Dougy
01-31-2011, 02:11 PM
There’s no shame in crying.
The moment Billy threw the spanner at Mr Radestock I knew the day would end in tragedy. The perfect image transcended through my many years, returning to me at night; its image spinning through the air in perfect symmetry toward its target.
Back then we had a sofa, which had been an addition to our camp since the owner had thrown it out. The neighbour had puzzled at its disappearance just minutes after putting it out into the yard. It had a musty smell to it and I couldn’t help notice the mould growing underneath the armrest. Had that been there before the neighbour threw it out?
Billy bashed the crab against a wall and scraped meat out with a pen knife. He passed me a portion of white meat. I could still taste the salt from the morning sea. He twisted a leg off and threw it at me with a flick of his hand, laughing. I caught it and crushed the carapace with my teeth and sucked the contents out. We both lay, not sure what to do with ourselves. The summer holidays would drag its heels nearer the end of August, bringing with it a boredom that would necessitate careless abandon and destruction.
“Fancy doin’ that up?” Billy pointed a crab at a bike. It was a Chopper and looked in need of a make over.
“Ain’t got no tools.”
“Got this,” he held up the spanner, which caught the sun - flashing silver in my eyes.
We pulled the Chopper from the bushes and inspected it. Its rear wheel had been bent beyond shape and the front one missing. The frame was still in good condition. All we needed was a pair of wheels.
“Haway.” Billy was off with a sprint and a skip to the gate. He grinned at me and I knew the look in his eyes would mean trouble.
“Mum’ll be back soon.”
“Dinnae worry, man. We’ll be back before she does. Hawaay.” He began to whistle and swaggered off down the baking street.
When I sidled by him the flash of silver stabbed at my sight. I had to look again to see the adjustable spanner as it flipped in his hand. He flashed me a mischievous grin. “Beetroot’s got a load of stuff in his back yard. Must be a wheel in there somewhere.”
“We’ll get knacked if we’re caught.”
The road ran with young blood, their shouts evoked a yearning for youth in the old. Rheumy eyes glimmered at the street in envy. Hands trembled as they brought tea to lips long silent. The chartered lands they’d crossed trailed a flower of memories; from halcyon moments to desperate, yet good times. They slurped tea and waited their turn to the grave. It was an inevitability that many chose to hide from, in their council estate tombs.
‘Young guns’ on bikes wheelied up and ‘Evil Kneiveled’ over ramps. Dogs ran amok, yap yapping, screwing, ****ting and peeing. Mothers screamed and the world turned.
He gave me a look before clambering over the bricked wall to Mr Radestock’s yard. Come on, it said. I knew the look so I followed into the deep grass. We turned over boxes of broken toys; spinning tops, burst balls, sodden comics and twisted bikes.
“Gis a hand..”
We yanked at a bike and ripped up grass. The door to the house thundered shut and the sky seemed to darken. My sight swam as I spun around to see this man at the open doorway. His eyes were stripped of all dignity and bared a wounded beast, open to the sky and to us.
“Freak!” Billy laughed and I remember the tool. I can see it now. It turns end over end until reaching the window, which shatters. The howl of anguish or the window's plea spurred both of us into flight.
*
This vein, held my childhood memories in its very existence. I was wheeled up here one day and I swore I could see Billy grinning back at me at the gate. His dusty face accentuated the ivory teeth and his chicory eyes. His candy floss hair, would catch the sun and hold it in its strands.
“Grandad’s crying again,” my daughter gives a sigh, but she doesn’t see Billy running from Mr Radestock. She doesn’t see the car: or my brother, flying in perfect symmetry.
The moment Billy threw the spanner at Mr Radestock I knew the day would end in tragedy. The perfect image transcended through my many years, returning to me at night; its image spinning through the air in perfect symmetry toward its target.
Back then we had a sofa, which had been an addition to our camp since the owner had thrown it out. The neighbour had puzzled at its disappearance just minutes after putting it out into the yard. It had a musty smell to it and I couldn’t help notice the mould growing underneath the armrest. Had that been there before the neighbour threw it out?
Billy bashed the crab against a wall and scraped meat out with a pen knife. He passed me a portion of white meat. I could still taste the salt from the morning sea. He twisted a leg off and threw it at me with a flick of his hand, laughing. I caught it and crushed the carapace with my teeth and sucked the contents out. We both lay, not sure what to do with ourselves. The summer holidays would drag its heels nearer the end of August, bringing with it a boredom that would necessitate careless abandon and destruction.
“Fancy doin’ that up?” Billy pointed a crab at a bike. It was a Chopper and looked in need of a make over.
“Ain’t got no tools.”
“Got this,” he held up the spanner, which caught the sun - flashing silver in my eyes.
We pulled the Chopper from the bushes and inspected it. Its rear wheel had been bent beyond shape and the front one missing. The frame was still in good condition. All we needed was a pair of wheels.
“Haway.” Billy was off with a sprint and a skip to the gate. He grinned at me and I knew the look in his eyes would mean trouble.
“Mum’ll be back soon.”
“Dinnae worry, man. We’ll be back before she does. Hawaay.” He began to whistle and swaggered off down the baking street.
When I sidled by him the flash of silver stabbed at my sight. I had to look again to see the adjustable spanner as it flipped in his hand. He flashed me a mischievous grin. “Beetroot’s got a load of stuff in his back yard. Must be a wheel in there somewhere.”
“We’ll get knacked if we’re caught.”
The road ran with young blood, their shouts evoked a yearning for youth in the old. Rheumy eyes glimmered at the street in envy. Hands trembled as they brought tea to lips long silent. The chartered lands they’d crossed trailed a flower of memories; from halcyon moments to desperate, yet good times. They slurped tea and waited their turn to the grave. It was an inevitability that many chose to hide from, in their council estate tombs.
‘Young guns’ on bikes wheelied up and ‘Evil Kneiveled’ over ramps. Dogs ran amok, yap yapping, screwing, ****ting and peeing. Mothers screamed and the world turned.
He gave me a look before clambering over the bricked wall to Mr Radestock’s yard. Come on, it said. I knew the look so I followed into the deep grass. We turned over boxes of broken toys; spinning tops, burst balls, sodden comics and twisted bikes.
“Gis a hand..”
We yanked at a bike and ripped up grass. The door to the house thundered shut and the sky seemed to darken. My sight swam as I spun around to see this man at the open doorway. His eyes were stripped of all dignity and bared a wounded beast, open to the sky and to us.
“Freak!” Billy laughed and I remember the tool. I can see it now. It turns end over end until reaching the window, which shatters. The howl of anguish or the window's plea spurred both of us into flight.
*
This vein, held my childhood memories in its very existence. I was wheeled up here one day and I swore I could see Billy grinning back at me at the gate. His dusty face accentuated the ivory teeth and his chicory eyes. His candy floss hair, would catch the sun and hold it in its strands.
“Grandad’s crying again,” my daughter gives a sigh, but she doesn’t see Billy running from Mr Radestock. She doesn’t see the car: or my brother, flying in perfect symmetry.