by Jules Smith
“And is it true that loads of teenagers are doing it?” I asked.
“Yes Mum. God, people do that more than they do drinking. People in the year below me do it. They meet down fag alley at the side of school at lunch or after and get high.”
“God. Really?” I was shocked at this revelation. Hmm… that was one I could store up and use against Fothergill if I had to. Drugs at school in middle class suburbia.
“Have you ever had it?”
“No. No way Mum. I wouldn’t even smoke!” I believed her but you never knew when the hand of temptation would come poking.
“Well that’s good. But just so we’re clear, If I EVER find out you have, then I will go ballistic. Totally. You understand?”
“YES! FINE. I get it.”
“And don’t get sucked into your brother’s arguments that it’s totally safe and harmless. It’s an illegal drug for a reason. It messes you up. Trust me. He drugged me and Dad last night with cake and I went into magic roundabout land. Don’t ever eat anything he gives you.”
“LOL! You and Dad trippin’ on weed! HA! That’s joke!”
“No it’s NOT. And don’t give your brother any ammunition by saying so!” I pulled into the drive to see Brendon at the front door letting in four of his friends. One of them was Luke. I got out of the car quickly and followed them in, giving Brendon a dirty look.
“How are you feeling Mommy?” Brendon said with a wicked grin.
“Annoyed. You’d be well advised to keep out of my way.” I’d rather have sat him down and spoken to him alone but now all his friends were here that was going to have to wait until tomorrow. I said hello to his pals and then turned to Luke.
“Are you Catholic, Luke?” I asked lifting a rather nice rosary out from the mass of other gold chains he had draped round his neck. Luke was the epitome of Chavtastic and so wildly different from Brendon’s other friends. I never saw him without a snapback, tracksuit, a different pair of trainers nowadays referred to as ‘fresh creps’ and some sparkly earring in his pierced ear.
“Err, no. I’m not Catholic. I don’t believe in God,” he answered looking a little perturbed.
“Oh well that’s a good thing,” I retorted, letting the dark rosary beads fall from my hand, “or you’d be doing a lot of Hail Mary’s tomorrow for your sins,” I smiled.
“What sins?”
“The hash brownies?” I offered. “Did your Mum and Dad enjoy them too?” He looked at me sheepishly and at a loss for words.
“Mum, leave him alone and stop being such a fucking bitch!” Brendon’s friends all looked to the floor, embarrassed by him swearing at me and the whole awkwardness of the situation.
“Watch your mouth.” I walked away to the utility room. I knew that it wasn’t Luke’s fault I’d been fed hash brownies but I wanted him to know I wasn’t happy. He was involved, after all.
I turned on the iron and looked at the piles and piles of clothes waiting to be pressed. ‘Sham, drudgery and broken dreams’ the line from the Desiderata poem hanging on the utility wall jumped out at me as the iron hissed to life in my hand. Now my clean house was full of teenage boys who would no doubt, just make it messy again. I pulled a t-shirt from the pile and flattened it out on the ironing board, making a start on my Saturday afternoon’s entertainment.
I’m probably the only person on the planet who looks forward to Mondays, I thought.
My weekends were a succession of patience, persistence and perspiration with what seemed like very little reward. The daytime of domesticity rolled into evening and hoards of teenagers ran amok in my space. I went to the living room and shut the door to hide away the raucous behaviour that was aggravating my spirit. Oh for one day of peace. Just one.
My friend Lisa kept texting me, insisting that I come to her party but I continued refusing with various excuses. I just couldn’t face getting trussed up and having to pretend to like people, particularly since she had said there was someone going she’d like me to meet and had told them all about me. Ugh. No. That would mean I’d have to be super pleasant and charming as well as go steady on the wine. Where was the fun it that?
“But you’ll really like him. He’s gorgeous and witty and everything you like!” she enthused. “And I just KNOW he’ll love you.”
Pressure. No thanks. Every day living was enough for me right now without taking on the possible awkward, first steps of romance.
Earlier, when I’d made it half way through the ironing pile, Brendon had thrown a DVD over to me saying, “Here, watch this. Now there’s a drug that should be invented.” Before I could react, he’d then chucked an opened packet of chocolates at me with one remaining, sweaty sweet: the last one in a tube of Rolo’s. Despite being annoyed with him I’d had to smile. Ever since being a little boy he’d always saved me his last chocolate because the Nestle advert on the telly had said, “Do you love anyone enough to give them your last Rolo?” I found it heart warming that he still did it, like it was a lifelong tradition.
I spent the following two hours on the sofa with my iPad reading the links that he’d sent me about the benefits of marijuana. I had to admit that I found the ‘Amazing Atheist’ an entertaining chap. I then sourced my own information on the long term, nasty side effects that I emailed back to him. I could not get into a discussion with Brendon unless I’d gone through everything on both sides of the argument or he wouldn’t even entertain it. Not that he was likely to listen anyway.
After I’d finished my extensive research I clicked on word and saw that ‘The Voice’ had started a new game as promised. Round two. I smiled. I accepted the request and saw that he’d placed a seven letter word and got himself a bingo to boot scoring seventy points. I hated it when that happened because it meant that you were way behind before you’d even started. Not that it mattered in this case. Whilst I still wanted a good game, the play here had become more about the chat bubbles than the score.
THE VOICE: I think this game might be more challenging for you than the last.
I didn’t doubt it. And on more than one level. I played a reasonable 20 pointer.
SOPHISTICATION: You have a fair chance of winning but it is early days, my friend.
I decided I’d look at the film that Brendon had thrown in my direction. Limitless. Hmm. A bit like my patience. I read the back of the DVD cover: ‘A writer discovers a top secret drug which bestows him with super human abilities.’ Starring Bradley cooper, Robert De Niro and Abbie Cornish. Yes. That did sound like an interesting drug. I could sure use some super human abilities right about now. I put the film in the DVD player and settled down to watch it. Escaping to another world for a few hours was just what I needed and I was definitely up for taking some NZT-48 by the time the film finished.
I clicked on my game before I made my way to bed.
THE VOICE: So now I’ve notched up a level, from amusing monkey to friend?
SOPHISTICATION: Well, let’s just see how it goes shall we?
THE VOICE: How was your evening?
SOPHISTICATION: I’m watching a film. Correction. I watched a film.
THE VOICE: Which movie?
SOPHISTICATION: Limitless.
THE VOICE: Now I’m jealous of Bradley Cooper.
Bradley Cooper was the main character who played the drug taking writer. By usual standards he would make it to any woman’s ‘Top twenty, shaggable celebrity list’, but not mine. And ‘The Voice’ was jealous of him? An interesting development and one that made me catch my breath a little.
SOPHISTICATION: You’ve no need to be. Besides, I prefer Robert De Niro.
THE VOICE: Now I’m jealous of De Niro.
Wow. Where was this going, I wondered. We seemed to be moving swiftly from banter to flanter and Mr. California was certainly getting into my head, that’s for sure.
I went to bed emotionally drained. As I snuggled down I recognised the faint smell of Karl’s cologne from where he’d slept the previous night. I wondered whether he was doing the hor
izontal tango with his dancing friend and felt upset and pissed off at the same time. I turned over and shut my eyes begging sleep to take me away from this hell of a life. I drifted on and off in fits, primarily because I had a stream of teenagers running up and down the stairs, shouting and laughing and totally oblivious to the needs of the sleeping. I could hear the distant tones of both Ed Sheeran and Taylor Swift playing from different areas of the house. Doors were banging and creaking; taps were being open and closed along with clinking glasses and plates. I wanted to go downstairs and either shout or join in but I was physically and mentally wasted. Part of me didn’t want to spoil their joy either because the fun and freedom of youth is such a short lived experience. I decided to text:
MSG: TO BRYONY, BRENDON: Can you keep it down – I’m trying to sleep.
BRYONY: Yeah..Soz x
BRENDON: K, famalam. Love you xx
I lay in bed in the dark wondering if life was ever going to be any different for me as I listened to the haunting Ed Sheeran lyrics permeating my door, “Lights gone, day’s end, struggling to pay rent, long nights, strange men..”
Chapter 13
Sunday morning came with relentless, pounding rain. I hated the rain, it always put me on a downer. I passed Brendon’s room and peered through one of the empty squares where there had once been glass. He’d slammed his door so hard in temper one day, that it had completely smashed and I didn’t see the point of replacing it for him to do it again. All bar one of last night’s friends lay in lumps around his room. It stank of teenage sweat, overused clothes and something I couldn’t decipher. Disgusting. I hurried downstairs in case it permeated my clothes.
My house was wrecked: Pizza boxes, muddy trainers, cups, glasses and empty crisp packets lay all around. I felt like waking them all up like a screaming banshee and forcing them to clean it up but it was just easier to do it myself. The rest of the morning carried on in the same vein, as was the norm.
Afternoon soon arrived and Brendon and his friends slowly emerged downstairs complete with their living stench, like Pig-Pen from Peanuts. They mooched around filling bowls with colossal amounts of Cheerio’s and Coco Pops; enough to feed a village.
“Mommy,” Brendon said grabbing hold of me in a bear hug and not letting me go. “You’re awesome sauce.” He squeezed me tight and lifted me up high off the floor.
“ARRR put me down! I have a weapon and I’m not afraid to use it.” I pointed the potato peeler at him.
“Got myself a chick last night Mama!” he said, flexing his muscles and making his friends spit their Cheerios all over my table.
“Oh..?”
“Yep. She’s been after me for months but..you know, I let her sweat for a bit.”
“You’re such a dick Brendon,” Joe sniggered, “you know she’s only going out with you so she can get close to me.”
“Yeah whatever, Joe, you fag.” He walked over to Joe and put him in a friendly headlock as he tried to eat his cereal.
“And who is this girl?” I asked.
“Her name, Mother, is Jessie.”
“You mean Hussy,” Tom chipped in from the table.
“Shut the fuck up Tom, you waste man. Like man won’t leng you down! Brendon joked. “When you’re as hench as me then the babez may come a running…but… that’s never going to happen to you, fat boy!”
I found it amusing that boys used insults as a term of endearment. Especially Brendon. He would always take it one step further than most, picking out all their faults and weaknesses and using them as ammunition. I wondered how his friends coped with him sometimes. They either found him fun and refreshing or were too scared to make a fuss.
“I hope she ISN’T a hussy!” I said. The last thing I needed was some young girl being knocked up, “And how old is she?”
“Sixteen and sweet.” He smiled at his mates who all cracked up laughing. “No seriously Mum, she’s really nice. The only problem is she’s a devout Catholic. You know what I’m sayin’..”
“Well good. I’m glad she is. Maybe she can teach you some morals and how to be pleasant. Maybe she’ll convert you into a good boy since I am unable to get through to you.”
“ERRR – not gonna happen Mommy. I am a true atheist. God is for people who are just scared of dying.”
I left the God conversation for now. I’d been in that debate several times and told Brendon that he shouldn’t argue with people who had faith in something just because he thought it was a load of bullshit. I was glad he’d met a nice girl and just hoped he wouldn’t start trying to argue with her about religion. I also hoped she’d last longer than the other girls before her who had been instantly discarded when they got too needy.
His friends finished their breakfast and got ready to leave so they could all get back together virtually in the next hour, to fight the bad boss. As I shut the door to them and said goodbye I was left in the hallway with Brendon.
“I’m going for a shower.” He went to go upstairs.
“Wait!” I demanded, “I want to talk to you. I want to go through this issue with marijuana. I’m really not happy about it and what you did to me and your Dad. And the governors meeting. We need to discuss that. You need to start behaving. Big time.”
“Not now, I’m too tired. Look, the weed thing, get over it. I’m going to have it now and then so I can either tell you about it or do it behind your back. Make a choice. I know I’ve got to try harder at school. I GET IT Mum. You don’t have to keep going on about the same shit.”
“Well I’m not supporting you any more unless you make a massive effort.”
“Yeah, Mum. Yes you will. And I do make an effort, believe it or not. “He trudged upstairs indicating that the conversation was now over.
I let it go. Picking your moments was crucial in order to stop a kick off. Sometimes you just had to trickle your concerns through via constant nagging and pray he eventually got the message.
I went to the living room and flicked on the magic box. There was nothing particularly interesting on. I hated Sunday nights. They always seemed a little depressing and uncomfortable like that night before school feeling. I turned, as always, to my virtual entertainment and to ‘The Voice’. God. I was miles behind score wise.
SOPHISTICATION: I like his acting skills. That’s all.
I got sidetracked by the TV for a second. A woman on the Antiques Road Show had just brought in a little flowery vase she’d purchased at a car boot sale and found out it was worth thousands. I must take a look round this house, I mused. Money was getting so tight lately.
I checked the game.
THE VOICE: May I see a picture of you?
I re-read the message several times. Here we go. Just when I thought you had a bit more about you Mr. Voice.
I’d met these sorts before on games. Normally they were straight in there with the “Got any saucy photos?” Yeah mate, because of course I’m gonna send you a picture of my tits so you can wank yourself stupid over them. Really? I’d usually reply with, “I’m a transvestite. Do you want me normal or in drag?”
Another message appeared.
THE VOICE: I just mean a normal picture. Of your face. Nothing pervy. If you’re not comfortable with it that’s absolutely fine.
Now he’d put it like that it seemed perfectly acceptable. However, I was still nervous. I felt like I was on a back to front date and I didn’t know how it had got to this point without me realising.
SOPHISTICATION: OK then. If you insist. How shall I get it to California?
The Voice sent me an email address via the chat message bubble. For some reason, getting an email address seemed serious.
I wondered what picture to send and whether I really wanted to go down this road. I scrolled through my iPad looking through my camera roll at the collection of photographs. ‘No, I don’t like that one – my hair’s too messy, absolutely no sign of sophistication there. Hmm, look a bit hammered on that one…no, no, not the Halloween one in my pussy cat suit…Oh my God, wha
tever possessed me to buy that shirt..eww. And on it went. Finding a normal picture amongst my photos was proving more difficult than I thought. And why did I care? Why was it important that I was visually pleasing to this man in the ether? But for some reason, it was.
Eventually I opted for my FB profile picture. Smiling face shot, outside of work with my sunglasses on. Normal. I pressed send and heard the email sound whoosh it off across the Atlantic. I sat still looking at my iPad not knowing what to do next and feeling anxious. I felt like a stupid teenager and inwardly chastised myself. I closed my tablet and went to make a cup of tea. I then washed the pots and cleaned down the kitchen surfaces and then made a shopping list. Anything to bring back the feeling of normalcy.
I returned to the sofa with my cuppa and stared at my closed tablet, not daring to open it but dying to at the same time. I had two messages: One on my email and one on my game. I opened the e mail message first.
A smiley face. A smiley face? That was it? I hated emoticons. Particularly on their own as they were too ambiguous. I only used them myself to appease others. I’d had my texts misconstrued on many an occasion and therefore had to add them at the end of everything I sent, along with kisses so people didn’t read it in the wrong way and get upset with me. Annoying.
But what did a smiley face mean on its own? I like it? Thanks? I can’t really be arsed to respond? Actually, not as attractive as I was expecting?
I moved swiftly on to the chat bubble message.
THE VOICE: Thank you but I need another. Without sunglasses. I want to see your eyes.
Wow. For some reason that really moved me. He wanted to see my eyes. It was soft and chivalrous and the idea of him looking into the windows of my soul had a certain quixotic appeal. I sat there for a moment wondering what to do. I felt like I’d walked into a situation that I didn’t understand or a conversation I wasn’t part of. I was at odds with myself. Why did I have to analyse everything to death, I thought. It’s just a photo. Of my eyes. No big deal.
