Rites

So I walked in on my Mom and Dad having sex to let them know that I was moving out. They stopped and looked at me, my Mom from the wrong way up, and she spoke to me in a weird upside-down voice.

Oh honey, do you want me to make you up a cooler?

In an emergency, her first thought was always food.

Nah, that’s ok. I don’t know which day yet, so I don’t need it now.

Ok sweetie, well let me know when you know.

Sure. Just going out for a bit.

Ok. Oh honey, we’re outta weed. Can you pick some up while you’re out? There are some necklaces on the table.

Yep.

I untangled my bike from Rex’s and Mom’s and headed off to 5.30 and C. The streets were fairly clear, as it was just after dawn, so I could ride as fast as I could pedal. Noodle and Firebird were still dancing hard at the Pink Mammoth, and hollered at me as I went past.

Hey Cands, come round to mine later!

I’m going to Galore’s.

Ok, I’ll see you there.

Noodle and I are good friends. I wouldn’t say best friends, because I considered my best friend to be Galore, but she’d say hers was Noodle. He’d say his was me. It was kind of a bizarre best friend triangle that we’d gotten trapped in. Like the Bermuda Triangle, but maybe more dangerous. I think it was because we all liked to be awkward, as my Mom said. The other thing was that Galore had given Noodle a blowjob, which he’d later told me had really hurt his penis, but as he was a polite and considerate person, he’d suffered it the whole way. Yet it had put him off Galore not only as a blowjob giver, or a girlfriend, but as a friend. Weird how sex can affect people like that. It’s why I haven’t bothered with it. Stuff’s complicated enough as it is, without bringing blowjobs into it.

I cycled across the playa, kicking up dust in my wake, letting all the prehistoric sea creatures swim again, but this time in the air. My Uncle Flash once told me that the desert used to be the bottom of an ancient lake. Nowadays, it’s only a lake during the winter when the rains come and wash away our city till the next summer, so it can be born again anew. I felt like going faster than I ever had before. For some reason I was in a hurry, but I didn’t know why. I stopped off at Malmart to pick up some chocolate for Galore. After deliberating for far longer than anyone should choosing candy, I went for Harley’s Kisses. Yeah, it was kinda weird for me too. But that was the decision I’d made, and I felt strangely calm and a little euphoric as I took the packet over to Naked Lunch at the counter.

So what’cha got for those then Miss Bomb?

Depends what you’re after. I’ve got some of my Mom’s necklaces. Or I could show you my new dance routine?

Hmm. How’s about reading me this in your soft little voice?

He slid a well-used book with yellow pages that smelt real musty over the counter. It was a Bukowski short story where the woman he stays with has sex with her pet tiger. I got quite into it as I was reading, and barely noticed Naked Lunch’s moan and before I knew it he was telling me to stop reading.

But I haven’t got to the end of the story.

Yeah, that one’s pretty long. You can borrow the book some time ok?

Ok. See ya later.

I headed towards my bike and looked again at the packet of Harley’s Kisses in my hand. Why did they make my heart beat faster? Something was happening to me. It had been happening gradually for a while, and now it couldn’t wait to have happened, to become a moment, possibly the biggest of my life so far. I guess the whole moving out thing was connected in some way that I’d vaguely known about in the back of my mind, but didn’t have the courage to see clearly. Until now, as I looked at this packet of Harley’s Kisses. 

The closer I got to Galore’s, the faster my heart was beating. Mongoose was sat outside his trailer, and it sounded like he was trying to beat his guitar to death, but it matched the rhythm of the beat inside me, the rhythm of my future. That scared the shit out of me, so I took a detour to the Yum Bar to find out exactly what the future tasted like. I hoped it’d be sweet like Harley’s Kisses. As I cycled up, I saw that Angel Fish was behind the bar, staring up at the sky.

What’s up Angel?

Huh, oh hey Candy. Jus’ looking at the stars.

The stars? Can you see them at this time of day?

Yeah sure. You just have to know where to look. See, Cancer’s over there, near Orion.

Angel Fish could always see things other people couldn’t. Like the future. I was glad it was her behind the bar, and not Anti-matter. He was the dark to her light, and he always left a bad taste in my mouth.

So what’s your flavor today?

The future.

Oooh, good choice.

She rummaged behind the bar, and pulled out different bottles of liquids and syrups. She then got out a spoon and a shaker.

Ok, close your eyes and put out your tongue.

I felt solid raindrops fall on my tongue and then quickly dissolve. They tasted kind of sour.

To really appreciate what tomorrow will bring, you have to acknowledge the silent sadness of today.

Like I said before, Angel Fish could see things others couldn’t. I mean to everyone else, I was happy and upbeat. Even to myself I felt happy for the most part, but somewhere deep down, I do have a sad place. I just try to avoid going there, unless it’s Monday morning and someone’s playing Neil Young. And still then I don’t venture too far. But Angel Fish could see it was part of me all the time, even if I didn’t want to go there.

A weird gloop then hit the roof of my mouth. As I swallowed it, I tasted watermelon.

The future will be surprising and energizing. The best way to greet it is to close your eyes and let go.

She then put a spoon of a creamy mixture into my mouth, flavored with all the best sweets I’ve ever had in my life.

This is what you want your future to taste like. But this is what it will taste like.

A jelly-like substance landed on my tongue. At first it was sweet, but then a kick of hot bitterness invaded my mouth, and I had to spit it out.

Urrgh…yuck!

Hey, don’t worry Candy. When you’re ready for it, it’ll taste like the most awesome thing in the world. Trust me. Just never be scared, tis all.

Her soft voice floated in the still air, wrapping round me like a cozy old blanket. So even though she’d told me my future tasted like crap, I felt pretty hopeful.

Sure, ok Angel. Well, catch you later.

I’ll be there.

It felt good to get on my bike and ride off again. What would happen if I just rode and rode and rode? Rex once said that there wasn’t a motherfuckin’ thing out there for miles, so if I really wanted to be a stupid damn bitch, then I should go ahead and do just that. Rex is only my Dad, he’s not my Father. I don’t have a Father, just a few Dads. I think Mom still feels guilty about it, but I’m ok with it really. I kind of used to pretend that Uncle Flash was my Father when I was a kid. I mean, he’s not actually my Uncle, so it’s not that weird. He’s like everyone’s Uncle, but to nature, he’s no one’s. Nature does get it so wrong sometimes.

I got to Galore’s place and her Mom was in a hammock out front, sinking Tecates. She looked at me, gulped down the last bit in her can then crushed it in one hand, while with the other, she pointed in the direction of Centre Camp. Galore’s Mom didn’t like to talk too much. Not since Galore’s Dad had come back and started living with them again. That had messed the family right up. Galore reckoned he came back and claimed he was the biggest loser ever, but had a massive grin on his face that hasn’t left it since, not even while he’s sleeping.

She’s at Centre Camp?

Galore’s Mom nodded slowly then waved her hand to move me on, as if I was blocking her view. I turned towards the direction she was staring in and saw the beautiful pink and brown mountains looking back. I bowed my head in silent recognition as I moved on. She bowed hers back.

When I got to Centre Camp, Galore was in the middle. She was practicing her Tamhulatha yoga, and there was a bit of a crowd around her. It’s a form of yoga that goes back decades here and is based round a trampoline and hula-hoops. I thought that yoga was a humble discipline that involved an inner journey between body and mind to reach enlightenment. But Tamhulatha yoga is kinda showy. It seemed that the more people who watched, the better the person performed. Plus the fact that you were supposed to do it naked, covered from head to toe in body glitter.

I made my way to the front, trying to catch her eye. But it was a little tricky, seeing as she kept bouncing up ‘n’ down and was concentrating hard on the five hoops spinning on her left thigh.

Hey Galore, have you got a sec?

Huh? Cand, I’m in the middle of something here. 

Her voice sounded worn out. But not the sort of physical, out-of-breath worn out that you’d expect what with spinning all those hoops on her thigh. No, it was a kind of deeper, desperate, emotional worn out. As soon as I heard it, I recognized it.

It’s important.

No Candy, this is important.

I remained there, staring, glaring, trying to make eye contact, my head nodding up and down as if I was watching a vertical game of ping pong. I realized I was the only one there who was trying to look into her eyes. Maybe the only one ever. I tried to look at her through their eyes, to see what they were seeing, but she just became someone I didn’t care about, an annoying attention-seeker wearing way too much body glitter. In a blink I looked back at her through my eyes and felt a fire in my throat. I thought my future might be repeating on me, but then remembered I’d spat it out. A hot sting burned the back of my eyes, making them water.

Look, I’ll see you back at mine soon ok?

Ok.

My voice sounded so pathetic and useless, if the struggling of a beetle stuck on its back made a noise, that’d be it. I high-tailed it over to Uncle Flash’s. I needed to get the weed and I needed to get high, and only he had the means. No one could lift my spirits like him. I passed Quirk and Sheepman cutting the cheese at the guillotine and dancing to Chromeo, but not even they could crack a smile in my dry face. Maybe it was because it was soaking underneath. When I got to Uncle Flash’s, all the crew were there stretched out in hammocks with either balloons or guitars in their hands, having a deep old discussion. I gathered it was their monthly book club meet. Others were a little way off by the temple, enjoying a moment to themselves. It was Sunday after all.

Welcome home!

This made me smile.

So how’s my beautiful princess of the sea monkeys?

That’s what everyone joked the desert dust was made from; petrified prehistoric sea monkeys. Grateful got up from the seat next to Uncle Flash, who patted it, beckoning me to sit there.

I’m ok I guess.

My Uncle Flash then communicated with me via a series of different subtle looks. We did this when we were in company, as he got that I didn’t want the whole city to know about my problems. It didn’t take any talking for him to understand that I was a bit down and didn’t really want to talk. Unlike the guys, who were in the middle of a heated debate about this month’s book.

But Whale, the issue I have with ‘On The Road’ conceptually is that although it’s all about spontaneity, freedom and improvisation, Sal and Dean would have experienced jack of that if someone hadn’t planned and built that goddamn road in the first place.

Grateful completed his critique with a long hard drag of his balloon, then sat back, swinging in his hammock, his eyes closed and a huge smile on his face.

Yeah, I guess in that way it’s ironically a love letter to Uncle Sam, as it glorifies America’s roads, made possible by the puritan work ethic and capitalism.

I’d rather look at it as sabotaging the original purpose of the road, you know, to transport workers and goods from one place to another for our god-blessed economy to make rich people richer, but instead pissing all over that and actually using it to escape from the shitty 9-5 lifestyle. If it wasn’t for Kerouac, we probably wouldn’t freakin’ be here right now.

I just hated that Dean for the shitty way he treated his girlfriends.

All the guys turned to look at me, as if I’d mentioned the unmentionable. Even Mongoose stopped beating his guitar. I’d gone and brought relationships and all the emotional stuff into the guy talk. Uncle Flash laughed, breaking the tension.

Aah, sweet princess. You’ve got a lot to experience. For me, the book’s about letting go of stuff. Having no possessions, and I mean people, not just fancy cars and clothes. That’s the only way you can be truly free. It’s what the poet Elisabeth Bishop called, ‘The Art Of Losing’, and if you can master that, then you’ll have no fear of anything. All we can do is try it bit by bit, and sometimes life pushes us into trying more than we’d like in one go. But in the end, that can get us closer to becoming its masters.

So you mean Dean’s excuse for treating his girlfriends badly is that he didn’t want them to think they owned him?

That’s part of it. But it’s a bit more complicated than that. Like for instance, contrary to what you’ve been told, love on the playa does exist. But in different ways to anywhere else. In better ways. It’s not possessive, it’s free, and there’s more giving than taking. You just have to get yourself ready for it.

You know what? Talking about roads, I’ve always thought that the ring road round Centre Camp should be based on a 24-hour clock. It’d just be less confusing that way.

And haven’t you noticed that the traffic’s always bad at the intersection of 6.30 and F? What about creating a roundabout to free up the flow of traffic?

Roundabouts? Wow, that’s a bit rad Grateful.

The guys were back to talking about stuff that was comfortable for them, and it was time for me to move on.

Well, I’ve gotta go. Have you got that weed for Mom?

Of course princess. It’s right here, close to my heart as always.

He looked at me and smiled as he pulled a brown paper packet from the top pocket in his shirt and handed it to me. I gave him the necklaces in return. He twisted them about with his fingers, staring at them for a while before putting them in the same pocket. They seemed to mean something to him, but I didn’t ask. I felt I didn’t need to. I guess he hadn’t mastered the art of losing yet. I got up off the seat and walked towards my bike, waving goodbye to the guys. Uncle Flash followed after me.

Why the hurry anyway Candy?

There’s just something I gotta do.

Ok but remember, here, time is a place. So you don’t have to hurry to get there, as it’ll always be there, waiting. Sometimes it’s good to take the detour.

Yeah but also, as there’s no time, there’s only places to go, so I have to keep on moving.

That’s my girl.

He grinned and watched as I cycled off to the place I had to go.

When I got back to Galore’s, her Mom was still in the hammock staring at the mountains, but this time Noodle was there too, sat on an upturned crate next to her. They were both in the middle of a deep wordless discussion. As I approached, without looking in my direction, Galore’s Mom pointed over at me, across Noodle’s eye line. This made him look up.

Oh, hey Candy, I’ve been waiting for you.

Where’s Galore?

She’s got a shift at the Kissing Booth.

Oh right. Well she told me to meet her here.

I think she’d forgotten about her shift. We can go over there if you want. Then maybe catch a ride on Toad’s art car, just, you know, you and me.

Then I saw it. On the back of his hand painted on very carefully, thoughtfully, was an artwork of a bird flying with huge graceful wings, and in a delicate script underneath, the words, ‘Love like the wind. Galore xx’. I had no idea what it meant and it was a little too schmaltzy for my taste, but the words ‘love’ and ‘Galore’ were in it and that was enough. It felt like Noodle had punched me in the heart and I suddenly wished they hadn’t banned guns on the playa.

What’s that?

I pointed at this doodle on Noodle at the same time as Galore’s Mom. It was as if she was supporting my feelings, backing me up, making me realize that I wasn’t going crazy. Although she did it without looking, still staring at those mountains with vacant eyes.

Huh? Oh, just one of Galore’s dumb ass doodles, you know.

No I don’t know. She’s never doodled on me before.

Well I’m sure she will if you ask.

He laughed, and this made me mad.

How can you be so goddamn casual about it?

About what?

The fact that she doodled you.

For some reason, the doodle hurt more than the blowjob. But probably not to Noodle.

Have you guys had a fight or something?

Not yet.

I swallowed hard and stalked off to my bike. Noodle came running behind, but I didn’t want him to follow me. I needed to deal with this by myself. Then suddenly a key flew past me and instinctively, I caught it. I looked at it in my hand and realised it was the key to the ‘Thrust’, Galore’s Dad’s bike, which was the fastest, greatest bike ever seen on the playa. It’d broken man-powered land-speed records, or so Uncle Flash had said.  I looked in the direction the key had come from and saw Galore’s Mom staring at the mountains. I silently thanked her as I rushed to unlock the bike and sped off, leaving Noodle to eat my sea monkey dust.

With the Thrust between my thighs I could really ride like the wind. I did have such a long way to go, but luckily not as far as the border of Mexico. It had been locked up since Galore’s Dad’s return and seemed to want to make up for it. I flew past Firebird and Quirk dancing like maniacs on top of the scaffold at District 9. They saluted as I glided by, in awe of the supreme machine.

Everyone at The Kissing Booth stopped snogging to get a proper look at the Thrust as I cycled up. Galore was the last (but not least) at the end of the line-up as usual. I did my best not to catch her eye as I locked the Thrust to Milky Way’s bike, before attempting my blasé and slightly bored swagger over to the queue. In my head she was staring at me in wonderment, which made me perform my swagger a lot better than I’d hoped. 

Naked Lunch was there as always, repeatedly clearing his throat. I had no idea why he had this habit, and of course, had never cared to ask. He nudged me as I stood behind him and whispered in my ear.

Have I got anything between my teeth girl?

He then pulled slightly back to reveal his perfect, white teeth right in front of my face. That was the amazing thing about Naked Lunch, he had the most beautiful teeth, if nothing else.

Not that I can see.

Fortunately this satisfied him and he waited quietly until it was his turn. It was comforting to see Naked Lunch’s vulnerable side. If he had one, everyone did. When it was his go, I found myself watching him kissing first little Widget, then Buffalo, Milky Way and finally Galore. I guess it was kind of a morbid fascination, like when people can’t help but stare at a car crash. When he kissed Galore, I was happy to see she didn’t kiss him back. Otherwise it would have become an issue, brought up again and again in many an argument that we’d never be able to resolve without the cunning intervention of one of those terrible tabloid talk shows. Instead, she looked over in my direction and my hands started to go clammy.

I had only visited the Kissing Booth a few times in my life, and those had really just been out of curiosity or for fun. I had never taken kissing seriously. It seemed like a strange thing to get all heavy over, as it can be pretty enjoyable - if the guy or girl hasn’t drunk friggin’ root beer before of course. I can’t stand that stuff. But this time, I didn’t want to fool around. So I walked straight past Widget, Buffalo and Milky Way, and right up to Galore. Her eyes were fixed on me, watching my every move, which made me feel self-conscious about my silly swagger, so I dropped it. Yeah ok, I said with my eyes, this is me now, and I want to tell you something.

I brushed her lips gently with mine, and her mouth opened. But the only thing I ever wanted her to say with her tongue, she just wouldn’t. She only skirted around the edges, avoiding my subtle hints. I opened my eyes, and I was surprised to see hers staring back with an angry look of something like vengeance. Then I realized we were in a battle; we were deer locking antlers, but instead of antlers we had our tongues. We were rucking with our tongues. She got firm and fast, but I wanted sweet and gentle. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. I heard her let out a grunt like a tennis player and I managed to pull away. I looked at her, and didn’t feel anything. It was as if she’d sucked all the feelings out of me. Like when Superman kisses Lois Lane at the end of Superman 2. I was left with a bad taste in my mouth, and wondering if it was a taste of my future, or my past. Galore was breathing heavily and staring at me intently, a wild look in her eyes.

Shit sorry. I blame that night we had with Courtney Love.

We had a sleepover once involving lots of chocolate, listening to Hole and having a heart-to-heart about our parents. We sung every word of ‘Live Through This’ through sobs, streaming mascara and a sugar rush. I had the time of my life. Now Galore just carried on staring and I detected tears forming at the corners of her eyes.

I gotta go.

She nodded. I turned and walked away. Everyone was still looking at our little sideshow, but I didn’t care. In the distance, I saw Noodle approaching on his bike. At times like this, you don’t know who your friends are, but you know your lovers. I was so glad he hadn’t seen any of that, and said, ‘Thank you Thrust’ repeatedly in my mind, as if it was some sort of mantra.

I didn’t stop to explain myself to anyone and it felt like the farther away I walked, the closer I got to the point of no return. But I kept on walking towards the Thrust, in a strange mechanical way, knowing I was leaving everything behind. But it was cathartic. Now I understood what that word meant.

I cycled and cycled, or rather, the Thrust cycled and cycled, like a big dog that takes its owner for a walk. I was going so fast and the wind was so strong, I thought that if I just carried on cycling, the wind would wear me down to nothing; I’d become a flake of dust. A dust storm was blowing in, and I was ready for it. I felt the Thrust cycle faster than any man, woman or child right into the whiteout. I closed my eyes and embraced each and every particle. Until I lost everything.

Whose Tears?

“Why are you crying?” the little girl asked innocently. The large door shut in her tiny face, although she didn’t even flinch and carried on as if the door wasn’t there. “But I want to know. Why are you crying?” 

Someone touched her hair and made her look up to see who it was. It was a woman she didn’t know, with large arms. For some reason, women little girls don’t know always feel like they can just touch their hair, as if they’re little dogs. The girl ignored the look in the woman’s eyes that promised the world of sweets, and looked back at the closed door. After all, she knew she wouldn’t ever get those sweets.

“Why are you crying?” she now asked loudly, into the wooden silence.

“Hey, sweetie?” she heard the woman with the large arms ironically say behind her back. She didn’t understand irony yet, but thought it was funny that the woman didn’t realise just how diabolical she could be, and that she knew she wouldn’t get those sweets.

“You have to go find your Mom now,” her thick voice said. Still staring at the door, the girl imagined the woman talking through her plump arms, both stretched out, one on top of the other, so they looked like the chunky jaws of a crocodile. “No!” she snapped. And stamped her foot hard against the door. 

“Now that…” the thick-voiced crocodile began behind her, but shut up when the door opened. A voice from within demanded, “Ask the child what she wants.” The little girl couldn’t see the person the voice belonged to, as another crocodile with big arms folded into a barrier, blocked the doorway. The voice was very familiar, so she didn’t have to see the face to know who was speaking. But she really, really wanted to. She peered round the silent croc’s ill-fitting trousers, and stared into the room. 

Not sure what she was expecting to find in there, perhaps a baby unicorn, a rainbow or a bit of glitter at least, whatever she thought it might be, it definitely wasn’t simply an ordinary room. It didn’t even have any slides, beanbags or a fountain of 7-UP, as far as she could tell, and they’d be the first things she thought anyone would demand. 

“I want to know why you’re crying,” she insisted with a wicked stamp of her grown-up sole.

“Come here sweetness,” the fluffy pink voice purred. The barrier immediately unfolded its arms and let her through. The room didn’t get any less disappointing the more she saw of it. It just looked like the room of a hotel she once stayed in with her Mum, except there wasn’t even a bed. Although there she was, sat at the vanity table, wearing a different dress to the one she’d had on before. A woman with very small arms was playing about with her hair. She nodded in approval at the woman through the vanity mirror’s reflection, before turning towards the girl. 

“What’s wrong honey?” 

“Why are you crying?”

“Crying?” At that moment the girl realised she wasn’t crying, and not only that, it looked like she’d never been crying. Her eyes were as bright as Bambi’s, and her cheeks were sherbet dry.

“Before, with that girl in the pink dress.”

“Oh, she just touched me baby. She connected with something deep inside me, and it made me cry.”

“But you don’t even know her.”

“That doesn’t matter honey, people you don’t know can still make you cry.” The girl thought about this for little while, still keeping a vigilant watch on those Bambi eyes.

“Can you cry now, for me?”

“I can’t just do it like that sweetie.”

‘My brother burps when I ask.”

“Yeah? But, hey, this is different. It comes from the heart, you know, it’s my feelings and emotions. I can’t just switch them on and off when I want.”

“My granddad died last month and I didn’t cry.”

“Oh my goodness! Honey, that’s so sad. Do you miss him?”

“Yeah. And it was my birthday last week.”

The girl watched in delight as she noticed her nostrils twitch slightly, along with her eyes. Then slowly, a glossy substance gathered at their corners, until it spilled over and teardrops as pure and sparkling as crystal fell down her berry blushed cheeks. But after they had fallen, the girl noticed with wonder, they didn’t leave any traces. These tears aren’t crocodile tears, well they weren’t crying were they. No, they’re something quite different. They’re Kelly Rowland tears. The girl picked them up carefully from the floor, and put them into the little pockets of her dress. They were hers now, she thought to herself.

Robert De Niro's Waiting

Robert De Niro’s waiting, at a bus stop in Brixton. He looks around 10 years older than he does in those films of his. It must be because there’s none of that moody lighting in the broad daylight and I don’t remember him wearing high waisted slacks on the silver screen. Here in south London he’s worn them every time I’ve seen him, so I guess they’re more comfortable due to that forgiving elastic waistband. Although the creases down the front of each leg are unforgivable. If you want to know the truth, he’s let himself go a bit but that’s probably because he’s out of the limelight here and there’s no one to notice him. Except me. Don’t think that means he's no longer handsome though. He still carries himself with a gentleman’s dignity and the lines on his face communicate every human expression of warmth, even when he’s staring vacantly into the distance.

I see him waiting at the bus stop at least once a week, when I’m on my way here and there. Not sure where he goes; one day it’s the council estate, next the fried chicken shop. He’s not a taxi driver now but a bus rider, an OAP with the freedom to hop on and off whenever he likes. He never talks to anyone or asks if they’re talking to him anymore, as he wants to remain incognito, you know. The 432 bus to West Norwood is the last place people would be looking for Oscar winning actor Robert De Niro, which is obviously the point for nowadays he prefers to be the spectator, watching out the window on the lower deck (as he can’t get up the stairs anymore), focusing on the blur of human tragedy and comedy through the murky glass. 

He’s probably getting inspiration for his next role, studying the South London Street Gangs - I saw a programme about them once on TV. Yet instead of looking mean and moody he glances timidly at the teenagers when they get on the bus, not wanting to look them in the eye and if he’s standing, he shifts nervously along to get out of their way. Maybe he’s worried they might recognize him and then confuse fantasy with reality, thinking he’s the leader of the Mob, when in fact, he’s just an old man. But they’re harmless teenagers anyway, as far as I can see. Well, they’ve never given me any trouble and I often travel home, alone.

I used to wonder if he was really lonely, playing this new part of his. I couldn’t imagine many of his Hollywood friends coming over to join him, or that wife of his. And you can feel quite alone in London when your friends aren’t around. I often thought I should go up and talk to him, you know, for a bit of company. I mean it’s nice to have a little chat every now and again isn’t it? But he always gave me the impression that he didn’t want any attention. Funny how he's travelled thousands of miles so everyone doesn't notice him while I wait for thousands of days for anyone of the opposite sex to notice me. If the truth be known, a cheery 'hello', little wave or perhaps one of those friendly winks would have satisfied me. 

I respected his privacy and kept my distance, sitting a couple of seats away. On the odd occasion I sat directly behind him, I tried to communicate with him telepathically. I didn't think that was such an invasion of his privacy, as I'd do away with all that tedious small talk by reading his inner thoughts and reassure him with words sent by my mind, such as, 'No Bob, Meet The Fockers was not your fault. You made it bearable. I promise.'

Then one day, this olive-skinned, good-looking kid of about 12 came clattering onto the bus with all his young friends, cutting through the silence (I’m so used to the sound of that bus’s engine, I don’t hear it anymore!). His friends all clambered up the stairs, but this one kid who stood out from the rest went right up to Mr. De Niro and started talking to him in Italian. At least I think it was Italian, yet some of it sounded a bit Spanish. I’m no good with languages without subtitles, so I assumed it was Italian since it was De Niro. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. There was Robert De Niro chatting and laughing away with this young boy, his face and body all animated, which was strange to me considering I’d never seen him talk or even smile in real life. 

This boy was obviously pretending to be his grandchild to try and not blow his cover. Obvious only to me of course, no one else was paying any attention. To be honest the way De Niro interacted with this young kid was some of his finest acting, and I was deeply affected by the fake intimacy between them. I couldn’t stop staring and wished that other people could see what I was seeing, so if nothing else, I could talk about it with someone over a coffee afterwards. Then they both got off the bus together. Just like that. It made me feel so happy to realise he wasn’t lonely after all that I went back to my flat and put on one of his films. The Deer Hunter, my favourite movie. Even though I was happy, I cried and cried. I ran out of tissues and had to start using toilet paper.

That was the last time I saw him. I really wish I’d had the courage to go up and talk to him, but I was too late. Robert De Niro isn’t waiting for my bus anymore. He must be back in New York, hailing a cab instead.

Sunday, 30th January, 2011

Al began his day with the intricate task of placing a cocktail of drugs into the fillings of various Costcutter sandwiches. Of course, as always, he had to make sure that the lids were replaced perfectly and the labels smoothed with the tears hidden, to give the impression that they had never been opened. He picked up some clothes from the floor, the bottom of the wardrobe and the washing basket, then stuffed them into his rucksack along with 10 metres of LED lights, enough EL wire to light up a black hole, his ipod nano and huge subwoofer speakers. He delicately placed the sandwiches down the side of the bag, protecting them from every angle with packets of Mentos, and finally the ‘piece de resistance’ of these weapons of mass distraction, his half-cyborg, half-badger costume with the big, furry mechanical paws and PVC claws.

As he sat down on the bus, he took out his iPhone and logged in to foursquare to check whether any dealers were out and about so he could top-up on some extras. Junglejim was at The Den, while Cat Stevens69 was in The Cock, although neither was worth going out of his way for, so he decided to just head for the station. He quickly FB’d the RHG gang to let them know his ETA, then simultaneously updated his status while tweeting, adopting a witty and upbeat tone that was discordant with the monotonous hangover buzzing inside his head, getting last night’s story about asking the tattooed stripper for a second-hand discount down to only 145 characters.

He then cleared the camera of the stripper photos, uploading them onto flickr while the videos of everyone but him went straight on his youtube channel. He was far more organised and tidy in the virtual world than the real one. It seemed to be more important to him. The next few minutes were spent adding ridiculously esoteric captions to the photos that only the RHG gang would understand, but before he was finished, Tag had SMS’d him to let him know that the sniffer dogs looked pretty vicious.

When he arrived and saw these notorious dogs he sent Tag an emoticon giving him the finger. The reply was swift and consisted of an emoticon making an ‘O’ shape with its fingers that were dripping with white goo. These springer spaniels were more interested in guys’ arses and women’s crotches than drugs. And he doubted that anyone had gone that far in concealing their stash. The sandwiches, Mentos and badger costume appeared to have been the killer weapons of mass distraction, as the spaniels and pitbull security guards paid him little attention, although he got a flirtatious smile from the girl giving out the wristbands. She must have had a badger costume fetish. He quickly went on the ‘Xray SexSpecs’ app and held his iPhone up to her. She smiled innocently and ignorantly, thinking he was taking her photo, while his screen revealed a pair of tits around her size and shape. He then clicked on FestX GPS to help him find his mates’ campsite, who’d plotted their trail on the map via the readers in their iPhones and the chips in their trainers.

“Hey look, Titmash finally made it,” MGM remarked as Al approached the gang.

“With all the gear I hope,” sniffed Tag quietly.

“Yeah but you’ll have to wait till I need a shit. What? It was the only way to get past those sniffer dogs Tag.”

‘Ha bloody ha. What did you get anyway? Please don’t say it’s that NRG 11 shite.”

“Nope, the latest designer drug actually, my dopey friends.”

“What?” Glycerine snorted toxically.

“These glow in the dark suppositories full of MDMA, LSD, DKNY and Special K.”

“Nice one!” MGM drooled, grinning inanely.

“Well it’s a good job you didn’t smuggle those in up your arsehole,” quipped Tag.

“Ha, yeah. Plus I’ve got enough mephedrone to kill a hundred teenagers.”

“Whack it out then. I’m beginning to be able to taste my own tongue.”

Al craved for the lollipop in the elf’s mouth and began to stop caring about what would happen to him if he simply stole it. Being polite to her - or for all he knew, it might have been a ‘him’ - had been of no use, so he was going to take a more direct course of action. He reached for the stick and snatched hold of it, attempting to yank it out. But elves are known for their strong mouths. In fact, they use them rather than their hands to hold the ropes when they’re helping young fairies to practice flying: one end of the rope is tied to the fairy, while the other they hold in their mouths, then they run faster than any other land magical creature can, making the fairy take-off. And in reality, some fairies are really quite heavy, even the young ones.

Therefore, instead of just grabbing the lollipop, Al got the elf as well and she-he flew forwards on top of him while he fell down with a wallop on the grass. The elf’s penetrating blue eyes stared down into his fiery red ones, the lollipop still in his-her mouth, and it was while they were both in this somewhat awkward position that he heard a familiar voice.

‘Ere Titmash, wot yeh doin’ down there for fawkes’ sake,’ it said with glee. He looked up and saw a half-giant, half-rabid goblin staring down at him with a mental smile that had the power to summon pig dogs with just one flash. It was his mate, Mad-Grin Molester.

‘Haw, haw, looks like someone’s in need of a quick four-four to the floor,’ he bellowed while the elf threw him a dark look, twisting the lollipop round expertly in her mouth. It was hypnotising Mad-Grin and he stood leaning unsteadily towards the elf whilst gawping at the spiralling sweet, which seemed to change colour with every turn, making his eyes swivel about so quickly that they almost popped out of their sockets. Luckily Titmash knew the command, and he got up, raised his arms in the air and shouted, “Tuuuuuuuuuune!!!!!!” before speeding off in the direction of the dance floor.

He pushed past crazy creatures waving neon wands in the air, and got to the middle just as the tune ended. He turned to see whether Mad-Grin had followed, like a giant rat after the pied piper, and there he was, right next to him, attempting to steal the elf’s lollipop with his tongue. Suddenly, Al felt a fierce burning sensation in his forehead; a vision of a badger appeared in his mind beckoning him over.

Feeling more than a little nauseous, he battled his way back through the manic wands and balloons. When he broke free from the crowd, he looked down at the mechanical badger paws on his hands. They suddenly seemed real, somehow. He realised then how much he was sweating, no he wasn’t sweating, he was raining from the inside out; typical that when there’s not a cloud in the sky, he still got soaked. He fell on the grass, face-up, exhausted, the sound of music and laughter now muffled in the distance. The piercing pain came back to his forehead, as the ground seemed to shift, now feeling cool and smelling earthy. He saw worms emerging from behind the sky, wriggling out of tiny holes in the blue, and he had the strange urge to eat them.

Then a silver-white substance appeared before him in the air, neither gas nor liquid. It drifted forwards, dissolving the worms as it floated past them before hovering over his head. It sparkled in the sunlight, and he thought he could make out the shape of a dove. He watched it intently as it glided away from him and stopped still in a spot before vanishing into the ether. It wasn’t for a few more moments until he noticed the door. There were no walls, just a door, as if it was the entrance to the sky. Steps led up to it, and he was unsure whether he should discover what was behind this door. It could be his greatest fear: or his happiest moment. Then he noticed some more of the white substance, floating around the door from the other side: he took a deep breath, went up the steps and opened it.

‘Oi Titmash, where’ve you been?’ he heard a voice call from behind the pervasive silvery-whiteness. He stepped through the haze and saw his mate Tag sat in a circle of gnarled beings who looked like they’d been there for so long, they’d grown roots under the ground and bark over their skin. They were all holding magic wands. He then realised that the white essence was emanating from these wands that glowed at their tips.
 

‘Ere, what’s up, you’re looking a bit mental. This’ll sort you out,’ and Tag passed his magic wand over. Al held it delicately between his badger claws, staring at it until he heard a whistle, and looked up to see Tag raising his eyebrows at him and making the motion of putting his fingers to his mouth. But before he could do anything, a hideous shape came rushing towards them from beyond the pale. It was only when it was right in front of his nose that he could see its full gruesomeness. A scarred lizard’s face looked fixedly back at him, covered in piercings and foaming at the mouth. It was making a low, menacing sound.

‘Shit, crap, he needs another suppository!’ yelled Tag. Al had no idea what that meant and didn’t have the time to ask, even if he had been able to speak. He just pointed the wand at the lizard, and mumbled something under his breath. In an instant, the lizard calmed down and looked almost human as he grabbed the magic wand and put its tip to his lips. But the wand was disappearing fast, and was already half the size it had been a few moments ago. Al wasn’t going to hang around to see what would happen when it had vanished completely, so he jumped up and started running for his life.

He ran and ran, not daring to look behind him, not knowing what was in front of him. Everything now looked unfamiliar. He stumbled as his forehead throbbed with pain, felt the ground give way beneath his feet, his stomach lurching like on a rollercoaster, and he was falling, falling through the air. But it smelt so earthy, and he found it hard to breathe, as if he was being buried deep in the ground. He tried to focus his eyes on something but everything was a blur: with a jolt, he felt the ground again, his legs and arms reaching it with a thud. The pain in his forehead was now so intense that it obliterated any aches caused by his collision with the mud.

His face was interred in dirt and his mouth opened and closed automatically; he had no control over it. He was eating earth, or was it earthworms? There was a fight going on near him, he could feel the violent vibrations all over his body. He wondered whether his limbs were fighting of their own accord because his mind was too weak to help them, and lifted his head to find out. This is when he heard the sound. A low, howling growl that roused the fear that his eyes made clear as they stared with horror at two giant paws with gigantic claws; then slowly up to the burning, milky-white eyes that looked like they’d been ravaged by the darkness. But they could still see him.

What was this monster? Had he fallen into the set of the King of the Badgers? These thoughts raced through his mind while his body decided to make the decision to flee. But all around him were walls of earth, caging him in. He looked down at his hands that were still wearing the mechanical paws with plastic claws. Desperately he tried to dig himself out, before he was buried alive: then he was plunged into darkness.

Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a mr badger living in the ground and this mr. badger met a nice little boy named ally wally who came to visit him in his house underground. Ally wally was scaredy at first coz mr badger is very very big but he gave ally wally a cup of tea and a biscuit and a little chair to sit down on.

He had heard this story before: he liked it so much that he kept on wanting it: he cried for it when it ended.

He was ally wally. Mr Badger knew the way back to his friends: he pointed to the path.

Tralala lala,

Tralala tralala,

Tralala lala,

Tralala lala.

His friends were all in a circle, dancing and singing. His friend Stephen Taggart looked at him through a dark glass: he had a funny face.

When you wet yourself first it is warm then it gets cold. Stephen gave him a funny look and said:

O, his nappy needs changing.