her, and Higgs looks quite shocked and it's probably the only time I've ever seen him actually lose his computer cool and act like a human being. But I can't even be bothered with talking to him and so all the journey back Mum's like, criticising me for not being more accessible, until finally (and much to my surprise) Dad tells her that maybe she should lay off a bit, and she goes all silent and shocked 'cos she's not used to Dad like, thinking proper thoughts for himself. He gives me this look in the mirror and then smiles at me like he's on my side or something, which is so lame that I'm tempted to stick my tongue out at him - except that I can't even be bothered to do that.

  I just keep thinking about stuff. Like Fabian, actually. I think about him a lot. I kind of wonder how he's doing, since he did save me from being like, murdered or something, and it seems kind of unfair that he got expelled for doing it. I keep thinking about those scars on his arm and thinking of him doing them to himself. Total whacko. And I keep remembering how we used to hang out together, before Al started at St Matthew's and back when he was less like, challenged. I guess he was always a bit of a freak, it just didn't use to bother me. Like he had this whole obsession with Tipp-Ex and used to paint the desks and chairs in class with it. And he once showed me how to smell glue, which was a total head-fuck but I'm glad I did it, because otherwise I wouldn't know what it was, like, and I do have this weird memory of dancing round singing nursery rhymes with him from it. So I guess we did have good times, until he started going psycho and doing crazy stuff like threatening other kids with compass points and collecting dead insects. I wasn't really his friend any more when he chased Mrs Bolsh with the scissors, but I can kind of see why he might have done it, because it's just what I would have liked to do when she told me my self-portrait was all expressive and sensitive, when actually it was supposed to be Satan.

  On Friday it all turns to shit. I have this like, encounter with Fellows. He's been shooting me looks all week like he's hoping I'll come and talk to him about the whole bullying thing, but finally he decides he can't contain the good advice he's got all stored up any longer.

  After class he's like, Not so fast, Jarold, I want a word with you.

  So I stand there like a dork while everyone files past me with these knowing expressions on their faces. It's blatantly obvious what this is going to be about, and it's like I'm trapped in one of those mega-lame films where the disillusioned student gets this magical pep talk from his aging mentor. Al nods at us as she passes like she totally approves. I pretend to scratch my head so I can give her the finger but I'm not fast enough and she doesn't see.

  So, goes Fellows once everyone's gone, I heard about what happened.

  I'm like, No. Really?

  He either doesn't hear the sarcasm in my voice or edits it out with this special filter designed to protect romantic ideas from, like, reality. He's doing that thing where he gazes off past my left shoulder like there's this wonderful world full of green fields and butterflies there, instead of some brick wall with a map of the Congo.

  He's like, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.

  What are you like, Apologiser-Man? I go, kind of jokingly. I just want to end this situation.

  He doesn't hear this either. He just goes in this whimsical voice, One forgets how cruel the developing mind can be. When people don't understand something they become afraid of it, and that means they persecute it. You have to be strong and you have to be forgiving, Jarold. That's what it takes.

  When he says this my whole depersonalised thing suddenly cracks. I'm suddenly like, ready to projectile spew at him. I mean, you can only be so strong and so forgiving before you can't take any more. So I'm like, Listen, you need to get laid.

  This time he hears me. He's not too thrilled.

  He's like, Jarold, I want to help you through this difficult time, but I find it hard to do so with your attitude. You have to—

  At this point I lose it. It's like something breaks inside of me and there's this massive string of words coming out of my mouth like I'm not even in control of it. I'm like, You really want to help me through this difficult time? You really want to help? Then you can butt out and leave me alone! You can take your stupid ancient ideas and shove them where the sun don't shine!

  Fellows is like, standing with his mouth wide open. His eyes are totally bulging out of his head like he can't believe what I'm saying. For a second I think maybe he's going to hit me again, and I think to myself, Good, for some reason. But it just makes me even angrier. I hear myself go, You're just a sad, wrinkled old fart who can't find anyone!

  And then I run out of the classroom without looking back. Al's waiting for me outside but I just run past her and don't stop till I've reached Freedom outside. She catches up with me a minute later.

  She's like, What the hell happened back there? He's cryingl

  I'm like, LIC GAS.

  Al gives me this disturbed look, but I just shrug her off and go home. We're supposed to be doing something on Saturday but I can't be bothered so I end up spending the day in my room mostly staring at the wall.

  So it's Sunday morning and we've just got back from another session with Higgs, in which Mum does all the talking and me and Dad sit there and listen to her going on about how much better she feels now that she's focused with all these books. She keeps on asking Higgs questions about them like he's written them all himself or something, and I'm sure that even though he doesn't show it he really just wants to tell her to suck on it.

  Anyway, what I do is I decide to go and pay Fabian a visit. I know. It's like, masochism or something. But he did help me out and you can tell from the way he is that he's pretty lonely really. Like one of those guys who acts all like h
e wants the apocalypse like, right now, but secretly really wants to be liked and have lots of friends etc. (barf barf). But I guess everyone's some kind of a cliche when you think about it, and I feel kind of indebted to him or something. Plus he got expelled, so it's like, what's he even doing now?

  I prepare myself for a full-on weird-out though. His parents are divorced and he lives with his mother, who was always pretty bizarre, I remember. She's this spiritual sculptress called Beverly, which is like, the worst name ever, even worse than Jarold if you ask me, so it's no wonder she's bizarre. She used to let me call her Bev, but since I haven't seen her for like, years, I decide not to be too familiar and to call her Mrs Wrens, in case she wonders why I stopped hanging out with her son, 'cos mothers are like this whole different species when it comes to their sproglets, so maybe she hasn't figured out what a freak he's turned into.

  So I go to his house, which is actually only about ten minutes on the bus from mine, which kind of makes the whole thing even weirder. You'd have thought they might have moved to some anarchist commune by now, the sort of place they might stand a chance of fitting in at, but they're still living there, 'cos I recognise the weird twisted sculpture things Bev used to do in the garden, which she once said were supposed to represent two people 'meshing together' but always looked more like upright turds to me.

  Anyway, I let myself into the front garden and go past the turds, which are set up along the path like guardians or something, and I ring the bell. There's a long pause and I think maybe no one's home, but just as I'm about to try again and then give up, Mrs Wrens answers. She looks totally different to how I remember her, which is probably not surprising seeing as that was like, four years ago. She's all pale and thin, like she hasn't eaten for all that time, and she's wearing this oversized grey jumper which is a total fashion faux pas when you're, like, as skeletal as she is.

  So I'm like, Hi Mrs Wrens, how are you?

  She smiles this smile which is like, totally joyless, and looks at me for the longest time. I start to get this feeling like something's seriously up. Like maybe she hates me and blames me for getting Fabian expelled.

  I've been expecting you, Jarold, she goes.

  I'm like, Huh? because she says it in this quiet voice that's almost ghostly, like she's channelling a spirit or something rather than talking for herself. Then, all of a sudden, I know what's coming. I just know. It's like, this feeling of being sure about something that I can't really explain, but I want to do something to show that I know it's coming, 'cos somehow it's like if I can do that then it won't be true after all. I know that sounds totally fucked up, but it's the sort of feeling I get. It's the feeling I got when I came home last year and Grandma was in the kitchen and Dad took me to the side and said he had something very sad to tell me, which was that Grandpa was no longer with us. But of course there is nothing you can do really, 'cos you can't change stuff like that. So I just stand there like a dork and go, I'm here to see Fabian. Is he in?

  Mrs Wrens looks totally startled and almost hopeful for a second, but then her face kind of smoothes out like a piece of paper and she smiles her smile again, which is like, the opposite of happy.

  Didn't they tell you? she goes.

  Tell me what?

  He's dead, she goes.

  I'm like, What do you mean? like there's another meaning to the word Dead. I hate myself for saying that, but I'm kind of surprised, so I just say the first dumb thing I can think of.

  My Fabian's dead. He . . .

  She takes a minute to get to it but she doesn't seem very upset to be honest. It's almost like she's trying to think of the best way of putting it, that's all. She doesn't cry or anything, she just looks perfectly calm, like she's describing the weather or something. Probably she's completely Valiumed up. She goes on, He killed himself on Tuesday evening. I thought they would have told you about it at school.

  I kind of shake my head. This is full-on. My first reaction is to ask How? I don't want to be insensitive or anything, but I can't help myself and before I know it, it's slipped out there. Mrs Wrens doesn't seem surprised.

  He was in the bath, she says. He cut the veins in his arms and . . .

  Then these tears start silently dripping down her cheeks and it's awful. We both just stay, like, frozen facing each other, her with tears rolling down her cheeks and me gaping at her like a moron. Then this other woman appears who must be like, her sister or something because she looks exactly the same only taller. She puts her arm round Mrs Wrens' shoulders and gives me this look like she wants to say, Why did you have to come here and upset her?

  Come along, Bev, she goes, all stern like it's her bedtime.

  She goes to close the door on me but then Mrs Wrens turns back and calls back to me, Come round again, Jarold. Come back and see me . . . another time.

  Then the other woman closes the door and I'm left there alone on the step for a minute, feeling more like a dork than ever.

  Then I go home. I kind of trudge the whole way back with my feet close to the ground so that they hardly ever leave the concrete. It's a pretty cold day and I'm shivering but I don't even care. It's not because I feel guilty or anything about Fabian, you understand. Because I'm not retarded enough to go down that whole route where it's all supposed to be my fault blah-blah-blah. Because it's blatantly not. I didn't even know him, except for when we hung out like, four whole years ago. And if anyone was gonna end up dead at St Matthew's Fabian's like, the first person you would have thought of.

  But that's not to say I don't care, because I do. It's not nice when someone dies. Ever. At least, it shouldn't be, even if they're a complete Nazi when you think about it. I mean, even when Hitler died it must of been sad in a way.

  When I get back home I do that whole thing of walking back and forth in the garden and I see The Nun's stupid tree and I just start thinking about how much I hate her and it, and the next thing I know I've kicked it down. Of course I get in seriously deep shit, because The Nun comes out at this point to tell me it's time for dinner and sees what I've done and like, starts having full-on convulsions. Then Mum comes out to see what's going on and sees the broken tree too and she erupts like a chronic case of zits, and I just stand there while she starts threatening to send me to this special farm for kids who are complete fuck-ups, where they make you stay silent for a whole week and do chores like digging dung until you're like, no longer a human being any more, because maybe that'll drum some sense into me. Then Dad comes out because of all the commotion and once he twigs as to what's going on he starts joining in with his feeble effort, so there's this full-on barrage of yelling like they're all competing with each other or something.

  Funny thing is, though, I don't really hear anything. I guess it's 'cos I'm still a bit numbed-out by the whole thing with Fabian. But I don't know, 'cos I'm not really thinking about Fabian after I've kicked down the tree, or anything much. I just stand there and look at the house and I see that Grandma's watching all this out of the window and she's got this dreamy look on her face, and it looks like she's trapped and wants to get out, and I feel this total horror inside which makes me almost vomit up everywhere right there and then. Instead I just slowly walk up to my room, followed all the way by this like, entourage of yelling, and close the door behind me and shift the drawers in front of it.

  I lie on the bed and stare up at the ceiling. I can hear The Nun sobbing in her room downstairs and I do feel kind of bad about it, but it's too late now. Probably she'll hold it against me for the rest of my life.

  I must have lain there for a few hours but it doesn't seem like that long. Only next time I look around it's dark outside and I realise I'm like, in a famine. It's past eleven and nobody bothered to come up and make me come down to have any dinner or anything.

  Anyway the house seems quiet enough, so I figure probably everyone's gone to bed. I get up and go downstairs to the kitchen to raid the fridge for some of Dad's food. But I stop 'cos in there I can hear him and Mum having this a
rgument. I say argument but as per usual it's Mum taking out her shit on Dad. The weird thing is that they're doing it in whispers. It's kind of scary.

  She's going, I can't take it any more. Every other day it's something new. He's out of control. There's something wrong with him.

  And he's like, Maybe we should send him away for a bit. Do you really think it's a good idea?

  And she's like, I don't know. I don't know anything any more. Sometimes I just wish he wasn't . . .

  There's this pause and then Dad goes, It's not his fault, and Mum snaps back at him, I know that! Don't talk to me like I'm an idiot!

  Then she starts hissing like air escaping from a balloon, and she starts coming out with stuff like, You don't care about this family! You're always just so distant! I'm the one who has to deal with all the crap Jarold throws at us. Well, I can't take it any more!

  And Dad keeps going, What do you want me to do? What do you want from me? until finally Mum goes off the deep end and cries, Maybe a divorce!

  There's this long, long silence.

  Dad's like, I know you don't mean that.

  Mum's like, Don't I? Fucking don't I?

  Mum's another of those people who never uses the really bad swear-words, so when she does it's the same kind of feeling as when a teacher swears - all wrong, like you've entered this parallel universe where Walt Disney is evil and beige is like, the coolest colour.

  In this tiny voice that sounds like it comes from a midget Dad goes, Perhaps we should take a holiday, just you and me?

  Mum's like, Dream on! Christ, can't you even think for yourself? We've got a sick mother, two full-time jobs, not to mention the real problem, and you want to take a holiday! Wonderful idea! Pat yourself on the back!