by Cole, Tillie
“Atta girl!" my new hobo life coach shouted. "Don’t suppose you could spot me a fiver for a pack of ciggies?” he shrugged.
Laughing, I pulled out my purse. “Here's a twenty, splash out on me!”
I set off walking again, knowing there was only one place to go from here –to my best friend John. He would sort me ‘reet out!
"Natasha!" shrieked John, as he opened the pink-and-purple door with superb dramatic flair, wearing his trademark white drainpipe jeans, yellow muscle T-top and thick guy-liner rimming his big blue eyes.
Before I continue, let me briefly fill you in on John Weallans. Erm... John. How to describe John...?
I know!
Think pink, glitter, unicorns and fabulous! That’s him in a nutshell, and he is my soul’s significant other, minus the sex and any form of physical attraction. He's the Ying to my Yang, the Ben to my Jerry and the Ziggy Stardust to my David Bowie.
John and I became best friends in High School after we met in a 'Beat-the-Bullies' group in Grade Seven. I know what you’re thinking: surely these two amazing kids were in the popular crowd? But alas, John was as bent as a butcher’s meat hook, and I was as fat as a pig. Not the most sought-after attributes when picking your mates in the harsh corridors of Newcastle Tyne High in 1995.
One day, after I had been sacrificially rounded up and captured by the Grade Ten boys and symbolically roasted on a manmade spit (this really only consisted of a set of rugby posts, extra-strength electrical tape, a hockey stick and two boys rotating the device), it was 'felt' by the headmaster that I should seek comfort in a group of fellow bullying victims, and by 'felt' I mean ‘forced to go’, because obviously this group would prevent further bullying!
John was in the group after he decided to appoint himself as the head, and by ‘head’ I mean the only, cheerleader for the boys’ rugby team. One look at John in a triangle-cupped bikini top, strap-on fairy wings and matching pink tutu ignited the long-lost aggression needed in the players. However, the aggression did not take place on the pitch as preferred by the coach, but on John’s face and groin.
We had been best friends ever since, aptly naming our little pairing the 'Oink Fairies'.
I ran into John’s arms. "The shit has hit the fan!" I said, shaking my head.
"Oh, my Gods of glitter!" His hands began to flap, and he jumped up and down on his welcome mat, which read 'Please Enter if you are Pretty and Witty and Gay'. "You’re a lesbian. I’ve always suspected, what with your love of khaki and your k.d. lang obsession. It's okay, Wilbur,” Pig-related nickname. “I’ll guide you through this transition, and let me just say on behalf of the LBGT community, welcome to the land of unicorns and rainbows," he said with a graceful bow.
"Tinkerbell,” Fairy-related nickname. “I am not a lesbian. Firstly, I like khaki because I feel soldier-strong and like GI Jane when I’m wearing it; secondly, k.d. lang is an exceptional singer who unfortunately has a somewhat questionable style in fashion but gives me no tingles in the downstairs department; and thirdly, I enjoy pork way too much to switch to an all-fish diet!"
"Mmm, I like pork too," he said dreamily while leaning against his doorframe.
"We know, chick, we know," I soothed, patting his hand and walking into the warmth of his three-bedroomed Victorian semi-detached in Jesmond Dene.
Five minutes later, inside 'Casa Di Tink', away from the prying eyes of the suburban cul-de-sac, bags dropped in the hallway, it was safe to let the drama unfold.
Tink, eyes bright with curiosity, demanded, "Okay, spill it, what’s up?" while removing the ingredients for my favourite drink, a strawberry daiquiri, from his kitchen, which was modelled on the Emerald City from the Wizard of Oz: no joke. It's amazing how much green crap you can purchase on eBay.
With a fortifying breath I told my tale, all of the gory parts included.
Five minutes later...
"Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit!" Tink sang with a flick of his over-spiked jet-black hair, whacking the ice cube bag in earnest, mouth gaping in shock.
"What do I do? Where do I go?” I sobbed, throwing my head down to the IKEA green laminate table. Ouch, that'll leave a bruise!
"You'll stay here, you silly cow. We'll be roomies once more, like we were before that dick came along and took my playmate away," he said sternly, clearly insulted that I hadn’t trusted him to help with my accommodation dilemma.
He continued. "It's no secret that I thought that Nathan was bad news, I just hope you use this as an excuse to actually throw some caution to the wind and start living your life, not purely existing, which you've been doing for most of your days with that slimy-skinned squid. You lost your sparkle months ago, my little Peppa Pig."
I stared at my long-time best friend. Was he right? Should I throw caution to the wind and change my ways? Had I lost my sparkle, my je ne sais quoi?
I thought back to the movie theatre filled with successful, happy people, and the homeless man who despite it all, found pleasure in a packet of cigarettes. Then I thought back to the Austen display and that quote – the quote that was practically talking to me, begging me to change. It couldn’t have all just have been a coincidence, could it?
Tink pottered around the kitchen, preparing to blend, when I had an overwhelming surge of anger that this was my mess of a life – my one life that I needed to live to the max and make fantastic memories in. If the homeless man could be happy, so could I – granted, his may have been due to the Jim Beam radiating from his pores, but still, at least he found joy! I can't remember a time when I was truly happy.
That's it. No more.
I slapped my hand down on the table top and rose to my feet (imagine me doing it in slow motion with 'Chariots of Fire' playing in the background) and I punched a fist in the air. Tink looked on with wide eyes and, feeling the significance of the moment, gasped in anticipation of my forthcoming speech, laid his right hand over his heart and fell back against the emerald-flecked granite work top.
"I am Natasha Munro and I deserve to be happy. I have a dream that one day the voluptuous vixen look will grace the catwalks again and I can channel my inner Marilyn with confidence and admiration; that I will succeed in life and be seen as the best teacher that ever existed; and that I will love a man who loves me for me and my obsession with fake eyelashes and tan. Oh, and who doesn't mind that I'll always be a little bit chunky. Screw all that has happened today! My new life starts right now, no more foolish preparations – Carpe Diem!"
I tipped my head to the sky, arms spread wide, "I want something new, something exciting, I want to get away, I want... I want..."'
"I want to break free, I want to break free..." Tink interrupted with his best Freddie Mercury impression and, ever the committed showman, made a grab for the emerald-green vacuum from the cupboard, parading around the kitchen singing at the top of his lungs, "... I want to break free from your lies, you’re so self-satisfied, I don’t need you...”
Laughing, I jumped up and snatched the feather Magic Duster and became the Brian May of our budget Queen tribute band.
After the song was done – a rendition that we were sure would place us as the winners of Britain's Got Talent – we sat down on the red love-seat, grabbed our daiquiris and contemplated the events of the day.
With a sigh, Tink laid his head on my shoulder and said, "Wilbur, you'll be just fine. You're gorgeous, you're an amazing teacher and the best friend a gal could ask for. I love you. You have always accepted me for me, and you don't know how special that is – I’m not your average guy by any stretch of the imagination, but you never judged me. See this as an opportunity to find someone who can make you the happiest person alive, be your everything. I mean – Nathan? Sorry to say, Wil, but a beer-bellied, balding, albino-resembling furniture shop manager is not really your Prince Charming. You deserve much more. Take the sound advice given from Rocky Horror’s Frankenfurter: ‘Don’t dream it, be it."
I wiped away a stray tear from Tink´s face with my
thumb and hugged him hard, kissing his cheek. I looked down, shook my head and I let out one final sigh at the day’s turn of events.
There were no words.
Tink patted my knee, held my two hands in his, took a deep breath and squealed, "Now let’s get trashed!"
Chapter 2
In with the new…
Six daiquiris followed by tequila chasers resulted in me and my favourite fairy being absolutely blitzed. On the upside, I was feeling a whole lot better about the cheating situation and, having kicked Tink’s arse twice at Just Dance on the Nintendo Wii, I was feeling pretty darn unstoppable.
As we crashed on the couch, putting the world to rights, it came to me in a flash, an epiphany! I froze, and Tink grabbed my hand in reaction to my sudden stillness.
I dropped his hand, shot up from the couch and turned to stand in front of him, a slow smile forming on my face. He raised an eyebrow in question as I began to pace back and forth in front of the log fire.
"Okay, we’ve established that things in my life need to change, yes?”
Tink nodded in confirmation, following my every move with his bright sapphire eyes.
I continued. "I propose a new plan. I need to start a new chapter, develop a new philosophy to adhere to, one that challenges me… liberates me."
Tink went to interrupt, but I held up a hand to stop him, only spilling a little bit of my drink in the process.
"I’ve got it! I propose a period of time where the only rule is to seize the day, to go with the flow or throw caution to the wind, as you put it."
Tink’s face was morphing into one of utter glee at my declaration.
"It can be a test, no, a social experiment of sorts. I will give myself a period of time, a year or something, to change my modus operandi, the way that I conduct my life, and assess at the end whether it has changed it for the better. If it has, I stick to it, if not..." I shrugged and looked to my bestie, who was practically vibrating in excitement, waving his hand in the air waiting for me to give him permission to speak. I gave him a regal nod to proceed.
"I say yes! And so will you, it'll be like the film, the one with whasisname... Jim Carrey. You have to say yes to everything and see if your life improves. I love it!" he slurred.
I shook my finger. "I won't commit to saying yes to everything, as I think that's just stupid and could effectively land me in some sticky spots, but I will commit to taking opportunities when they arise and not over-thinking the rafima... marifa... ramifications and consequences of my actions. If something feels good, I'll go with it." I nodded my head once, affirming my intention.
Tink ran to the kitchen and came back with two shots of God knows what – some orange concoction – and we knocked them back, shuddering at the burn of it running down our throats. We dived back on the sofa, and I actually felt lighter, relieved... free. Tink couldn't keep the grin off his face.
He sat forward. "So what you going to do about Nathan the dick? You're probably going to see him around. Newcastle's a small place."
I thought about Nathan parading around with his new plastic-fantastic bimbo-on-the-side, and I felt sick. Tink was right. Time to put my words into action.
With a deep breath, I turned to my best friend and confided, "Tink, I’m serious when I say this, regardless of the alcohol and the sudden overhaul in my attitude and life philosophy – I need to get out of here. I’ve actually thought about it for a while but never dared to take the plunge," I delivered with conviction – well, conviction and a bit of intoxicated slurring.
Tink rolled his head and, with a smile offered, "Well let’s go, my peppered slab of salami. Ibiza, Benidorm, Magaluf – wherever you want."
"Firstly, as if! I'm thinking those places would be great for you, with your toned physique and quest for quickies, but for a fuller-figured goddess like myself, the thought alone is giving me palpitations. Can you imagine the amount of neon Lycra I would have to purchase to survive such a fortnight? Ugh, no thanks!" I chided, with a grim look and a shiver to the spine.
"Shut your cake-hole, Wilbur, it'll be fun. A two week vay-cay is just what the doctor ordered," he insisted with a smug grin. "Plus you need to get laid. Elephants like you need a sexual outlet now and then, even if they don’t manoeuvre too well!" he said, nudging me with his elbow and giving me a sly wink.
"Gee, thanks for that! But no, I mean I need to get away – as in move away. Newcastle is a fishbowl. It’s too small for me and Nathan the prick. It didn't work for Nemo, and it’s sure not going to work for me."
"You can't run from your problems, Wil, they'll never go unless you face them head-on."
He put a tapping finger to his lips and continued. "I'm drawn to a quote by the queen of the gays herself, Lady Gaga, who in her infinite wisdom once said “... all that ever holds someone back, I think, is fear. For a minute I had fear. Then I went into the dressing room and shot my fear in the face.” That's you too, Wil. You are fierce enough to get through this," he mused without a hint of amusement, even though he was throwing out Lady Gaga proverbs to relate to my life. But hell, she is the new Gandhi!
"I'm not running; if anything, I’m seizing the day. Life's too short. I need to make a change, we’re in agreement on that. It'll be the first step in my ‘experiment'. I'm thinking big, Tink. I'm thinking international. I'm thinking of a permanent move."
Silence descended on the room while we both envisioned our lives apart, no longer joined at the hip. A broken pair of Oink Fairies.
Tink shuffled to the front of his seat, rubbed his face with his hands and shifted his attention in my direction. "Well, Wil, Newcastle probably is too small for us and our larger-than-life personalities anyway. The world is ours for the taking. And of course, you know I’ll be the Dory to your Nemo in your quest for happiness," he announced as he began to line up a dangerous amount of the same orange poison-shots.
"Wait. Are you saying what I think you're saying?" I asked with rising excitement.
"What? You thought you'd be doing this alone? Fuck that for a bag of chips! Where you go, I go. We're the Oink Fairies, we fly and roll in mud together!" he said, kissing my hand.
"I'm pretty smashed right now and will probably not remember this in the morning, but I have never been so excited in my life. I'm peeing myself with anticipation!" I giggled as I tackled and practically strangled my most favourite person in the world with a bear hug.
"Well grab those incontinence knickers, my baby girl, because our lives are about to change."
He handed me my shots and with a 'chin chin' and a 'salute' we toasted to the ride that was going to be our new life.
15 minutes later...
"Tink, I’m going to be sick. I cannot take all this tequila!"
Let me just take this opportunity to give an explanation for those who are unfamiliar with Geordies.
We are born loud and proud to be Northern. Being a Geordie is not simply a title due to the region we were born in, it’s a culture. Our blood runs thick in black and white.
The girls are brazen and unafraid of most things – well, except the Achilles’ heel to any Geordie lass... a fake tan shortage! We fight like blokes and have skin like penguins. We feel no cold and will face minus temperatures with so little on and skirts so short, that you can practically see what we’ve had that morning for breakfast!
We are not measured by our character and content of our hearts but by the shortness of our hem-lines and the height of our hair. Oh, and we can drink anyone, and I mean anyone, under the table!
Like any good Geordie, the talent of binge-drinking is innate. There is something in the Northern water that makes it possible for any one of us to consume lethal amounts of liquor in the shortest amount of time possible and still manage (granted, with a few intermittent cleansing stomach-purges) to crack on through the night undeterred.
Despite that fantastic description, most of us are classy, we just like to work hard and play even harder.
Now where were we?
; Stumbling around the room with a more-than-fuzzy head, I tried to focus and fight back the nausea.
"Do not DARE fail on me now, sweet-cheeks. We have some decision-making to do," shouted Tink from across the room, while trying to decide what to dance to next: Girls Aloud or some vintage Tiffany? Such a dilemma!
Inhaling deeply and pulling myself together, I gave my body a sobering shake. "Okay, okay, I’m good now. Soooo how we going to do this? How in the hell do we choose where to go?" I uttered, as I tottered back to my fairy and his mammoth iDock.
"Well, hell if I know, my drunken little piglet. Let’s let the fates decide," he said with his palms pointed up at the mirror ball that hung from the living room ceiling like it was an effigy of a pagan disco god.
"Fates? And just how, Mystic Meg, will the fates decide? I'm sure the fates are much too busy to deal with two drunken pissheads at midnight on a Friday."
"Fine, have you got a better plan?" my fairy demanded with an acid tongue and an arch of his perfectly plucked left HD brow.
"Well yeah, just give me a minute," I said, holding up my hand for quiet. "... Ah ha!" I yelled in triumph, and a light bulb appeared over my head. "Pass the remote for the TV."
Tink did so with a curious pout.
I looked him right in the eye. "If it’s fate you want, then fate it will be. I will turn on the TV, we will close our eyes and choose a channel at random. In whichever country the show is set, then that, my fairy-weathered friend, will be our new home."
I gave a sharp nod – not a good move, ugh, alcohol. No more vigorous head movements!
My enchanted bestie shimmied and clapped in agreement and switched on the 60-inch Smart LCD. We held hands and closed our eyes. With a 'tap, tap, tap' of the buttons our future was sealed.
"I'm so excited!" squealed Tink.
"Okay, on the count of three, open your eyes... One."
Deep breath.
"Two… Thr-"
"Erm... do you hear bombs?"
"Shut up and quit stalling."
