Chicks........ Voyeur..... Property

Chicks.

The large, grey concrete slab falls at approximately thirty-two feet per second. The dying chick feels nothing as the stone impacts on the road, throwing pieces of splattered baby bird onto Robert's new shoes.
"Shit!," he screams, "Mum'll kill me."
It is Spring. The Earth is in a process of renewal. The short winter days give way to the great British summertime; we lose an hour of one morning and gain longer evenings throughout the next two seasons—it's a small price to pay.
Noel and Billy are half way up a tall pine tree. They climb the staircase of branches easily, testing each step for strength before proceeding. Robert and Martin are still on the ground. The first six feet to the nearest branch is the most demanding and it hangs just out of reach. Noel was helped into the tree by Billy and Martin; Billy with a lift from Martin and Robert—in the excitement, the thought of pulling their friends up to an equal level is lost on the two young climbers; and so the first will indeed be first, and the last will remain on the ground scrabbling against the trunk of a mighty pine tree.
"Give us a hand," calls Martin to his friends high up in the tree. No answer. He looks across at Robert and then up at the first branch. "Let me get on your shoulders Rob."
"No chance," replies Robert indignantly, "I'm not getting dirt on my top."
"I'll take my shoes off," Martin says and nodding encouragingly, he begins to untie his laces.
"But how am I gonna get up?"
"I'll pull you up when I'm on the first branch. Now help me onto your shoulders."
Robert leans against the tree and cups his hands, linking his fingers to form a step. Martin places a foot into his hands and launches himself into the air, lifting the other leg onto Robert's shoulders. He balances by holding the trunk of the tree and his friend's head which begins to wobble under the strain.
"Hurry up Mart, your foot's slipping out of my hands."
"Hold still will you?"
Robert looks down at Martin's foot and sniffs. "Cheese," he says and begins to laugh, his head wobbling badly now, making it more difficult for Martin to get a sure footing. Robert tries to contain his amusement but on catching sight of the serious expression on Martin's face, in contrast with his undignified and precarious position, Robert explodes into laughter.
"What's so bloody funny Rob?"
Robert's legs begin to give at the knee as his body trembles with uncontrollable mirth. "I don't know.." he eventually spits out. "But your face!"
Martin lifts his other leg from Robert's hands and places it onto a quivering shoulder. He tries to maintain his position by bear-hugging the tree. Robert holds onto his own round belly in an attempt to contain his giggles.
"Stop moving!" yells Martin. "I'll fall."
"I can't help it, you made me laugh."
Martin is dumbfounded: "How exactly?" but Robert cannot answer, he just giggles.
Martin's eyes are fixed on the branch that hangs inches from his fingers. He stretches out his arm and prepares to launch himself into the tree, muttering under his breath a countdown of curses, a profane pep talk directed at the sniggering step ladder under his feet. Martin's muscles strain on the first words.. "You big fat.." his fingers itch at the bark, "..useless piece of.." Martin hangs in the air, frozen; his face fixed in an agonizing expression, a mixture of intense longing and pain—Robert's amusement is set fast across his own face.. "..shhiitt!"
Fingers grope at the branch of the pine tree, a hand misses its target and hangs uselessly in mid-air, feet kick out into space.
"Grab my feet," shouts Martin, "and push me up." He grips the branch with his right hand and throws his left over it, trying to use it as leverage. Robert grabs at the kicking feet in an attempt to support his friend but also to prevent receiving a blow to his face.
"I've got you," Robert calls up, his laughter fading as quickly as it came, like after a poor joke or a nasty fall. "Don't panic."
"I'm almost there, just.." With all of his strength Martin pulls himself onto the branch. He swings his legs up and manages to hook one of them over the tree. He then lies quite still on the branch exhausted, whispering to himself over and over, "I did it, I did it."
"What about me?" shouts Robert from the ground. Martin sits upright and looks down, he smiles.
"Chuck my shoes up will you?"
"And then you'll pull me up?" Robert passes the shoes up and awaits a reply. Martin pulls his shoes on and then stands up. He looks down at his friend.
"How the hell d'you think I can pull you up on my own?" Martin begins. "You're too heavy." Martin tries to explain but is interrupted by Billy who calls down from the top branches.
"Lose some weight fat man; blubber mountains don't climb trees."
Robert throws Martin a sorrowful look: "But you promised."
"I'm not strong enough to lift you," Martin says and then begins to climb the tree quickly. "Sorry," he calls back and disappears into the foliage.
"Well thanks," Robert grumbles, "I'll just stay here then. Don't mind me everyone, you just enjoy yourself."
"Stop blubbering, blubber boy," shouts Billy again, "you're disturbing the birds."
"But I wanted to see the birds, it was my idea." Robert slumps down at the base of the tree. He folds his arms across his big belly and pulls a deep frown across his forehead. "Bloody typical."
"I can see my house from up here," says Noel, his head stuck out from the high branches of the pine tree.
"So!" Billy has his attention focused on something far more important. Noel carries on talking anyway.
"Yeah and I can see your house too Bill," Noel goes on. "I can see your mum's bedroom and she's taking all her clothes off and she's dancing and waving her big knickers at me, and shaking her knockers." Billy pushes out at Noel, but Noel hangs onto his branch tightly. "Leave off, I'm only joking."
"You spaz," shouts Billy. "Anyway it's your mum that's always dancing with her tits out; we've all seen her."
"Yeah, yeah, I know," Noel says solemnly.
Billy edges silently along his branch away from Noel towards a small nest that is perched in the treetops, invisible from the ground but crammed with little sirens, tiny squeaks that have given away its position. The chicks are crying for their mother who waits patiently in a neighbouring tree for the intruders to leave her nest—she knows full well she is unable to protect them from such danger.
Noel is not interested in the birds, he checks out the horizon picking out points of interest. "There’s the precinct; there’s the school; look," Noel points his finger across at the estate, "there's the traffic lights where that car smashed into the wall, remember? There was blood all up the road and everything it was brilliant. And that's the wood where Martin buried his fish and Louise pulled up her skirt and showed us.." Noel is interrupted as Martin reaches the top of the tree.
Billy mumbles to himself: "And I can see the tree where Noel was pushed off cos he wouldn't shut up."
Noel extends a hand to Martin and helps him up, unaware of Billy's remarks. "You made it," he says.
"Big Rob still grounded Mart?" asks Billy.
"Yeah, I couldn't lift him," replies Martin. "Have you found the nest Billy?" Martin looks across from a lower branch, excited.
"Ssshh," insists Billy. "I'm right there. Come over, but be careful."
Martin pulls himself over to Billy's branch and step by step, moves along to where he is sitting.
"There's four altogether but only two are hatched. Look."
In the beautifully crafted nest, lying next to two bright blue eggs, are two tiny chicks only hours old. They are pink and featherless, their beaks pushed out above them wide open waiting for food. Their eyes are still covered by skin and they peck out blindly into thin air, their shrill sound piercing the fresh spring day. The sound carries across to their mother in the other tree but she is powerless to do anything, and just waits.
"They're incredible aren't they?"
"Yeah, incredible."
Noel calls down to Robert who is still sulking on the ground: "Hey Rob you're really missing out down there."
Robert looks up through the branches and just catches sight of Noel waving. Robert looks away and smacks the ground with his fist as Billy calls down to him.
"These chicks look like you Rob; mouths wide open screaming to their mum for food, 'Feed me!' That's you all right."
Robert picks up a stone and throws it hard across the clearing at one of the other trees in frustration, it rebounds off its bark and flies back hitting him on the thigh. He shrugs and shakes his head, rubbing his sore leg: "Typical."
"Birds eat their mum's vomit don't they?" asks Noel. "I wonder if Robert's mum eats her tea and then pukes it up into his mouth!" He begins laughing and bouncing on his branch. "Imagine that! Ugh..! Hey Rob? Do you?"
"Stop bouncing slug!" roars Billy. "You're disturbing the birds."
Noel freezes for a second and then begins to laugh again to himself, bouncing gently on his branch, picturing Robert feeding off his mother's regurgitated food. "At least sandwich spread sandwiches wouldn't look any different," he says.
At the nest, one of the chicks has clawed its way out from under the eggs to the edge of the nest, its mouth still expecting to be filled.
"Look at its bare wings," says Martin, "it looks like a little rat."
"Yeah it's an ugly little thing."
Noel begins to laugh out loud again and calls down to Robert. "Hey Rob, do you ever eat sandwich spread?" Noel's body quivers with excitement and his bouncing recommences. The tiny bird's bare wings jut out to balance itself as the tree top sways from side to side. It stumbles out of the nest altogether, aided by the motion of the tree and ends up on the branch where it remains.
"Noel you spaz," yells Billy. "Cut it out!"
"What?" Noel is oblivious.
Billy moves closer to the nest to try and push the bird back to safety but it is too late, the chick steps out blindly along the branch to find only thin air.
"Shit."
"Oh my God."
Billy and Martin watch helplessly as the bird drops through the tree bouncing off branches as it descends to the floor.
"Look out below," shouts Martin.
Billy has already moved from his position and is hurrying down the tree, shouting back at Noel: "If you've killed that bird I'll fuckin batter you."
"What? What have I done?"
Robert is on his feet now, mumbling incoherently to himself as he stands over the fallen bird. "I knew we shouldn't have gone up there; you should always observe nature at a respectful distance.." Billy joins him now jumping down from the last branch. "This will always be on your conscience Billy," he continues.
"It wasn't my fault!" Billy's face is white with shock. "Is it dead?"
"I don't know, it's not moving."
Up in the tree Noel and Martin make their way back to earth. Noel is defending himself.
"I didn't know it'd come out of its nest," he pleads. "How was I supposed to know?"
"Because I told you to stop swaying the tree you idiot," Billy calls up. "What did you think I was talking about?"
Martin shouts down to Billy: "Is it all right?"
Billy kneels by the bird and touches it gently with the tip of his finger. The blind chick opens its beak and lets out a faint cry, one wing lifts and tries to push itself upright.
"It's alive!" Billy shouts, his relief showing. Robert shakes his head in disbelief. Billy tries to help the bird to its feet by letting it rest against his hand. "I think it's gonna be okay," he says. The dazed bird stumbles into Billy's open hand and he cradles it gently. "Come on you can do it," he whispers.
As Billy moves his fingers to make room for the bird, he notices spots of bright red blood across his palm. The tiny chick falls against his thumb and its head lolls unnaturally, coming to rest against its chest; blood seeps from an area of broken skin around the neck and now covers Billy's fingers.
"On shit, it's dying." Billy looks across at Robert, "I think its neck is broken."
"What are we gonna do? We can't leave it."
"What's happening?" Noel shouts down from his perch.
"You'd better stay up there, cos if I get hold of you, I'll break your neck." Billy scoops the bird into his hand and lifts it up. "We're gonna have to kill it," he says to Robert.
Billy and Robert step away from the tree up a steep bank and onto the nearby road. Martin climbs down and joins them.
"What're you doing?" he asks.
"Get us a big stone quickly Rob. It won't feel a thing."
"You're gonna squash it?"
"It's dying anyway," Billy explains. "It won't know what's hit it."
"But you can't kill it," says Martin.
"I'm not gonna let it suffer."
Robert struggles over to Billy with a large flat piece of concrete; it is so heavy that he drops it by the side of the road. "Give us a hand Mart," he says. Martin rushes to his side and the two of them bring the stone to Billy.
"That's perfect," Billy says, and gently places the chick on the road. There is now intense haemorrhaging around the bird's neck. "Quickly crush it!"
Robert and Martin's fingers lose their grip on the concrete slab and it drops to the black tarmac road. A sharp crack echoes along the road masking the quieter sound of a baby bird yielding to the superior forces of mass, acceleration and gravity.. splat.
"It's all gone up inside my laces. I'll never wash that out." Robert inspects the damage to his shoes and flicks pieces of dead bird from around his ankles. "Mum's gonna go mad."
"Just whack a load of polish on them, they'll be all right," Martin offers. "She'll never notice."
"Never mind your shoes, think about that poor bird," says Billy wiping the blood of his hand into a clump of grass. "Come on let's clear the road."
Billy and Martin kick the broken pieces of concrete off the side of the road and then lift the large slab. The baby bird has become fixed to the underside of the stone and is twitching spasmodically.
"Aagghh! It's still alive." Martin drops his end of the slab, withdrawing his hands quickly. The stone drops back to the floor on its end, cracks and breaks up into pieces.
"It's not alive; it that's thing when the muscles move.." Billy tries to explain unsuccessfully.
Robert cuts in: "It's an involuntary spasm, or something."
"Yeah." Billy kicks the broken pieces of concrete down the bank, smearing the bird's tiny entrails across the tarmac.
"Well it's dead now," observes Robert dryly.
"That scared the shit out of me," says Martin wiping his palms up and down his trousers, removing any trace of death from his hands. "I've gone cold all over thinking about it."
"You're a real girl Martin you know that?"
"I wish we'd never gone up that bloody tree now."
"Well it was fatboy's idea."
Robert looks up from his shoes. "Don't blame me, I never even got a chance to go up there. You knocked the thing down."
Billy considers this for a moment and then softly says: "Noel."
Noel is still perched on the lower branches of the pine tree, swinging his legs indifferently—unsympathetic to the fate of the bird. "It was only a bloody bird," he tells his friends.
Billy looks up and tries to grab at Noel's ankles, but Noel lifts them just beyond his reach. "You'd better stay outta my way slug," Billy shouts. "I'm telling you now, if I catch up with you I'll kick seven kinds of shit out of you."
Noel is feeling well protected so far from the ground but he stands up on his branch to pull his legs well out of harm's way: "Yeah," he says. "You and whose army?"
"You little.." Billy launches himself into the air and scrapes at the branch with his fingers, "..shit bag!" Noel quickly hops up to the next branch and Billy jumps again, this time missing his target altogether. He turns to Martin and Robert. "Help me up will you?"
"No!" Noel yells from the tree. "Leave me alone; I didn't do anything."
"Come on you two, give us a lift."
"Ah leave him Billy," says Martin. "He's not worth it."
"Yeah let's go home," adds Robert.
Billy makes one last attempt to climb the tree, fails, and then joins his friends who are already on their way home: "You better not let me catch up with you."
Noel does not answer.
Martin, Robert and Billy cross the field away from the coppice towards their estate. Billy looks around every once in a while to check on Noel's movements. He watches his friend reach the lowest branch of the pine tree and make ready to lower himself to the floor. Billy then charges back with all his energy towards the group of trees , screaming at the top of his lungs. Martin and Robert look around and shake their heads.
Noel drops from the branch but hearing Billy's war cry, he hangs on with the tips of his fingers and manages to swing back onto his perch. Billy stops running, throws Noel a two-fingered hand signal and returns to his other friends.
Noel can be heard crying out in the distance: "Let me come down! Please Billy."
"I've never killed anything before," Martin says sadly as the three boys reach the estate. "Have you?"
Billy remains silent.
"No," says Robert, shaking his head solemnly. He looks down at his blood-spattered shoes. "It's a messy business."




Voyeur.

Martin is sitting at his desk at school; it is his favourite desk, in his favourite lesson… well he actually hates the lesson, which is geography, but this is the best place to be every Wednesday at 3 PM, simply because from his position by the window, he can see out onto the netball courts, and every Wednesday at three, the school’s girl netball team train—and Rachel is in the team.
Martin watches the girl of his dreams, to the sound of a monotone, baritone geography teacher’s voice, which drones incessantly, hypnotising Martin and wearing down his tired afternoon eyelids with ox-bow lakes , igneous and metamorphic rocks, precipitation and on and on.
"Can anyone tell me how a stack is formed?" The question is released to a sea of disinterested faces. "Anyone?" Thirty-five pairs of eyes look at the floor, the wall, the ceiling; anywhere but the teacher’s face… all except one, and he is looking out the window.
"Noone!"
Martin has placed angels’ wings on Rachel and she is floating around the netball court with such grace and skill as to bring tears to any boys’ eyes, particularly when the wind lifts her skirt and… bang! A wooden board rubber smashes into Martin’s desk, sending chalk dust all over him. Martin wakes, spitting out the white powder that is settling over his desk.
"Are you with us Noone?"
"Sir?"
"Is that a yes or a no, or just a sir?"
Martin wipes the dust from his face. "I don’t know."
A giggle bubbles up through the class.
"All right, settle down everyone. Noone, go and get cleaned up and see me here after school."
Martin leaves the room with his head bowed, patting his chest and leaving clouds of dust in his wake. The teacher shakes his head, wishing he had worked hard enough at university to enable to teach at a public school, rather than a badly funded comprehensive.
The school corridors are eerily quiet, like the town’s streets at first light. Martin imagines himself to be the last boy on earth as he shuffles to the toilets, still blowing chalk dust from his lips. As he rounds the corner at the end of the long hallway, he walks straight into a girl walking in the opposite direction. They come together in a cloud of white powder. Martin waves the dust from his eyes, and opening them sees it is one the person he would not want to see in his present condition.
"Rachel."
"That’s me!" she laughs. "What are doing out of class Martin, did you have a fight with the blackboard or something?"
"Something like that," Martin replies awkwardly. "I’m just going to get tidied up."
"Me too," Rachel says, bending down, indicating her knee. "I just had a nasty fall in practice."
Martin looks down and slowly traces the line from the top of Rachel’s pleated netball skirt, along her smooth, white thigh to her knee, which is bleeding badly. The open wound sends a trickle of deep red blood down her toned calf onto her white socks. Martin kneels down and takes a closer look.
"That’s nasty," he says. Rachel nods and notices Martin’s eyes move away from the gash on her knee to the place where her skirt meets her leg. Hypnotised, Martin says in a drone, "May need stitches." In this position, most suited to marriage proposal, their eyes meet. Rachel looks down on the boy who has followed her around for what seems like months, now looking like Leo Sayer in clown make-up, and remembers how cute she thought he was, and how wonderfully subservient and adorable he now looks. Martin remains frozen on his knees, hoping this moment will never end.
Rachel tries to take control of the situation, by making light of their proximity, she says: "You look like you are going to offer me your hand in marriage down there." She continues, "I like it."
Martin’s mouth rises at the corner and he manages an affirming grunt, but still he does not move. Finally, taking pity on the young boy, Rachel says: "I got to go to the nurse’s office now, but maybe we could go out this Saturday."
Martin swallows hard and he chokes out a yes.
"See you then," and she disappears down the corridor, leaving Martin still on his knees. It takes him a few moments to comprehend the events that have just unfolded. Somehow, without making any effort, he has managed to win the hand of the one he has loved for so long. Unfortunately, as he stands up and walks to the toilets, he fails to fully appreciate that this rarely happens in life, and when you haven’t fought to win something, you sure as hell need to fight tooth and nail to keep it.

Later that evening after Martin has served his detention and learned to fully appreciate how stacks are formed by wave erosion, he sits with his three friends on a wall by the swing park. He hasn’t mentioned his date with Rachel, knowing that they would either make a joke about it, or plan to ruin it for him on the day.
"I’m bored," states Billy as if it is his friends’ fault.
"I think I’ll be going home now anyway," Martin says, "it’s getting dark and Reggie Perrin is on tonight."
"Is there ever a night when you’re not watching something on the tele?" Robert asks.
"We like watching the tele, it’s a family thing."
"What?" laughs Billy, "all four of you sat in front of the box, in silence for hours every night; very sociable that."
"It’s true," adds Robert, "the TV is a real conversation killer."
"But we’re all together, that’s what matters," Martin tries to validate his family’s obsession with the best that BBC and ITV can offer. "There’s dead good programs on you know; we like them."
"Martin," Billy commands, "go back to your sad, pathetic life, you’re boring me."
Martin shrugs his shoulders and begins to walk away, "Okay, see you tomorrow then."
"So what are we gonna do now?" asks Noel.
"Let’s go to Robbo’s," Billy answers, "I want to look in his mum’s knickers drawer."
"No, no," stammers Robert, "you can’t do that, anyway she’s in tonight."
"She won’t mind a bit of company. We’ll behave I promise."
Begrudgingly, Robert agrees and they walk in the direction of his house. On the way back through the estate, the three boys play soldiers and try and keep within the shadows of the alleyways, trees and bushes. Every time somebody approaches they stop and hide in the darkness, and then move silently, trying not to be spotted. Noel and Robert are left behind momentarily backed up against a garden fence, as Billy dashes across the road on a daring suicide mission. When he reaches the grass on the other side he does a forward somersault and rolls silently into the shadows again. At that moment car headlights slice through the gloomy estate and Noel and Robert quickly turn their faces towards the fence as if they won‘t be seen, if they themselves cannot see. When the darkness returns, Robert finds himself peering through the gap in the fence at a lighted window in the house beyond. Robert’s eyes focus in time to see a young woman standing in the window. His knees almost give way when he sees her removing her blouse and he punches Noel in the side, whispering: "Look."
Noel is about to protest about the pain in his ribs, when he sees why. "Oh my God!"
The young woman then removes her bra and stands for what seems like an eternity in full view of anyone who cares to walk by.
"This isn’t my house is it?" Noel murmurs. "I didn’t think so, but didn’t want to get a stonker and then find out it’s my mum."
The naked girl walks away from the window and the two boys feel the disappointment drain through their feet, only to be revived when she walks back to her starting position and begins to brush her hair.
"I think I’m gonna spurt in my trousers," Noel says.
"I just wish I could see better," Robert replies, "they’re not very big are they?"
"The perfect size for my mouth," laughs Noel.
"We need binoculars or something."
"My dad’s got some, we’ll have to come back one night."
Robert considers this and nods. "She doesn’t care does she?" asking rhetorically. "She must know people can see her."
"I would love to just go up there, whop my willy out and say, ‘There you go baby’. She would jump right onto it. She must be gagging."
"It’s more likely she’d call the police.. the tiny tail police." Robert acts out the phone call while Noel giggles quietly: "Hello, yes police please. Yes I want to report a missing willy. Oh, it is actually that small? Sorry to bother you, bye."
"I think you’ll find my tail is just the right size."
"Yeah, for a boy of six."
In the distance they suddenly hear Billy shouting them in his own inimitable way, pretending to be a grown up. Robert’s heart sinks for a moment until he realises it is his friend, who he had totally forgotten about. Robert looks around to see where Billy is now, and when he returns his gaze to the window, the light is out.
"Shit!" Noel grunts, "I’d almost finished as well."
Robert gasps, "You weren’t?"
"What?" Noel huffs, "it’s a shame to waste a stiffy."
"You’re an animal."
"Oi!" Billy calls again.
"Let’s not mention this to Billy eh?" Robert appeals to Noel. "We wouldn’t want a big crowd of us when we come back, it’ll look dead suspicious."
"Okay, good idea."
"Where the hell have you two been, sucking each other off?"
"Why Billy? You jealous?"
"Fuck off fatboy."
Robert smiles.
Having negotiated the normally difficult assault course that is Robert’s mum’s barrage of inane questions, the three boys climb the stairs to Robert’s bedroom. When they are all safely inside, Robert closes the door tightly.
"Your mum is actually really good looking Rob," Noel begins, "of all our mums, she would definitely be the one I would do."
"Do?" exclaims Robert. "Can I ask Noel, is there anything you wouldn’t do?"
Noel laughs loudly, "No, I don’t think there is, I want to be a man whore when I grow up!"
"You’ll probably end up a rent boy or a toilet trader; sucking off old men for a tenner." Billy states, sitting down on Robert’s bed and picking up a book that is lying under the pillow.
Robert is standing by his record player, wondering what LP to play, when he hears Billy reading aloud.
"Today felt like Christmas."
Robert spins around like an old 78 RPM record, his face contorted with horror as he sees Billy with his most private journal, which still actually only contains those four words.
"What the hell is this?" Billy asks laughing.
"It’s nothing."
Noel walks across the room and says, "It looks like a book." The two of them look over at Robert, and Robert’s eyes jump from one to the other, to his book and back around again.
"Okay, okay, it is a book," Robert explains. "I started it earlier this year."
"It’s not very long is it?" snorts Noel.
Billy begins laughing and then lets out a big, long fart. "Today smelt like Christmas. That’s a better beginning to your book mate."
Noel begins to wave at the air: "Ugh, that’s horrible."
"Billy!" Robert cries, "I’ve got to sleep there; my head goes just where your arse is."
Billy looks down where he is sitting. "It smells lovely.. mmm, sprouts, ha, ha. Just like Christmas."
Robert begins laughing now as well, "It is funny I suppose."
"Well good luck with book mate," says Billy, "four words a year, you should be finished in…" Billy pretends to count on his fingers.
"Thirty four years," declares Robert.
"You’ll be forty-seven," adds Noel.
"Not very good, is it?"
"No, not really."
"You better get cracking then fatboy."
Robert nods.
"You know what?" Billy starts, suddenly looking serious, "I think I’ve just followed through. Can I use your toilet Rob?"
Robert feels sick; he doesn’t even use the toilet himself in his house. "D’you mind, er.. going home to your toilet Bill.. it’s just.. my mum." Robert swallows hard, beads of sweat building up on his forehead and over his palms. His face is pleading silently with his friend.
"Jesus, calm down Rob!" Billy stands up. "If it’s that much of a problem, I’ll just shit myself."
"Sorry Bill, you know what my mum’s like?"
Billy walks to the door, farting as he walks, leaving Noel to wade through the stench he leaves behind him.
"Sorry Bill," repeats Robert.
"We’ll see ourselves out." And they are gone.
Robert sits down on his bed and wipes his forehead. He looks down at his book and shaking his head, puts it away in the bottom of his drawer.




Property.

He holds onto her hand tightly. He doesn't care that their palms are now hot and sweaty, and her hand no longer feels like a hand, but the tongue of a panting dog. Holding hands is a symbol; it shows the world they are together. He wants the world to know that she belongs to him. As in nature, the dominant male puts on a show for all to see, illustrating to the other bulls, this cow is with me; so it is with boys (and ultimately men), they can only justify their male existence when parading their partners.
However, her mind is not focusing on symbols, she does not identify any earth-shattering statement being made, she is a realist not a dreamer. She feels the sweat on his palm and the breeze lifting her dark hair, not the word ‘property’ being stamped onto her forehead,
And there is silence.
It isn't a grown up silence. An 'I'm not talking to you' type of silence; it's not the 'You've upset me so I'll ignore you' silence.. This silence is the youthful 'I only know how to talk about cars, sharks and girls' private parts, if I keep hold of her hand and smile a lot, that'll be enough, I won't need to say anything at all..' so he squeezes her hand again and grins like a mute idiot.
"Where are we going?" she says finally.
Martin splutters and stutters, he has not anticipated this; the girl leading the conversation. He thinks quickly. Replies spin through his mind: a collection of right, wrong, funny, stupid, witty and nonsensical answers. He is selecting the most appropriate response because he wants to make a good impression on this their first date. He wants her to go home to her friends and say: 'Oh he's simply a ball, we had such a wonderful time, I know he seems quiet but when you really spend time with him he's so funny'.. Martin singles out his answer and delivers it as smoothly as his shaking jaw will allow.
"I dunno Rachel," he says. "I was following you." And he smiles as a drum roll and cymbal crash is heard inside his head; eat your heart out Stan Boardman.
"Well where d'you want to go then?" Rachel says, unaware that Martin had tried to be funny. Martin's smile crumbles, built only on the foundation of an unamusing wisecrack. Like a malfunctioning computer, Martin runs through the other answers, comparing them with the response used, calculating whether another answer would have suited the occasion better, still at a loss to why the full effect of his reply had been missed.. finally the information is processed and Martin understands; he is not funny. So he squeezes her hand and smiles again, and chooses another answer.
"Wherever you want to go," he says at last, deftly passing the ball back onto her side of the court, anxious not to have to make the decision. Much hangs on his answer, after all it is a reflection of his true character.. at the back of his mind in a dark and dingy corner, the voice of true character cries out, 'Take her to the woods dummy, and play I'll show you mine, if you show me yours'.. but it is drowned out by the multitude of other suggestions which Martin is still too shy to let out in case they may show him in an unfavourable light.
"Well I don't mind," she says. "You're the man, you make the decision."
The ball flies over the net once more in the child's game of indecision. The truth is of course, they both know exactly where they want to go; he is happy parading around the estate with his prize, it is his lap of honour.. and she wants to go home, or at least go to the woods and play, ‘You can lift my skirt if you pull your pants down..’ but boys are so immature.
And somehow the human race manages to stumble ever onward, from generation to generation, from these hopeless beginnings. There are no instruction manuals for the early days of courtship, mankind has to trust to instincts that have been deadened by years of civilisation.
The basic error boys make early on is believing that girls are not interested in sex; it is an easy mistake to make. The image of man obsessed by sex, and woman as his obsession is perpetuated by the world and its media—man is the one with his dick in his hand, holding onto a glossy magazine or peering from a darkened cubicle through a stained window, woman is the focus of the attention, detached and unobtainable, arousing men for his pleasure not their own. The fallacy begins in the school playground where boys trade porno mags (usually borrowed or stolen from their fathers or older brothers), the way girls swop beauty and fashion tips. When in fact the girls are unlocking the secrets of sex, and the boys are just adding to an illusion.
Boys are always laughing at knob and fanny jokes, hiding their filthy grins behind dirty hands, and the girls just laugh at the boys. While females hormones are racing through the bodies of young girls like wild horses, producing hair and lumps and a glorious chemical imbalance, boys are still pissing about with toy trains, toy cars and toy guns, and holding onto a semi-erect penis between forefinger and thumb, they dream of Princess Leia. There is nothing more pitiful than the pre-pubescent boy—the teenage crushes, the uncontrollable stiffies and the tiny wet patches in the morning. There is nothing more annoying than this tiresome know-it-all, this selfish, self-centred mercenary little shitty show-off; all men know one, because all men have been one, and at some stage the little show off grows up to become an even bigger show off.. sometimes it's hard being a man.
The girl turns for home and Martin squeezes her hand. His mind is whirling out of control like a waltzer when the ride owner is spinning the carriage, and he eventually blurts out: "D'you fancy coming to the woods Rachel?"
"Yes," she says. "Yes I would."
He said it. He asked the question. Sometimes that's all it takes. Poor boys, so scared of being turned down, they deny themselves so much. It is better to ask and be humiliated, than never to ask at all; because there will come a time, my sweet boy, when you ask the right person, someone who has nothing better to do than piss about in a wood one afternoon.
A smile grows on the faces of the two children; a single smile that begins on the lips of the girl, and comes to a natural conclusion at Martin's toothy grin. He squeezes her hand for good measure and they both skip along. Rachel's smile grows out of curiosity, and more precisely, the expectation of that curiosity satisfied; she believes Martin will be the one. Rachel has made this trip before in similar circumstances, and on both occasions she has carried with her a willingness to take the next step on the road to maturity. Her initial partner had been an all mouth and no taking his trousers down. Martin will be different; he's a no-mouth.
Martin wears an anxious grin to disguise the debate that rages inside his head. Dozens of arguments bounce from brain cell to brain cell, all unconnected but linked by the underlying tension of a boy swimming out of his depth; walking through the estate is familiar territory, holding sweaty hand against hand is nothing new. Martin looks ahead into uncharted waters and finds his feet do not reach the bottom, he is alone with a girl, there are no distractions, only what is in his head and what is in her head. Rachel thinks about Martin; Martin thinks about Rachel —one of them is in control and it isn't Martin.
Martin is lost in reflection, images flash across his mind of the forthcoming scene in the woods.. a semi-naked girl giggling uncontrollably, the flushed face of a boy, his hands covering his privates. Martin thinks of the small package in his underpants and his willy curls up and withdraws into his body. Martin does not want to be found out, it is as simple as that. Boys are always bursting with boasts about all manner of things, but usually about their infinite sexual capacity. Martin will soon be in the spotlight on an opening night without so much as a dress rehearsal or even an audition, his leading lady will wait patiently at first for her cue and when her partner fails to deliver, she will add Martin's name to her list of hopeless inadequates. This is the boy's deepest fear.
And all the time the woods draw ever closer; the line of trees acting as a clearly defined border.. between light and dark, inexperience and experience, boy and man. Martin is digging himself deeper and deeper into a hole, he can feel cold sores bubbling up under his lips as the tension builds and shudders through his body. He could stop the scene whenever he wants; but he doesn't, he stumbles blindly onward. The charade continues, not because Martin is too afraid to back out and live to regret his actions, but because there is a possibility that this may be the second greatest day of his life. Darkness clouds Martin's mind, images of failure and embarrassment.. but in the midst of that blackness there is a shaft of light so glorious that he cannot tear himself away from it. The vision holds the smile on Martin's face, fastens his hand around hers, forces his heart to pump ferociously, sucks the saliva from his mouth leaving an arid orifice. The focus of Martin's obsession is an image of a girl, her flesh exposed, her desires satisfied at his own fingertips, the future, once dark and inexplicable, suddenly clear and open to him.
Rachel is far more practical. She knows today is a day like any other; maybe things will work out, maybe they won't—it doesn't really matter, there will be other days.. other boys. She understands the beauty of learning and how great a commodity experience is. She is in control, completely. Like an explorer Rachel conquers virgin territory, but she is not blundering, every move is calculated.
Martin's doubts and Rachel's convictions neither lift the leaves on the branches of the trees, nor stir the grass at their feet. The scene is silent except for a slight breeze that tips the treetops lightly, and ushers white clouds on through the blue sky. The world rolls on. Rachel is right—tomorrow comes around far too fast to load every minute with an unjustified significance; it is best to live life and love every moment, not dissect it. Martin is a facts and figures boy, a top speed and maximum brake horsepower possessed fool; he measures life and makes endless calculations which will come to nothing but regret.. regret at making lists of ingredients, rather than tasting life. It is a curious condition; a boy that looks beyond the present trying to prepare for events to come and not enjoying the moments before him. His attempt to stay in control pulls him way out of control. Rachel should tell him but she is running on instinct and wouldn't be able to spell it out for Martin.. could not begin to make him understand. So they remain silent.
And as the outstretched arms of the sentinel trees receive the two young lovers, Martin drifts into reverie and looks ahead into the distant, distant future; beyond the next few minutes, beyond today, far beyond prediction. He pictures toothpaste tubes squeezed in the middle instead of at the bottom, pubic hairs left on the soap and around the plughole, the toilet seat always left down, birthday and Christmas shags in an otherwise empty and barren year, arguments about wallpaper and curtains or the way to pronounce tortoise or tooth, followed by painful silences and sleeping back to back with a cold gap down the centre of the bed, like the space left by a broken tooth.
"Martin."
And the boy wakes. He is standing in a dark corner of the woods with his hands up a girl's T-shirt. He tries to withdraw his arm but Rachel is holding it in position with both hands; she feels his struggle but only tightens her grip on his wrist. Martin senses the warm skin at his fingertips and it only serves to focus his mind on the chill that is running up and down his spine. He closes his fingers over Rachel's nipple and instead of directing his attention on Rachel and her reactions, the boy stares blankly into the trees. Emotions snap through his body but Martin is miles away thinking about the big-breasted snowman with its nipples melted by a warm-blooded schoolboy.
"Kiss me," she says.
Martin tugs his hand away from under Rachel's T-shirt and his arms hang at a neutral position at his side.
"Kiss me!" she says again. Rachel senses Martin's apprehension and feels let down. She tries to provoke some kind of response, attempting to wake the male within the child; but she can't. Rachel really likes Martin, but now she is fuelled by frustration and all she wants to do is smash his head in; slap him into action. She desperately wants to remove the blank expression from his face and replace it with a smile. Right now Martin looks like a startled hedgehog caught in the path of a ten-tonne truck, too frightened to move, too stupid to do anything at all except stare, his short uneventful life flashing before his eyes in less than a second.
In an unusual and rare reversal of roles, Rachel considers force; the girl taking without consent, the boy thinking of England. Her hands fall to Martin's waist and she hooks her thumbs into his trousers, ready to pull them down with a violating yank. Rachel's mind clouds over with disappointment and desire, and she loses herself. Martin blinks heavily, headlights reflecting off his clear blue eyes; there is a screech of brakes and.. BANG! Martin feels Rachel's cold, dry lips on his cheek; smells the schoolgirl at his side and senses her back away.
Rachel unhooks herself from the schoolboy's trousers and steps away leaving Martin unmolested. There will be other times. Poor bastard, she thinks, he's messed up enough as it is. Martin lifts his hand to his face and touches the warm lip print on his cheek—his first kiss.. so that's what it's all about! A kiss. A connection. A union. A single moment that hangs in the air when flesh touches flesh; a charge of electricity snapping from synapse to synapse, causing goose pimples to rise and tingle over the skin.
"Goodbye Martin."
And she is gone.
Rachel tucks her T-shirt back into her waistband of her skirt, straightens her dark hair and without looking back, walks toward the light at the edge of the wood. Martin is still glued to the spot, soaking in the atmosphere, trying to record every detail and every emotion of his first kiss. He only notices he is alone when he sees Rachel step out from the shadows of the trees and into daylight.
"She kissed me!" he whispers.
It is ironic that the term 'race' as well as describing a group of people, also means a contest—one competing against another, and there is an obsession amongst members of the human race for competition; someone has to win, someone has to be the first, and the first in every aspect of life. Infants race to be walkers and talkers, egged on by all; the air full of Don't be such a baby and For Christ's sake grow up. The initial push at this early age remains with us all. Children rush to be adults, they storm through their early teens desperately reaching for an unsupported maturity, and their peers are the competitors.. no-one wants to be a child for very long. Nobody wants to be seen as immature, we all want to be accepted in a grown-up world.
And if we don't quite fit in, the great deception begins, the insignificant untruths slip out and soon a new life is manufactured that is more in keeping with those around you (whose lives are also a tangled web of deceit), a new life in which you are older and wiser.. and cooler; a life where you actually shag the girl in the woods, and your willy is over nine inches long, and you swear in front of your mum and dad.. when in fact the girl only kissed you, your dick hangs almost flush with your belly like a small invertebrate, and your mum still tucks you in at night and chooses your underpants.
And as you grow up, the white lies grow up with you and there comes a time you believe your own propaganda (after all you have to convince yourself before you sound convincing to others), images of the fabricated truth conceal what actually happened and the reality is forgotten—the survivors rewrite history.. and all because we are desperate to fit in.
"She snogged me.. tongue and everything!" Martin's great deception begins. "At one point, I had a hand on her tit and she had hers in my trousers." Naturally, the best lies are rooted in the truth.
"No?" Robert begins to smile.
"She hasn't got any tits," interjects Noel.
"You're a lying bastard Martin!" Billy is not taken in for a moment by Martin's story and moreover, he doesn't want to be taken in, if Martin has had this girl, it is one step up the ladder from himself.
"No I'm not," Martin replies. "It really happened."
"Bollocks."
"Why don't we ask Rachel?"
"No!" Martin explodes.
"See, he's made it up." Billy drags Martin back to the bottom rung with a single defiant look.
"It's not that.." Martin thinks quickly. "I just don't want her to know that you know."
"Bollocks, and bollocks again."
Billy walks away followed by Noel, he looks back and calls to Martin. "If you had shagged her," Billy laughs. "You wouldn't have told us." And he turns away.
Martin sighs deeply feeling totally transparent in front of his friend. He can lie to himself but he is an open book to everyone else; and not even a cool book either, just a Janet and John story in which they don't even get naked.
Robert touches his friend's shoulder and Martin wakes.
"So what's it like?" he asks, his eyebrows bouncing up and down on his forehead and his eyes wide open in anticipation. Martin feels more confident now with Billy and Noel gone, and he puts an arm around Robert, drawing him into his fictional world.
"Well.." Martin pauses for dramatic effect. "D'you remember that snowman we made, the one with the great gazoobers?"
Robert holds out his hands as if he is weighing bags of sugar. He smiles, "Yeah, yeah!"
"It's like that.. but a lot warmer."
Robert looks a little confused at first, but then a grin grows across his face.
"Brilliant," he says.