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Another Night and Day Alliance 182
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. . . . . . . . . . "PART 1"
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. . . . . . . . . . . . . . by Schoolboy
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The toads of woe were as warty as ever when the doors were flung open
and Daniel was dumped onto the pavement. With his cheek rapidly cooling to
numbness as it rested on the concrete his eyes began to fill with the tears
of a man who felt as low as a wood louse. He had no idea how long he lay
there for but it was long enough for a puddle of tears to gather at the foot
of his nose where it met the ground.
He had been in Ring Towers for only about half an hour but the course
of his life had taken the steepest of downward spirals in that time. Even
though it was all so recent he couldn't remember precisely everything that
had happened in there. But what was certain was that he was without a job,
without a home, without a life. He was the lowest of the low. He was
nothing. He was eight years old again.
A DIRTY JOB
He lived with his family in a house that was more of a snail's shell
that a normal home. It was low slung, dank and the atmosphere inside made
the place seem coated with a slimy residue. It had three rooms--none of
which where toilets in the literal sense; only in the colloquial--and five
miserable, hateful souls.
His father, born in Leicester, was absolutely and without any debate
the head of the "house" as it was the only place where he could exercise any
influence whatsoever. He was a thin, sinewy, light man but had so much
latent energy and self-hatred weighing him down that his hunched shoulders
would only straighten when his tinder dry fuse was splashed with the
white-hot napalm of cheek, lateness, loudness, suspicious quietness,
over-cooked food, under-sugared tea, skewed school ties, laughter, crying,
letter writing. And escaping. When his temper was ignited his strength was
generated, and felt, in a way reminiscent of how the cane is fast and
stinging but painful long after. He was a human whip.
His mother was little more than a broken woman and had a spirit
doused in alcohol and Himalayan layers of make-up. She had a laugh that
sounded like crying which often confused her children listening in another
room. She could speak fluent Welsh from her years living with her uncle
during the war and this gave her a means to speak and write what she wanted
without being beaten any more than she was.
She did not wear make-up to attract male admirers--although that's
what it did--but to cover the scars of her wretched marriage. She did,
however, have to take the off-licence manager's cock into an orifice of his
pleasing every Wednesday morning to get the level of supplies of drink that
her meagre resources would never cover.
A childhood of this sort made school a blessing. Clean surfaces,
sunshine, air and structure. Daniel was a star pupil. A dirty pupil, but
nevertheless a star.
His undernourished heart would rattle around inside him at every
picture or poem or certificate he would see of his pinned to the classroom
board. But he could never share his pride with anyone else. His mother was
scarcely sober enough to decode an oven ping let alone an excitable,
babbling child. His father was too self absorbed to put a coat on in the
pissing rain and his siblings, Dawn and Leo, were too old for him to
communicate with them at any other level than, "I hate you, fishface!"
His one friend was his imaginary one. "Suez" (the first word that
came on the radio when he "saw" him) was an invisible hybrid of a rabbit and
Barney Rubble. Suez spoke Upside-downish which, of course, only he and
Daniel could understand.
Although he was a teeny bit old for imaginary friends, his mind was
so screwed up and yet fertile in imagination that he couldn't help himself.
After all it was the only practical distraction from real home-life.
He never told anyone about Suez. Normally, kids tend to blame their
imaginary friend with everything naughty they get up to. Not Daniel. He
didn't want to make Suez public property. Besides, what he spoke to Suez
about was private so why should he bring him up with anyone else?
So the day came, as it does with everyone, when something actually
happened in his life. And this changed his life as well.
Emelda came late to Crompton Junior School, when both Emelda and
Daniel had just turned 10 years old, because her mother had finally managed
to prise herself free of her marriage and moved to her home town. Her now-
ex-husband had been in prison for 2 ½ years for half killing his gay brother
in a drunken rage on finding out about his arrest in a notorious cruising
area of the town. He wouldn't be out until at least 1978. Ten years in the
slammer was just about enough for the courts to "free" her.
Emelda was the sort of person you had to look twice at to gauge her
emotion at any one time. One glance she could look suicidal, the next like
she'd just remembered a joke. You could say something to her, think you'd
said something wrong, and then she'd come back with something perfectly
normal or witty.
She had long dark hair and light-bronze skin (her mother was half
Indian) with a slim frame. Her eyes were of a colour somewhere between blue
and brown and would veer between the two depending on the light. Her eyes
never employed a smooth scanning motion. Instead, they darted, almost like
a bird.
She had a tiny nose and her lips seemed pinker than most, although
they probably weren't, because of her slighty darker skin shade. She only
dressed in black, red or gold (not necessarily the shimmering kind) and wore
school uniform in the most lack-lustre way she could. But she got away with
it. Why? Because she was such an excellent student. She could really have
finished a degree already but she had chosen to stick with school so that
she would have something to do at 15.
What ego Daniel had was blasted out of the water the very first week
of Emelda's arrival.
She was introduced to the class at 10 o'clock after she had spoken to
the Head Mistress. "Class, we have a newcomer to the school," said Miss
Front, "This is Emelda Crossley and she has come from over the Pennines to
be with us." The class were unmoved. "Say hello to Emelda, everyone."
"Hello."
"That's it, make her feel welcome." Emelda tugged Miss Front's
sleeve and whispered into her ear. "Yes, of course you can," she replied,
confused.
"Now I know I'm new and that I look different from you all," said
Emelda with off-putting confidence, "but I'm a quarter Indian--and I don't
mean "wig-wam" Indian, I mean from the country of India where you get curry
and elephants. I'm nervous at the moment because it's a new school but I
want some friends and I think I'll be a good friend to you but don't try to
bully me because I'll just outsmart you."
The whole class shuffled in their chairs and screwed-up bits of paper
and pea-shooters were rapidly and seruptitiously rehoused in their desks.
"I know it doesn't sound like it," she continued, "but I do have a
sense of humour and I like laughing at funny things. I'll end up using
words you won't understand but I can't help having advanced intelligence so
don't worry about asking what I'm on about. And Miss.?"
"Front."
"Miss Front, I'm sorry to say this, but I'm not a teacher's pet and I
never will be so don't expect me to suck up to you. I have to say this now
so the class won't label me wrongly, I'm sure you understand. So class, as
you can see I want to get off on the right foot. Please give me a chance
and I'll fit in like I've been here for years. Thank you."
Unbelievable.
And with that, she went to her new desk. Next to Daniel.
TO BE CONTINUED.
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. anada 182 by Schoolboy (c)2000 anada e'zine .
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