Narcissism for Beginners

by Martine McDonagh

  Once, in school, I had the brilliant idea of wearing earplugs while making out. Man, that made it worse – the noises were louder than ever. My experiment got me dumped and my dumpee told her girlfriends I was weird so I haven’t so much as made out since, never mind getting laid. I need help with that, or I’ma wind up A.L.O.N.E.

  I look around for the stone-throwing Taliban family, but it’s the middle of the day and the middle of the week and I guess the kid’s at school and her parents are working. Normal stuff. The atmosphere is chilled: a woman tanning an elephantine ass there, a guy reading a newspaper here, sharing a spliff with his pal. I guess they don’t have jobs. For the first time I really notice the weather got warm and take off my jacket and sweater. I grab a handful of stones and toss one, hard as I can towards the sea. Some guy sitting closer to the water turns and shows me his warning face so I put the other stones down and pull the leaflet Marsha Ray gave me out of my pocket and sit there pretending to read it.

  It’s clear now why Thomas and Andrew thought I should make this trip, but I’ve only just really woken up to why I went along with it. I didn’t have anything better to do, that’s for sure, and I was stoked at the opportunity to see where Shaun and Ed hung out and to find out what my life was like before Redondo, who my parents were, all that. But I’ve been kidding myself that those were my reasons for leaving RB, deluding myself about the real reason, which is the same reason I’ve always done things, the reason I went along with everything my dad threw at me, the reason I pinned my fate to Thomas’s ticket. The reason I joined the Galaxy, the reason I took drugs. The truth is, I wanted to make myself so big, bad and dangerous, so visible that you would see me, would come find me out and love me no matter how great or how pathetic I really was. My real reason for coming to the UK was to find you.

  Walking along the boardwalk, I call Andrew to tell him what I’ve found out about you from Thomas and he tells me more. Turns out you never wanted me. From the second you saw my dad having sex with another woman in Marsha Ray’s summer house, you wanted an abortion. Andrew persuaded you to go through with the pregnancy and when you rejected me as a baby he raised me as his own. Which I guess makes Andrew my dad. My other dad. No way does Thomas get to check out now, junkie-kidnapping-murderer or not. Plenty of kids these days have two dads and no mom, right?

  Then I call Ruth to ask her if she’ll be my gran. And it makes me unbelievably happy when she says yes. Better than being high. Who knew how great that would feel?

  I guess it’s weird how I never really thought about family before. I knew I didn’t have one in the same way most other people do, but it never really bothered me. Thomas was enough. Probably the truth is it was too scary to think about and that’s why I did all the bad stuff. Who knows. But what is clear as I walk over to the Avalon B&B is that all those people you and my dad chewed up and spat out are my real family. Even Marsha Ray is the aunt nobody likes much but will call on now and again for gardening tips, to make her happy and keep the gifts coming in on birthdays and Christmas.

  What I’ve learned is that having no family can be a huge advantage in life. You get to assemble your own, or at least you get to choose people and ask if they wouldn’t mind being assembled. And what I also realise now is that, if I could choose who my mother was, it sure as fuck would not be you.

  What, you think I should be devastated by your rejection? Let me tell you what I know. I know that a kid can fail big-time. I know that character can reform (just not yours or my dad’s, right?). I know that Thomas had to fall for me to rise and vice versa, just as Philip had to die for Shaun to realise he loved him and Ed had to turn into a zombie so that Shaun could be a proper responsible boyfriend to Liz.

  When I tell the guys at the Avalon B&B I’ll be leaving the next morning they fuss over me more than ever, saying I’ve been the perfect guest and how they’ll be sorry to see me leave and that they will always find space for me whenever I want to come stay again. When they ask me where I’m headed next, I say Brazil, without even having thought about it. Yeah, fungible is still my favourite word after all. And that’s where I’m going now, to Porto de Galinhas to be precise. To find Maria and ask her if she’ll be my big sister. And, from tomorrow, my name will be Sonny Harrison Hardiker. Cool, right?

  There’s a short version of this letter. It goes something like this:

  Dear Mom,

  Fuck You.

  Acknowledgements

  This novel was written on the move, during which time I have been the unworthy and supremely grateful recipient of extreme levels of hospitality and generosity from friends old and new: in Redondo Beach, Mike Mena and Ileana, Michael and Eric Landon; in Hove, Dawn Wills, Brett Lomas, Sue Forrest, John Davison, Heather Gratton and Rob Mockett; in Brighton, Lisa Jansen and Andrew, Phoebe and Jay Springham; in Paris, Peter Wilberforce-Jones, Philippe Bien and Marina Gigova; in Auvers-sur-Oise, Nicolas Hervais and Régis Cocault; in NYC and PA, Lenny and Stephanie Kaye; in London, Alan Pell, Sarah Barron, Clare Grady and Paul Fennelly; in Manchester, Kate Engineer; in Villefranche-sur-Mer, Michaela Morgan. Thanks also to everyone at the Albergue Canto dos Artistas in Olinda and the Pousada Capitães de Areia in Porto de Galinhas.

  There’s no place like home, right?

  Huge thanks to Philippa Brewster and Linda McQueen for their superlative editorial input and ongoing support. Also to Mathew Clayton, Phil Connor, Jimmy Leach and everyone at Unbound. Thanks too to Daniel Burke for the video and Kaspar Forrest for help with social media.

  Thanks also to those who offered time and expertise to help with research: Dr Rob Mockett for advice on all matters medical; Frazer Bradshaw and Anna Hendry for advising on and checking legal accuracy; and Clare Gabriel for invaluable insights into life within a spiritual community. Also to Ben, Michael, Mike and Ileana in the US and Fabio J. Benez Secanho in Brazil for help with the finer points of vocabulary. I take full credit for any mistakes in that department.

  Also to those who took the time to read and feed back on early drafts: Jeff Skellon, Astrid Williamson, Joel Sayers, Alex Green. And especially to Liz Garner for recommending it for publication.

  The following books were also invaluable: Dr Anthony Storr, Feet of Clay: Saints, Sinners and Madmen: A Study of Gurus; Peter Robb, A Death in Brazil: A Book of Omissions; Deborah Layton, Seductive Poison: A Jonestown Survivor’s Tale of Life and Death in the People’s Temple; Russell Miller, Bare-Faced Messiah: The True Story of L. Ron Hubbard; William Shaw, Spying in Guru Land; Susan Cain, Quiet.

  Extra special thanks to Eric Landon for entrusting me with his diaries. To Sixto Rodriguez for permission to use his brilliant lyrics, and of course for the music. To Redondo Beach Public Library for providing a great place to write and research and to Catalina Coffee House in Redondo for the best iced teas and lattes anywhere.

  Last, but by no imaginable means least, I send heaps of gratitude to everyone who supported me at the crowdfunding stage. This book would not be seeing the light of day without your investment, and having your support means more to me even than seeing the book in print, so thank you again, I really appreciate it.

  Supporters

  Unbound is a new kind of publishing house. Our books are funded directly by readers. This was a very popular idea during the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Now we have revived it for the internet age. It allows authors to write the books they really want to write and readers to support the writing they would most like to see published.

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