Airship Over Atherton

by Christopher Cummings

  “A bit sore but otherwise OK,” Willy replied. The burns hurt a lot actually but he did not want to worry his dad.

  “Your mother gave me an outline. What happened?” his father asked. He reached forward and felt Willy’s cheek and took his pulse. Willy explained the incident.

  His father pursed his lips. “Hmm. I see. But you actually did get the model to fly?”

  “Yes Dad. It was going really well. There were lots of witnesses, including Mr Feldt.”

  “I don’t care about witnesses son. If you tell me it flew then I believe you. Pity it got burnt. I would have liked to see it.”

  “I’m going to build another one Dad,” Willy said, his mind resolved upon the issue. “I can make some improvements. And I will enter it in the model-building competition at the school fete.”

  “Excellent idea,” his father replied with a smile. He picked up the half-melted plastic motor. “What’s this?”

  “One of the motors off the model. Stick picked it up. It was all he could salvage. Er.. Dad.. er.. um. You remember what you promised?”

  “Yes Willy, I remember. I will help you build a proper airship. Now come and eat.”

  Later that night Willy lay in his bed thinking. He felt burning hot and knew it wasn’t just from his blistered skin. Mostly it was from the memory of his humiliation; and the thought that Barbara was going out with Scranton. Mixed in with this was hot shame at how Scranton had bundled him away by the back of his shorts:- the original ‘bum’s rush’. He winced at the memory. There was also smouldering resentment at how Scranton had burnt his model. All those hours of painstaking work gone in a flash! Willy ground his teeth and clenched his bandaged hands till they hurt.

  That night he lay and tossed and turned for hours. There was another nightmare about Uncle Ted although Uncle Ted never actually appeared and the dream petered out in an illogical change to an airport where Willy could not get on the plane because he had lost his ticket.

  On Friday Willy stayed home again. He still felt quite sick and feverish and slept most of the day. When he was awake he was restless and miserable. His body felt exhausted but his brain raced. He brooded over Barbara and her relationship with Scranton; and on dark thoughts of death.

  In the evening he got up but his muscles seemed empty of energy. He wanted to go to Air Cadets but his mother flatly forbad it. Unhappily he lay down and tried to read but books had no appeal. After a while he drifted into restless sleep. He tossed and turned fitfully most of the night and had another nightmare about dead bodies rising from their graves. His mother and father came in to him and calmed him. His father stayed beside him till he slipped into sleep again; to a dream where Barbara was looking at him in a peculiar way and then he found Marjorie was sitting on his lap while in the classroom. Then Barbara made a face and Miss Hackenmeyer appeared at the door! He woke up feeling utterly worn out.

  After breakfast Willy went down to the workshop under the house. The plans of the zeppelin lay on the bench but he could not bring himself to make a start. Instead he sat there and brooded. His father spoke to him and then went out with Lloyd. For over an hour Willy sat hunched at the bench thinking. What twisted his mind into a squirming mass of maggots was the thought that in a few hours Scranton would be taking Barbara out.

  Horrible, jealous thoughts festered. Undoubtedly the low turd would try to put his slimy hands on her; but she would surely reject such advances? She would! She must! Willy cursed himself for feeling doubt. He clenched his hands at the pain of such an idea and felt tears trickle.

  His mother’s voice came to him: “Yes, he is in the workshop Dearie. You go in. You are just what he needs right now.”

  Willy looked around as footsteps reached the door. Oh no! Marjorie! Blast Mum! Blast women!

  Marjorie came in smiling. She wore a T-shirt and tight, white shorts. A yellow T-shirt. And by the way it heaved and wobbled Willy suspected she had no bra on. Had she no shame? Surely his mother would send her away? Instead his mother appeared in the doorway and beamed at them.

  “Here’s Marjorie Dear. Come up for morning tea in a little while. I’ll be in the kitchen,” she said. Then she left.

  Marjorie smiled shyly and said: “Hello Willy. How are you feeling today?”

  “OK,” grumped Willy.

  “You look a bit down,” she said. “Let me cheer you up.”

  Before Willy could say anything Marjorie bent over, put her arms around his neck and kissed him. She pressed her bosom against his right shoulder.

  Willy was too surprised to do anything for a moment. Then he went to put his hands up to push her away but his right arm was trapped against her. Worse still he felt his emotions thudding to life and ... he didn’t want to admit- but- but it was nice- and his hands hurt.

  ‘She will stop in a moment and I will find an excuse to go upstairs,’ he thought. But when she drew her head back she kept on holding him. He moved his left hand to her side. That caused him a twinge of pain- he remembered his burns.

  Marjorie noted the grimace and moved away a fraction. “I’m sorry. Did I bump your burns?” She released him, pulled a chair over beside his and sat down, her right knee touching his so that his was almost between her legs.

  “Does it hurt much?” she asked, gently picking up his right wrist and looking at the bandages.

  “A bit,” Willy managed to gulp. He was amazed at how fast his heart was thumping. Marjorie inspected the bandaged hand very lightly. As she did Willy noted, from the rise and fall of her breasts, that she was breathing very rapidly.

  ‘It is just lust,’ he told himself. His mind registered how pale she looked; how her freckles stood out; her slightly parted lips and the odd smoky appearance in her eyes- or was it his own vision that was going hazy?

  Marjorie leaned forward. Willy wanted to snatch his hand free; to get up and run. ‘She’s going to kiss me again!’ he thought.

  She did.

  ‘How warm her lips and cheeks are!’ he thought in wonder. It did feel nice. ‘Think of Barbara! Stop it before... before...’ Willy groaned at his own weakness as he surrendered to mounting passion. Marjorie stopped kissing him and whispered: “Did I hurt you?”

  “No,” Willy croaked. “No.” He wanted to say ‘Don’t kiss me again.’ but couldn’t bring himself to do so; was disgusted with himself for not wanting her to stop. He felt her knees pressing against his. Fire seemed to course up his legs to his groin. He trembled. She kissed him and he returned it. Nagging guilt tugged at the back of his mind. Barbara. But Barbara drifted further into the mist. ‘Anyway, she said no, so I’m not cheating on her,’ he rationalized. But he knew he was weak- and knew that he was enjoying Marjorie’s embrace. He began to respond and to return her kisses. His hands began to stroke and fumble.

  Willy lost track of how long they had been kissing but obviously many minutes went by. Marjorie gently rested his bandaged hand on her thigh. Willy used his left hand to caress her side and back. To his panicky delight he felt her hand stroking his bare leg. Willy nearly lost control.

  There was fear now too. What if they got caught? He pulled his head aside and put it on her shoulder. He found he was panting hard. “What if someone comes?” he croaked.

  Marjorie shrugged. “So what?” she murmured. She leaned forward and kissed him again. Willy made a weak effort to resist but the urge was too strong and he began to kiss her fiercely, ignoring the pain in his hands as he took a firm hold of her. She did not object and he got the impression she was pressing herself against him.

  And someone had come! Over Marjorie’s shoulder Willy saw his mother appear in the doorway. He hastily pulled his hands away, hoping that his mother hadn’t seen where they had been.

  To his surprise his mother just smiled and said: “You two had better come up for air and then come up for morning tea.”

  Willy flamed scarlet and broke into a sweat. Marjorie casually slid her hands away and smiled. She appeared quite unfazed by the interruption. “We will be righ
t up,” she said.

  Willy blushed at what Marjorie was hinting and his mind speculated on just how far she might let him go. It seemed to be what she wanted. Marjorie stood up and tugged at his hand to follow. Reluctantly, because he was very aroused, he stood up and followed her upstairs.

  While he and Marjorie were having scones and tea around the kitchen table Stick and Stephen arrived. Willy heaved a sigh of relief at the sound of their voices on the front steps. “Come in,” he called. “We are just having morning tea.”

  The boys walked in. Stick nodded at Marjorie. “Hello Sis. Thought you might be here. Hello Mrs Williams. Hi Willy!”

  Stephen nodded a greeting and seated himself, giving Marjorie a quizzical look as he did. They began to talk and Willy was able to relax- until he noticed that Stephen was giving Marjorie a lot of attention.

  Willy felt a pain which he at first refused to acknowledge for what it was. It was envy! He was jealous because Stephen was ogling Marjorie! No. It couldn’t be true. ‘I have a crush on Barbara- no. I love her! I don’t care about Marjorie. I don’t even like her,’ he told himself. But he had to admit that Marjorie had her good points and was fun to be with.

  Later the teenagers moved as a group to the back porch. Marjorie sat opposite Willy and seemed to spend a lot of time moving her body and playing eyes. Willy found that very unsettling and arousing. The talk shifted to teachers, then to other students. Stick described how Noddy had made a fool of himself at Air Cadets.

  “We were doing drill on the march. The flight had just done an about turn and Flt Sgt Jordan ordered: a left turn. What does Noddy do? We all turn left and start marching and he turns right. What a bloody shambles! I collided with him and we fell over. Then about five more fell over us. It must have looked like a football scrum.”

  They all laughed. Willy said: “I wish I’d been there to see it.”

  “You wouldn’t have seen it. You’d have been in it!” Stick said. “You should have heard old Flight Lieutenant Comstock do his nana! It didn’t do our chances of being picked as the squad for the Drill Competition much good.”

  “Not so good,” Willy agreed. He enjoyed the drill and hoped to be part of the squad which took part in the annual challenge against the Army Cadets and Navy Cadets.

  Stephen could not resist a dig. “Won’t help you. We will win this year.”

  Stick snorted. “Army Cadets win! Hah hah! We’ve won every year for ages. You mob of clodhoppers haven’t a chance.”

  “We beat you ‘Blue Orchids’ in the bush every time though,” Stephen rejoined.

  That was a sore point with the air cadets. They had not done well at the last field exercise against the army cadets. Willy sniffed and said: “Good place for lot. You look so scruffy and grubby.”

  Stephen snorted and changed the subject. “What did your dad say Willy? Will he help you build Airship Number Two?”

  Willy’s eyes lit up. “Yes he will. And I’m going to build another model.”

  “Good for you. Can I have a look at the plans?”

  “OK. Come on. They are downstairs,” Willy led the way down to the workshop and showed them the model plans, drawn on the pages of a large drawing pad. After that they gravitated to his room to look at photos and sketch plans of real airships. Marjorie pretended she was interested but Willy guessed she was bored and annoyed. ‘Good, this is foiling her little plan. I am safe for a while,’ he thought.

  By the time Mrs Williams called them all out for lunch Willy was feeling very drained. His mother noticed this and felt his forehead.

  “Bed for you this afternoon Willy.”

  “Aw Mum. We were all going to the swimming pool,” Willy replied.

  “Too bad. They will have to go without you. Bed it is,” she replied firmly. Willy was disappointed but had to admit he did feel quite feverish. To his relief Stick then took Marjorie home. Clearly she did not want to go. Stephen went with them.

  Willy slept nearly all afternoon. His burns throbbed and stung, making him bad-tempered. Worse was the knowledge that the sun was going down and soon Scranton would be taking Barbara out. The thought made Willy writhe with jealousy. This made him even surlier and he was so abrupt at tea time that his mother reproved him for bad manners.

  All evening he sat in front of the TV with his parents. He tried to divert his thoughts by reading but his attention kept wandering back to speculation. It made him moody and he went to his room early and lay brooding. His apparent depression clearly worried his parents as his mother asked him what the matter was, then gave him a sedative and sent him to bed.

  Even with the drug it was a horrible night. He was tormented by bad dreams and kept struggling up to a state of torpor, then sliding down into a restless slumber and more dreams. Sunday was almost as bad except that Willy was so tired that he lay morosely on his bed, staring out the window at clouds gathering on the jungle-covered slopes of Mt Mooroobool.

  His imagination was his worst enemy. He pictured all the things Scranton might have tried to do (Surely Barbara wouldn’t let him!); then he squirmed in the self-knowledge that he was a hypocrite because they were the very things he longed to do.

  Monday morning brought a crisis of a different sort. The pain had gone from the burns although there were still blisters under the bandages. But that wasn’t why Willy didn’t want to go to school. It was his eyebrows- or rather, the lack of them. He did not want Barbara to see him the way he was.

  His mother peered closely at them. “They are starting to grow again,” she said hopefully.

  Willy stared hard in the mirror. “Oh Mum! They’re not even a millimetre long. I can’t go.”

  “Don’t be silly. You’ve got to go to school. You’ve missed too much already. I know what I’ll do. I’ll touch them up with a bit of Make-up.”

  “Mum! Fair go!”

  “Just a touch. No-one will notice and you will look almost normal. Now don’t argue. You are going and that is that.”

  In spite of Willy’s protests his mother proceeded to put touches of eye shadow to his eyebrows. Willy was appalled. He privately resolved to play the wag rather than go to school.

  That plan didn’t work out though because his mother would not let him ride his bike and insisted on driving him in her car. She dropped him off right at the front entrance. No sooner had he hopped out of the car and said ‘goodbye’ than Stephen pulled up on his bike.

  Willy felt he couldn’t just walk away so he went with Stephen as he wheeled the bike to the bike racks. Stephen didn’t seem to notice anything so Willy relaxed. Then Stick and Noddy joined them and his plan to play truant slipped out of his mind.

  Stick peered closely at Willy’s face. “How are you Willy?”

  “OK,” Willy mumbled, blushing as he remembered the make-up. ‘I must walk away before they notice. I will scrub it off in the toilet.’

  “What happened to your eyebrows?” Noddy asked.

  Willy quailed inside. He wished he had never got out of bed and cursed himself as a coward. “They got burnt off by the fire,” he muttered.

  “Yeah, I know. But what’s that on yer face?” Noddy persisted.

  “Make-up,” Willy mumbled. “My mum’s idea. So I would look normal.”

  Stephen laughed. “Take plastic surgery to make you look normal mate,” he quipped.

  Willy wasn’t amused. “Thanks very much!” he snapped shortly, then turned on his heel and stalked off.

  “Hey! It’s OK. I was only joking. Keep your hair on!” Stephen called.

  “That does it! Bugger off and leave me alone,” Willy snapped, walking faster and trying to shake off Stephen’s hand.

  “Fair go Willy. I didn’t mean that,” Stephen said.

  At that moment Willy caught sight of Barbara. He stopped in his tracks and forgot the dispute. Had she gone out with Scranton? Had she...? He bit his lip.

  Stephen still had hold of his arm. He looked surprised at Willy’s sudden halt, then followed his gaze; and nodded knowingly
.

  Marjorie appeared in front of Willy. He was so flustered he could only blink and mumble.

  “How are you feeling?” Marjorie asked, her face and voice oozing concern. She gently took his bandaged left hand and looked at it. He wanted to snatch it back. If only she would go away! What would Barbara think if she saw them? ‘I know what she will think. I will be sunk!’ he thought bitterly.

  Marjorie leaned forward and peered intently at his face. He blushed. The flicker of her irises told Willy she had seen and identified the make-up. However she said nothing. He just stood fuming inside, wishing her to the devil. Thankfully he saw Barbara get up to greet Karen and the two girls went out of sight around the corner of C Block.

  The bell rang. Morning Assembly and First Period engulfed them. In class Willy tried to catch Barbara’s eye several times, but she never once looked at him. Covertly he studied her intently. She looked as pretty as ever- or prettier. Had she? He had heard boys boasting that you could tell when a girl had but he did not have the faintest idea of what to look for and wasn’t even sure if it was true. His whole chest seemed to be one tight pain of longing.

  During the break between periods Willy was close to Barbara. He tried to summon the courage to speak to her but found himself frozen up. ‘If only she would look at me; meet my eye,’ he thought. Then he remembered the make-up and decided it was probably better if she didn’t. She might notice. Willy blushed fiercely, feeling sure that he looked hideous and ridiculous.

  At morning break Willy made his way downstairs to his usual seat with Stick and Noddy. No sooner had he sat down and begun to munch on an apple than a mocking voice called to him.

  It was Scranton. Willy’s heart sank but he had to look up.

  The bully had stopped in front of him, hands on hips. He sneered and said: “So it is true! You have become a ‘Nancy Boy’.”

  Willy flushed. “Go away Scranton. And don’t forget, you will be paying for the damage to my model.”

  “Don’t tell me where to go, you mincing faggot. I don’t take orders from queers who wear make-up. Where’s your lipstick? Did you leave it in your handbag?”