Knurren

My uncle used to think of himself as something of a existentialist. I remember being about seven and visiting my mum's family for Christmas. He was on his fifth glass of bourbon and finally decided to talk instead of sit and stare at the wall like he had been doing for the past four hours. I didn't understand a lot of what he'd said, being the idiot child that I was, but I took to heart couple of things in particular. It's in human nature to be part of the flock, and if we do become part of the flock we stop being 'the person' and start being 'the people'. It's important to step away from social convention in order to maintain your individuality. I thought he was a Shaman or something. Suddenly I didn't feel like such a dick and a weirdo for not wanting to talk to people. He sort of justified my dislike of everyone. He didn't say much more after that, but I made sure to keep close enough to him to catch any more gold he dropped.

It's shit that he killed himself half a year later. He went out in a pretty brutal way, too. He burned himself and his bungalow to the ground. Well, the forensics came back inconclusive, but everyone in my family knows that it was probably suicide. He wasn't a very cheery man. The fact that he spent his Christmas drunkenly explaining his whole life philosophy to a brat kind of contends to that. He was pretty fucking cool in my eyes, anyway. My mum grew up rough so he basically helped to raise her and I respected the hell out of him for that. When the divorce trial was in full swing I always secretly hoped that I could run away from my dad and live with him instead. I bet he liked weed and Sid Vicious as much as I do. I bet our life together could've been like 'The Young Ones'.

Things always take a turn you don't expect, right? Like this night, for example. It's another school night and I'm out on the balcony rolling my joint and hearing the odd highlights of 'The Good Life' from my dad's TV. Then, my phone starts ringing.

Polyphonic ringtones - If 'pathetic' had a sound, then it would sound a lot like my ringtone. That pitiful little 'doodly-doo' was coming from my pocket and the only reason I answered the call was to get the noise to stop.

"What?"

"I want to see you."

Him again. John. Sounded like he'd been drinking, too. Half the times he's called me have been because he's drunk. I guess it's easier for him that way. My guess was that he'd been watching TV with his family when the mental anguish set in and he cracked out the beer. His kids were probably in bed right now and his wife was changing in to her night gear and hoping, not expecting, that her husband might touch her tonight. Instead he's calling me. It was a bit of a surprise, though. Usually he'd hold out until the very end of the week to feel less guilty about it. Well, that's what I've always assumed, anyway.

"Again?"

"Is that a bad thing?"

He laughed. Yeah, definitely drunk.

"Whatever. When?"

"Now."

"No. Tomorrow."

"I can't."

"Well, I can't do it tonight. Where the fuck were you planning on doing it anyway? It's tomorrow or next week or never."

"Fine. Tomorrow. During lunch."

"One hundred."

"Don't fuck with me! You're upping the price."

Damn straight I was upping the price. It used to be that he could con me into a blow job for a tenner. Luckily I caught onto his desperation early and got wise. I tried not to sound too smug when I answered him.

"I'm making a deal. It's short notice and during school hours. Take it or leave it."

"Fine! Fine. Just...I'll pick you up on Liney road, okay?"

"Yeah. Bye."

And it was done. Another pay cheque secured. The only issue in my way was sneaking out of the school before anyone noticed that I wasn't in detention like I should be. It wouldn't be too hard, though. I done it before many times. All I had to do was come back with a shitty excuse and a sad face. It wasn't as though they could lock me up or drag me back even if they saw me leaving. So long as I finished business quickly I could probably even get back in time to grab a sandwich and get the lecture from my form tutor over and one with before my next lesson. If he was really as desperate as he sounded on the phone then it wouldn't take much effort on my part to get him off.

"You dealing drugs or something?"

He surprised me a bit more than I was happy admitting. I almost dropped my tobacco off the side of the balcony. I looked up at the ledge above and saw his hand swinging over the side; his hand that now had a bandage wrapped over his palm.

"Me again!"

"For fuck's sake! Why can't you mind your own bloody business for once?"

"Who were you talking to? Are you robbing a bank? Doing a hit job?"

"I'd have killed you a lot sooner if I was a hit man."

"Then who're you meeting? I'll just follow you if you don't tell me."

I weighed my options. Had a week gone by, yet? Was I allowed to kill him? Maybe it was because I'd found some money in an old jacket, or maybe it was the sugar from my jam sandwich, but for some reason I wasn't feeling quite as murderous as my usual self. If anything, I'd say that what I did next was almost damn decent of me. But, I like to think that I just did it to get him off my case. I imagined that there would be a bit of a mess if he followed me to my 'appointment'.

"If I give you a spliff will you drop it?"

"Only if you share it with me."

"Fine."

I unrolled the spliff that I'd already started and made a new thicker one that was twice as strong. I thought that maybe if I got him stoned enough he'd be too tired to talk to me. He was still talking while I ran my tongue along the paper to glue it up.

"I'm shit at rolling. I don't understand how people do it. One of my hands must be slower than the other or something because it always ends up tighter at one end."

Without realising it I was doing my automatic 'head nod' that I do when I pretend that I'm listening even though he couldn't see me pretending to listen. When I finished rolling I lit it up for him and pressed myself against the balcony railings to pass it up to him.

"Here."

I held the lit end in case his bandages caught fire and was reminded of the fun I'd had with him before when his hand flinched a bit before he took it from me. Once he' got a hold of it I'd planned on just sitting back down and waiting until he'd smoked his have half (if he could handle it) so he could hand it back. But he heard me moving.

"Wait, wait. Stay here. I want to talk to you."

I flopped myself over the railing, joking to myself that I might actually let myself fall.

"Ugh...Why? What do you want?"

"Weed makes me talky."

"It's skunk. It makes you paranoid and itchy."

All the blood was filling up in my head, weighing me down so much I thought I might actually just flip over the railings. Everything started to go dark and those little white spots that we all get in our eyes started to come to the foreground. You know what I mean. When you press your hands against your eyes really hard and hold them there the spots are clearer and you start seeing clouds as well. I always used to think they were stars; a little piece of the universe that lived inside me. I kept my head hanging and it all started looking three dimensional, like a proper picture of space.

I heard the guy above me coughing and finally decided to pull myself away from the edge. There was a low ringing in my ears now and my sight came back to me slowly.

"Not bad. A little strong for me, though."

I could hear the strain in his voice from trying not to cough any more than he had. If I was a better judge of character I might say that he was trying to impress me. My bet was that he'd probably never had any kind of drugs before. There are lots of people like that that I know. They watch a film like 'Trainspotting' or 'Requiem for a Dream' and suddenly they think they can fake knowing about drugs. They just regurgitate what they already know to pretend that they've had life experiences. It's kind of sad. I've heard people make up these shitty stories about fake drug experiences that I can suss out pretty easily. Everyone in school has heard the story about the guy on acid who thought he was being chased by a giant orange, but I still hear people quoting it like it happened to them.

"What's your name?"

"Cockface."

He burst out laughing and his coughing fit started up again.

"Umm...okay, my name is...Tits McGee!"

How cute. He wanted to make a joke. Well done riding on the back of my humour. I heard him make a hard exhale and the joint was handed down back to me. He hadn't had much of it. I took a draw for myself and found that it actually was pretty strong. I almost started coughing. He talked for a while thankfully about things that I could easily reply to with a 'yep' or 'yeah'. He caught on after a while when he ran out of things to say and instead started asking me questions.

"What did that guy do to you the other day?"

"Hmm? Which one?"

"The one you had a fight with."

"Nothing that isn't typical of him."

I took a couple of short drags of the joint and tried to make smoke rings. I've never been very good. I haven't really had anyone to teach me how it's done so I just figured out the gist of it for myself.

"You didn't get much of a punishment for it."

"Yeah, you picked a shit school to go to. No one really cares about fighting unless it's one sided. Like, if you punch a girl or a year seven or something. Then they get really pissy."

"You ever done that?"

"No. Girls aren't fun to fight."

"You're seriously fucking weird."

He said while laughing and I even laughed a bit myself at the fact the guy that willingly instigates a conversation with the weirdo thinks that he's the normal one.

'Tits McGee' was in my English class the next day, and when the lunch bell rang and I got up he gave me this big thumbs up from across the classroom, knowing that I was about to make my escape. I "accidently" hit him in the face with my bag on the way past and he laughed, thinking that it was just banter. I looked four teachers straight in the eyes before I walked out of the front gate and they just watched me go.

Liney road was the next street over, so it took me less than a minute to get there and his car was parked in plain sight for me. He failed so tragically at being subtle. He kept looking around suspiciously while I got into his car and drove away as soon as I'd closed the door.

"Were you seen?"

"Dunno."

He shook his head and drove on in silence while I looked out the window. He put the radio on and when Led Zepplin came on I asked him to change the station. He put on a radio 4 programme instead and I tuned out the middle class comedians joking about their wives and children. I noticed after a while of looking out the window that I wasn't seeing grey anymore. I was looking at green. He stopped the car in the empty lot of a park and turned off the engine. Immediately I turned to him with a scowl.

"I don't do dogging."

"It's not dogging. It's too long to get home."

"Then drive fast. I'm not doing it in your fucking car out in the open."

"Fine. Where do you live?"

"As if I'd tell you. There's no fucking way I'm letting you stink up my flat."

"Don't be a little shit. I'm paying you so I can do what I want."

"No, you can't. If you want to do it in your car it's gonna cost extra."

He slammed his hands down on the steering wheel with a shout.

"I'm not making any more fucking deals, Matthew! The offer is one hundred you either take it or walk back to school"

I didn't even flinch. I cooly pretended to wipe his spit off my face and gave him my usual, arrogant smirk.

"A hundred and twenty."

"One hundred."

"No."

"Fuck!"

He took a while to think about it, looking around the park and gauging the situation I suppose. It was just a waiting game for me. I knew I'd get what I wanted. I just watched him, smiling, until finally he unbuckled his seatbelt with a sigh.

"Fine."

He opened up the car door and walked around to the back seat in a sulking way while I climbed over the gear box. Once he'd settled himself in the back I settled myself on his lap and laughed.

"You sure you're not gonna break your back in here or something, old man?"

"Shut up."

He growled and wrenched open my school trousers while I looked over his shoulder at the trees outside the rear window. While he started pulling down my boxers I noticed patches of green where the leaves were growing back. Winter was almost over.

He didn't say anything when I rolled down the window and lit a cigarette. He was busy tucking his shirt back into his fastened trousers and taking deep breaths to cool down the redness of his face. His stamina was pathetic. I was the one doing all the work but he was the one panting like an old dog. I stayed in the back seat while he walked back to the front of the car and got in the driver's seat.

"Hey, can you drop me off at Haven park?"

He looked in his rear view mirror at me while I tapped the ash off my cigarette out the window.

"You're not going back to school?"

"Nah. I'm done for today."

"Fine. It's your education."

"I don't need it with dosh like this."

I said, waving the folded notes in my hand that he'd wordlessly handed to me pretty much as soon as he'd finished. I saw him shrug his shoulders over the seat and he started up the car again. Sitting in the back I felt like I was in a 'father son' situation; the dad in the front seat driving home his son from school. A weird shiver went through me at the thought that there were children in the world that called this sick fuck 'daddy'.

He turned the radio off as soon as he started the car and we drove out of the lot in silence. It was tense. With the window open at least I had the sound the wind whipping past and the rush of other cars going in the opposite direction. When we got onto a busy road a rhythm almost started; a jazzy sort of offbeat tempo that I could tap my finger to.

"Would you consider staying with me for the weekend?"

I looked back to see him staring at me in the mirror again. All I could see in the reflection were his squinting brown eyes and wide, wrinkled forehead.

"This weekend?"

"No, in a few weeks maybe. Jen's planning on bringing the girls to her mother's so the house'll be free until the Monday night."

Finished with my cigarette I threw the butt out the window and blew the smoke left in my lungs in his direction. He didn't do anything other than wrinkle his nose at the smell.

"How much?"

"We'll discuss that later. Just think about it. I'd pick you up from school on the Friday and drop you back off on Monday."

"Yeah, I'll give it a think. I won't guarantee it though. I've got people that'll miss me."

He laughed and looked back at the road with a shake of his head.

"Sure."

I wished he'd look at me again so I could show him the hate in my eyes. I don't think he had any idea that if he didn't pay me I'd probably kill him. His money is the only thing that has saved him from my wrath so far. Even I know that I can be undeservingly spiteful sometimes, but he deserved my disgust more than anyone else. I have the decency to know that at least.

"I'll call you."

He smiled over the seat when he slowed the car to a stop. I didn't nod or offer any kind of goodbye. I just got out and slammed the door behind me, listening as he drove off. He'd dropped me off earlier than I would have liked, probably thinking that people might see me getting out of his car if he stopped in a place that was too public. I was on the outskirts of town; about a ten minute walk to the park and then further to get back to my flat, not that it really mattered much. It was only just past one o'clock so I could take my time walking back.

I knew the way well enough. Before the divorce we'd all lived in a house not too far from where I stood. I could even see the railway bridge we used to cross when my mum took my brother and I to the park on our bikes. T.K and I would rush there first and wait for a train to pass. The whole bridge would rattle like an earthquake, entertaining us a lot more than such a simple thing should.

Crossing it by myself wasn't as fun. It looked the same, and the train made the same noise when it ran underneath. I'm the one that's different now. It takes a lot more to make me happy. I crossed it without even stopping to look down and on the other side was an open field where a group of travellers had set up camp. There were five caravans all parked in a circle around one tree in the middle. That was the only place it could have grown. The rest of the field was torn up by tyre tracks, old camp fires and all of the shit they'd thrown out.

For some reason I kept looking at it the whole time I walked by. It looked pretty thin and young and there were little bulbs of fruit sprouted on it. It was too early to tell what kind. For now they just looked like little green marbles, clinging tightly to the branches like babies to their mum.

I stopped looking at it once I'd reached the end of the road and forgot about it entirely when I got to the park. I just put in my headphones and put on a random playlist for the rest of the walk home. The flat was empty when I got there. I had no idea whether or not my dad still had his job, so it seemed like a waste of effort to guess where he must have been. I just kicked off my shoes at the front door and took a beer from the fridge on my way to the living room. I hadn't even managed to finish half of it before I fell asleep on the sofa and I woke up a few hours later to find it spilled on the floor. I must've been holding it in my hand when I nodded off. I didn't bother to clean it up. It'd just end up being part of the other eighty percent of the carpet that was soaked in alcohol. I just picked up the can and gulped down what was left in it before I put it back on the table.

While I was wiping my mouth of any spilled drink I heard someone knocking. It wasn't from the front door. It didn't sound like it was against wood. When I heard it next it last longer and it sounded like there was more force behind it. That was probably what had woken me up in the first place. I sat up to wait to hear it again and as soon as I did it came back with a voice.

"Hey! Over here!"

I looked over the back of the sofa and there he was, knocking on the balcony window. He was waving madly at me and pointing to the door to get me to open it. I climbed over the sofa, rubbing my eyes that were still stinging and stood right up to the glass.

"Are you fucking serious?"

He smiled.

"I got down alright, but getting up's the tricky bit. Can I come in?"

His voice was muffled but I could hear it fine through the glass. He was dancing back and forth weirdly from the cold and he looked fucking ridiculous. It almost seemed a shame that I hadn't ignored him for longer. Maybe he'd look even funnier with his red nose dripping with snot and shivering. I took a moment to laugh at him before I turned away to get myself a fresh drink. He started knocking again and shouting louder when I turned the corner to the kitchen.

"Oh come on! Please? Or at least help me back up. Come on, Cock Face!"

I burst out laughing. I'd forgotten that I'd given him that name the night before. I picked out a fresh can of beer from the back of the fridge and sipped it casually when I walked back to the balcony window.

"What do I get?"

"Huh?"

"What do I get for letting you in?"

"Uh..."

He shakily started going through his pockets and picking out handfuls of wrappers and coins.

"I've got 50p and..."

He found one wrapper with some sweets left in it and counted them with his thumb.

"five Polos."

"There's at least ten in there."

"Yeah, but I really like this flavour."

"And you call me the weird one. Five Polos for your life? How low is your self esteem?"

He pressed his face against the glass and fogged the surface with his breath.

"I'm pathetic. Please, pity me and let me in, oh great one."

I made an effort to look as dramatic as possible while I thought it over. I cocked my hip and umm'd and ahh'd while I stroked my chin. I heard him sniff a gob of snot back up into his nose and I couldn't help breaking character when I laughed at him. When I finally decided to open the door he rushed in with a sigh and a shiver.

"Ahhh, thank you."

"Why'd you climb down in the first place, you dick?"

"I wanted to see if you were in. You didn't come back after your lunchtime 'meeting'."

"And?"

"And I wanted to see if you got stabbed and left in a ditch or something."

"How thoughtful."

Careful not to spill my beer I grabbed his collar and dragged him through the apartment to the front door where I immediately threw him out on his arse.

"See you, tomorrow."

I said and took a big gulp from my can before I shut the door in his face. I heard him press himself up against the door as soon as I'd closed it.

"Hey! I haven't got my key."

"Not my problem."

"But, I'm thirsty and cold and my arms hurt from climbing."

"Not - my - problem."

I heard him sigh through the door but I didn't hear him make to leave. I stood there for a good twenty seconds while he hung around outside, pacing to slow the effects of the cold. Eventually I opened it and he turned around with this bright, stupid smile. I rested my beer on the floor inside my flat before I took a step towards him, and he didn't take a step back. He just kept this fucking awful grin on his face. His nose and ears were bright red and I could hear his teeth clacking together when he shivered. When I got close enough to him I could feel his hot breath on my face and how his shaking moved the air around him. Without him really noticing I took his hand in mine and he showed me this shocked expression while he stayed staring into my eyes. Without breaking the contact I peeled open his fingers with my other hand and slowly took away what he'd been holding - what he owed me.

"Thank you."

I smiled and five times as quickly as I'd stepped out I stepped back into the warmth of my flat. He stayed staring into my eyes the whole time until I blocked his view with the door as I shut it, once again, in his face. It took him five long seconds to react.

"Oi! You took my share!"

I stared down at the pack of Polos in my hand and popped one in my mouth while I picked up my beer.

"I saved your life. Deal with it."

I moved the sweet around my mouth, savouring the spearmint flavour. He has good taste. It's my favourite flavour, too.

Sorry if this chapter's a bit short guys. Deadline day was this Friday and I had to write three 3000 word essays. If I never have to read Renaissance Petrarchan poetry again it would be too soon. phew. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy what's here. I know it might seem like not much is happening right now, but trust me when I say that it's all build up. I like to focus on the little things when I write.

I hope winter for you all is better than it is in England. Arctic winds are on the way and my house mates don't like to put the heating on :/ Student life eh? Catch you on the flip side. :)

Bed. Of. Nails. And. Sandpaper

x

p.s. I want to give a huge thanks to Kal-El Fornia for promoting my story in one of my favourite fics 'A Home at the End of Japan'. He's shown so much support to me and I am extreeeemely grateful :D I'm sure you've all probably read his stuff, but go and check it out anyway if you haven't! Seriously one of the best writers I've come across on here. Got some deeeep shit right there ;D

thank you so much

xx