| General Fiction posted July 7, 2012 |
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A flash back from my novel
Joining the Party
by Herb
I was stopped upon exiting the hospital, “Have you got a light there, kid?” the heavily pregnant woman asked in the raspy croak and dulcimer tones of a heroin addict.
I took my lighter out from my pocket and flicked the flame into ignition. The little girl smiled at me from behind the fire, her smile distorted, her face glimmering, she was no longer a little girl but a little boy. A scruffy little kid still in his uniform, I always had my uniform on when I was that age. The déjà vu gave way to clarity. The little girl was me; the heavily pregnant smackhead was mum. I remembered in a flash of flame and nausea the day our Alfie was born.
I remembered. I remember …
#
She must have been very sick. The little boy thought as his mum got her medicine ready. She was a grown up and had no time for ‘little boy problems’.
“But they’re really itchy, Mum.” He was talking about his new school trousers, “And I can’t find my new shoes.”
She emptied the last crumbs of brown medicine on to the side of an old, burnt coke can. “Just wear something underneath them, lad. And wear your trainers.”
The little boy did as he was told, and put his dirty pajamas back on underneath his trousers. They weren’t itchy no more but he thought he looked silly. His trainers were thick with mud.
“Mum I need my shoes. I’m not supposed to wear white trainers now that I’m in big school.”
She glanced at his feet, “You can hardly tell they’re white there’s that much bloody muck on them. Were you playing on that building site again last night?” She sounded angry as she took a cigarette stump from an ashtray, emptying the burnt contents on to the coke can.
“You said I had to play out when Uncle Derek came.”
She ignored him and put a flame to the tin, smoking her medicine, exhaling with a sigh, all the while rubbing her very stretched belly, her shorts and T-shirt only covering a small portion. “That’s better, I think your little brother needs his medicine now more than mummy does.”
She stood up from the armchair, “Are you sure you can’t walk to school on your own, son? It’s only up by the football fields were you play sometimes.”
“I know where the big school is, Mum. But the letter says,” the little boy took the letter from the mantle piece, “It says parents must acompy, “he struggled with the word, “new starters for the first assembly.”
“Alright, alright,” she laughed, “How did you get so clever, hey? I’ll just go get ready. Do mum a favour and make me a roll from the stumps in the ashtray. Just like uncle Derek showed you.”
“It wasn’t Uncle Derek it was uncle Ste.” The little boy said, happy to be helping mum with an important grown up job.
Looking around the crowded school hall, the first thing he noticed was all the new shoes. No trainers in sight. He put his feet further beneath the seat, “No one else has got trainers on, Mum. I think the teachers will shout at me.”
His mum didn’t answer so he turned to look at her sitting beside him on the end of the row and at the back of the hall. The tall man at the front had started to talk, saying hello to everyone. But the mother just looked up towards a small window, her eyes somewhere else and her fingers fidgeting and grasping invisible things.
He knew it was nearly time for mum to go off in search for medicine, unless one of his uncles was bringing money for some. Which they did most nights, then he would have to go play out in the street again.
His mother looked down at him, and then leant in for a kiss, “I’ll be back at three to pick you up.” Before he could protest she was already on her way.” He swiveled in his seat and watched her go, watched her stop briefly to talk to a fat woman by the door, then she pointed towards him, flapping her arms around and shaking her head, the way she did when telling lies.
The first day of big school was a long day he thought. Some of the other kids weren’t very nice to him. But all the teachers were, not one shouted at him because of his shoes. And at lunch time he had three bowls of apple pie and custard.
He was very tired by the time school finished and his pajama bottoms were rubbing him beneath his trousers around the waist, making him sore. But still he had to wait for almost an hour for mum to pick him up.
He waited in the school’s office with his new favorite teacher, Miss Sullivan. She was very nice to him and had even given him some chocolate éclairs from what she said was her ‘emergency stash’ but he didn’t know what that meant.
Miss Sullivan wanted to talk to mum in her office, but mum did the telling lies dance again and pulled the little boy out the schools’ back doors and across the football fields. “Keep up, “she told him, “Uncle,” she paused as if trying to remember a name, “One of your uncles is bringing mummy medicine money.”
“Mum I’m tired; I don’t want to play out tonight.”
They stopped outside the newsagents while Mum picked up some cigarette buts from the corner by the post box. “It won’t be for long darling, “she said, putting the stumps in her jeans back pocket. “I’m too big bellied with your brother for that. Just ten minutes, I promise. Maybe I can get you some change for sweets from the shop and by the time you get back I’ll be all better.”
The boy just nodded as he watched a pretty lady with nice clothes post a Birthday card into the slot. Mum watched too. Then she did the lie dance again and asked the little boy to keep watch for anyone coming.
The little boy did as he was told, and watched up and down the road for people. After a couple of minutes the brown man from the shop came out to chase him, so he ran back into the corner to get mum. But mum was stuck with her hand in the post box, quietly sobbing and saying naughty words.
The brown man saw her and started to shout, then more people came, they were all pointing and laughing at mum. He told them to leave her alone but they just kept laughing and saying, “Serves her right,” but he didn’t know what that meant.
The mum stopped crying and started to spit and shout more bad words. Some people shook their heads and walked away. Others stayed but stopped laughing. She pulled so hard that her shoulder made a funny pop noise and she fell onto to the floor. A few of the people saw her big belly and went to help her up, but she pushed them away with her one good arm.
She stood up and grabbed the little boy once again by the wrist, her grip tight. “Mum, look, I think you fell in a puddle,” he said pointing at the spreading dark shadow on her jeans.
“That’s just perfect timing. Come on, lad, hurry up and I might just have time to get some medicine money before your brother comes to join the party.”
Uncle Ste was waiting at the house. He gave the Mother some money but when she told the little boy to play out, the uncle said, “Forget it, you owe me one.”
She kept asking him to go get her medicine, though she called it something else. Mum was really sick and he wouldn’t help. So she hit him, punching and kicking, saying ‘it was all his fault anyway.’
He hit her back, his ring gashing across her face. The little boy tried to help his mum, “Please get mum her medicine, please, please, she needs it. My little brother needs it. Please Uncle Ste. Please,” he sobbed in sympathy with his mothers’ tears and needs.
Then he stood in front of the door so his Uncle wouldn’t be able leave, but Uncle Ste just pushed him out the way and was gone before the ambulance arrived.
I was stopped upon exiting the hospital, “Have you got a light there, kid?” the heavily pregnant woman asked in the raspy croak and dulcimer tones of a heroin addict.
I took my lighter out from my pocket and flicked the flame into ignition. The little girl smiled at me from behind the fire, her smile distorted, her face glimmering, she was no longer a little girl but a little boy. A scruffy little kid still in his uniform, I always had my uniform on when I was that age. The déjà vu gave way to clarity. The little girl was me; the heavily pregnant smackhead was mum. I remembered in a flash of flame and nausea the day our Alfie was born.
I remembered. I remember …
#
She must have been very sick. The little boy thought as his mum got her medicine ready. She was a grown up and had no time for ‘little boy problems’.
“But they’re really itchy, Mum.” He was talking about his new school trousers, “And I can’t find my new shoes.”
She emptied the last crumbs of brown medicine on to the side of an old, burnt coke can. “Just wear something underneath them, lad. And wear your trainers.”
The little boy did as he was told, and put his dirty pajamas back on underneath his trousers. They weren’t itchy no more but he thought he looked silly. His trainers were thick with mud.
“Mum I need my shoes. I’m not supposed to wear white trainers now that I’m in big school.”
She glanced at his feet, “You can hardly tell they’re white there’s that much bloody muck on them. Were you playing on that building site again last night?” She sounded angry as she took a cigarette stump from an ashtray, emptying the burnt contents on to the coke can.
“You said I had to play out when Uncle Derek came.”
She ignored him and put a flame to the tin, smoking her medicine, exhaling with a sigh, all the while rubbing her very stretched belly, her shorts and T-shirt only covering a small portion. “That’s better, I think your little brother needs his medicine now more than mummy does.”
She stood up from the armchair, “Are you sure you can’t walk to school on your own, son? It’s only up by the football fields were you play sometimes.”
“I know where the big school is, Mum. But the letter says,” the little boy took the letter from the mantle piece, “It says parents must acompy, “he struggled with the word, “new starters for the first assembly.”
“Alright, alright,” she laughed, “How did you get so clever, hey? I’ll just go get ready. Do mum a favour and make me a roll from the stumps in the ashtray. Just like uncle Derek showed you.”
“It wasn’t Uncle Derek it was uncle Ste.” The little boy said, happy to be helping mum with an important grown up job.
Looking around the crowded school hall, the first thing he noticed was all the new shoes. No trainers in sight. He put his feet further beneath the seat, “No one else has got trainers on, Mum. I think the teachers will shout at me.”
His mum didn’t answer so he turned to look at her sitting beside him on the end of the row and at the back of the hall. The tall man at the front had started to talk, saying hello to everyone. But the mother just looked up towards a small window, her eyes somewhere else and her fingers fidgeting and grasping invisible things.
He knew it was nearly time for mum to go off in search for medicine, unless one of his uncles was bringing money for some. Which they did most nights, then he would have to go play out in the street again.
His mother looked down at him, and then leant in for a kiss, “I’ll be back at three to pick you up.” Before he could protest she was already on her way.” He swiveled in his seat and watched her go, watched her stop briefly to talk to a fat woman by the door, then she pointed towards him, flapping her arms around and shaking her head, the way she did when telling lies.
The first day of big school was a long day he thought. Some of the other kids weren’t very nice to him. But all the teachers were, not one shouted at him because of his shoes. And at lunch time he had three bowls of apple pie and custard.
He was very tired by the time school finished and his pajama bottoms were rubbing him beneath his trousers around the waist, making him sore. But still he had to wait for almost an hour for mum to pick him up.
He waited in the school’s office with his new favorite teacher, Miss Sullivan. She was very nice to him and had even given him some chocolate éclairs from what she said was her ‘emergency stash’ but he didn’t know what that meant.
Miss Sullivan wanted to talk to mum in her office, but mum did the telling lies dance again and pulled the little boy out the schools’ back doors and across the football fields. “Keep up, “she told him, “Uncle,” she paused as if trying to remember a name, “One of your uncles is bringing mummy medicine money.”
“Mum I’m tired; I don’t want to play out tonight.”
They stopped outside the newsagents while Mum picked up some cigarette buts from the corner by the post box. “It won’t be for long darling, “she said, putting the stumps in her jeans back pocket. “I’m too big bellied with your brother for that. Just ten minutes, I promise. Maybe I can get you some change for sweets from the shop and by the time you get back I’ll be all better.”
The boy just nodded as he watched a pretty lady with nice clothes post a Birthday card into the slot. Mum watched too. Then she did the lie dance again and asked the little boy to keep watch for anyone coming.
The little boy did as he was told, and watched up and down the road for people. After a couple of minutes the brown man from the shop came out to chase him, so he ran back into the corner to get mum. But mum was stuck with her hand in the post box, quietly sobbing and saying naughty words.
The brown man saw her and started to shout, then more people came, they were all pointing and laughing at mum. He told them to leave her alone but they just kept laughing and saying, “Serves her right,” but he didn’t know what that meant.
The mum stopped crying and started to spit and shout more bad words. Some people shook their heads and walked away. Others stayed but stopped laughing. She pulled so hard that her shoulder made a funny pop noise and she fell onto to the floor. A few of the people saw her big belly and went to help her up, but she pushed them away with her one good arm.
She stood up and grabbed the little boy once again by the wrist, her grip tight. “Mum, look, I think you fell in a puddle,” he said pointing at the spreading dark shadow on her jeans.
“That’s just perfect timing. Come on, lad, hurry up and I might just have time to get some medicine money before your brother comes to join the party.”
Uncle Ste was waiting at the house. He gave the Mother some money but when she told the little boy to play out, the uncle said, “Forget it, you owe me one.”
She kept asking him to go get her medicine, though she called it something else. Mum was really sick and he wouldn’t help. So she hit him, punching and kicking, saying ‘it was all his fault anyway.’
He hit her back, his ring gashing across her face. The little boy tried to help his mum, “Please get mum her medicine, please, please, she needs it. My little brother needs it. Please Uncle Ste. Please,” he sobbed in sympathy with his mothers’ tears and needs.
Then he stood in front of the door so his Uncle wouldn’t be able leave, but Uncle Ste just pushed him out the way and was gone before the ambulance arrived.
Thanks to Bertodi, wherever in cyberspace you lurk, for the pic I send my thanks.
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Artwork by Renate-Bertodi at FanArtReview.com
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