Dougy
02-08-2011, 01:39 AM
Johnny waited by the gates. His coat began to darken in hue as the rain set in, hair matted against his pale face. He would have looked more like an abandoned dog if it weren’t for the glowing ember poised between tight lips. Thrusting hands deep into his overcoat he began to stamp and sing.
The wait had a numbing effect that dulled his senses. Minutes and hours had blended into one. The cold boiled potatoes from his Sunblest bag had repeated on him and he’d chew on the half digested ones; these would coax back memories from a childhood he’d almost forgotten. Walks in the fields and the blackberries buzzing with the work of bees in the fug of heat would remain deep in his mind only to be brought on by these rare moments.
One long scar traced a violent act down his face; it made a sharp left turn at his chin and continued to his ear. The deluge would find this route the easiest. The proximity of the scar made his eye droop slightly and this would unnerve people if he spoke to them. His hand would absently trace the path the switchblade had carved. He’d continued fighting though. Continued, despite the odds. Never back down, never forgive. But he had. He’d forgiven the boy who’d scarred him. Time was a great healer, but he didn’t need time to do that. A visit to the boy in hospital helped. The boy had stared back at him and that was all he could do. There was hatred in the blinking eyes of his assailant, but Johnny just smiled. There it was: poetic justice. He’d always believed in fate; let the Gods smile down on you. Pity he couldn’t say the same for his brother.
The beautiful game. Where did it start? The street league? A kick-around in the streets? They’d both gone to Jameson’s Park when they were fifteen. Became regulars and with the advent of lager, became the men they were now. Cowering under the wispy layer of conformity, barely visible to the public until the court case.
“Bout time,” Johnny said to the form that emerged from the fortress-like gates. Something in him began to sap as the pathetic, shrunken figure approached. Where had the cocky, swagger of a twenty year old gone: a silver, tongued cad with a hand at cards and just about every finger and toe in everyone else’s pie.
The guard unlocked the gate and set it ajar slightly. “No free ride from now on bonny lad. Watch yer back.”
Lee had to wedge his way through. He kissed a necklace and tucked it back under his jumper. The guard laughed.
Johnny pulled his brother away from the prison gates.
The pair were set against a great urban backdrop, their dark shapes barely noticeable in the vista of concrete and hissing rain. They shambled off and onwards to the bus stop.
“Lee. You alright? You ain’t said a word mate.”
The baseball cap on Lee’s head sat high and his demeanour didn’t match his appearance. His had the look of juvenile drug dealer or a rapper wannabe.
“Na… na… mate… Jus…jus…ju…ju…ju…Ah…ffuff..fuffuuf.”
“Don’t do this to me mate. You’re scaring me.”
Who was he? This couldn’t be Lee. It wasn’t the same bloke who’d gone in with a swagger in his gait and a smile at everything. Caution long thrown to the wind he’d casually waltzed into the detention centre, “Don’t worry about me mate. I’ll be out in two for good behaviour,” he had said.
In fact he was out in one. There’d been outrage from the parents of the victim. Justice hadn’t been done they’d said. He looked to the path below him and picked up the pace.
“Lee. Hold up mate.”
“Whe…whe…Where. We off?”
“Home. Mam’ll have the tea on. We’ll have a couple of tinnies. Watch the match. Town’s playin’ mind.”
No ignition of interest registered in Lee’s eyes as the older brother’s met his. They’d shift and snatch a glimpse of passing vehicles.
“We got card school tonight at the Red Lion. Fancy that?”
“Wer…wer…we…we,” he shut his eyes blew out, “Were you followed?”
“Aye? No! I’ve been stood out here for five bleedin' hours bro. What’ve they done to you?”
The gravity of the circumstance tumbled around him like an outmatched Ace flush hand. The pieces of his older brother, his nuances, were gone, brainwashed.
The weight of responsibility was unbearable. If only Johnny had gone home to mum like a good boy. When the crew had fled he waded in and delivered the paralysing blow. They were the crew, the heart of the mob. This was how you got respect. No fear. Don’t back down. Could he have gone home? Probably not, it was inevitable. The burden of guilt and responsibility rested uncomfortably on Johnny as they waited in the rain for the bus to the estate. This was his curse. His debt.
The silence was unbearable.
The wait had a numbing effect that dulled his senses. Minutes and hours had blended into one. The cold boiled potatoes from his Sunblest bag had repeated on him and he’d chew on the half digested ones; these would coax back memories from a childhood he’d almost forgotten. Walks in the fields and the blackberries buzzing with the work of bees in the fug of heat would remain deep in his mind only to be brought on by these rare moments.
One long scar traced a violent act down his face; it made a sharp left turn at his chin and continued to his ear. The deluge would find this route the easiest. The proximity of the scar made his eye droop slightly and this would unnerve people if he spoke to them. His hand would absently trace the path the switchblade had carved. He’d continued fighting though. Continued, despite the odds. Never back down, never forgive. But he had. He’d forgiven the boy who’d scarred him. Time was a great healer, but he didn’t need time to do that. A visit to the boy in hospital helped. The boy had stared back at him and that was all he could do. There was hatred in the blinking eyes of his assailant, but Johnny just smiled. There it was: poetic justice. He’d always believed in fate; let the Gods smile down on you. Pity he couldn’t say the same for his brother.
The beautiful game. Where did it start? The street league? A kick-around in the streets? They’d both gone to Jameson’s Park when they were fifteen. Became regulars and with the advent of lager, became the men they were now. Cowering under the wispy layer of conformity, barely visible to the public until the court case.
“Bout time,” Johnny said to the form that emerged from the fortress-like gates. Something in him began to sap as the pathetic, shrunken figure approached. Where had the cocky, swagger of a twenty year old gone: a silver, tongued cad with a hand at cards and just about every finger and toe in everyone else’s pie.
The guard unlocked the gate and set it ajar slightly. “No free ride from now on bonny lad. Watch yer back.”
Lee had to wedge his way through. He kissed a necklace and tucked it back under his jumper. The guard laughed.
Johnny pulled his brother away from the prison gates.
The pair were set against a great urban backdrop, their dark shapes barely noticeable in the vista of concrete and hissing rain. They shambled off and onwards to the bus stop.
“Lee. You alright? You ain’t said a word mate.”
The baseball cap on Lee’s head sat high and his demeanour didn’t match his appearance. His had the look of juvenile drug dealer or a rapper wannabe.
“Na… na… mate… Jus…jus…ju…ju…ju…Ah…ffuff..fuffuuf.”
“Don’t do this to me mate. You’re scaring me.”
Who was he? This couldn’t be Lee. It wasn’t the same bloke who’d gone in with a swagger in his gait and a smile at everything. Caution long thrown to the wind he’d casually waltzed into the detention centre, “Don’t worry about me mate. I’ll be out in two for good behaviour,” he had said.
In fact he was out in one. There’d been outrage from the parents of the victim. Justice hadn’t been done they’d said. He looked to the path below him and picked up the pace.
“Lee. Hold up mate.”
“Whe…whe…Where. We off?”
“Home. Mam’ll have the tea on. We’ll have a couple of tinnies. Watch the match. Town’s playin’ mind.”
No ignition of interest registered in Lee’s eyes as the older brother’s met his. They’d shift and snatch a glimpse of passing vehicles.
“We got card school tonight at the Red Lion. Fancy that?”
“Wer…wer…we…we,” he shut his eyes blew out, “Were you followed?”
“Aye? No! I’ve been stood out here for five bleedin' hours bro. What’ve they done to you?”
The gravity of the circumstance tumbled around him like an outmatched Ace flush hand. The pieces of his older brother, his nuances, were gone, brainwashed.
The weight of responsibility was unbearable. If only Johnny had gone home to mum like a good boy. When the crew had fled he waded in and delivered the paralysing blow. They were the crew, the heart of the mob. This was how you got respect. No fear. Don’t back down. Could he have gone home? Probably not, it was inevitable. The burden of guilt and responsibility rested uncomfortably on Johnny as they waited in the rain for the bus to the estate. This was his curse. His debt.
The silence was unbearable.