Leopard Print Girl...... Exposed........... Swings and Roundabouts..... Birthday Boy

Leopard Print Girl.

For two weeks Martin has been in a daze. Emotions have flowed from his brain to his genitals and back again, and then back down to his genitals, in a constant self-sustaining motion. He has paced around in a perpetual state of arousal, like a walking hard-on. Martin's mind is still full of images of Debbie Harry and he feels as if she belongs to him, as if he alone has discovered her and stuck a flag into her summit—the fool that he is, Martin is convinced he has a connection with her and only the two of them share the secret of her stunning presence, that when she sings she is singing for him, and when she stares into a camera lens, it is him she sees. He professes undying love, and like any other adolescent he worships the image without ever considering the real person, the real Ms Harry..
but Martin will soon feel the world he has built on delusions and fantasy, crumble, and the cold, wet slap of reality will sting his cheek. He will find he is one amongst millions, that his dreams are no different from anyone around him, and that he is as desperately unoriginal as the next man.
Martin can feel the buzz of excitement emanating from his friends as he approaches them from across the park. He can sense from the way Noel jumps and fidgets around Billy, that his boyish enthusiasm is positively overflowing. Martin hears Robert's deep, belly laugh and is irritated to find himself excluded.
He can just catch Billy's voice and a few stray words: cor, tits, great arse; followed by another laugh and Noel jerking and holding his crotch. Martin is intrigued; he wonders what could possibly provoke such a reaction in his friends?
"Hey lads," Martin calls out. "What's going on?"
Billy spins around holding a record sleeve in his hand. "Martin! You have got to see this," he shouts excitedly.
"This woman is fantastic," Noel cries out in agreement. "I feel a stirring from within.. my bell-end beckons. Come on baby!"
"You're so coarse Noel," says Robert.
"Ah bollocks to you!" Noel replies. "I can't help it if I have animal urges."
"Yeah, animal.. that's about right."
"What is it?" Martin asks.
"Look at the arse on that."
Billy thrusts the seven inch square record sleeve into Martin's hand, and the word 'that' rings in his ears as he discovers the object of interest is something very close to his heart.
Martin doesn't recognise the woman on the cover immediately, like his friends he is initially transfixed by the incredible curve of her backside, and the shape of her breasts as they jut out through the full-length, long-sleeved leopard skin dress. Martin then looks at the face, and the name of the band, and the title of the song. He flips the record over and his worst fears are confirmed; there she is, standing with her band in the same leather boots she wore on Top of the Pops—the love of his life, Miss Debbie Harry.
Martin looks at the cover again, and he cannot deny it, her arse has been blessed, by all the angels in heaven and more importantly, by the one in hell. Martin looks up at his friends' grinning faces and adds his own inane smile to the collection.
"What d'you think?" asks Billy. "I found it in Woolies today—I don't know what it sounds like. I just liked her so much I had to have it. She's a darling don't you reckon?"
"Definitely," says Martin softly.
Noel takes the record from Martin, and pointing at the sleeve says: "See, what you gotta do is stand just here," Noel indicates the space behind Debbie Harry, "and then you hold onto her hips and.." Noel starts jerking his crotch in and out. "Ooh yeah!"
Robert raises his eyes to the heavens and shakes his head. "Unbelievable," he says.
"Have some of this," Noel continues, his tiny balls rocking back and forth in his underpants.
Billy snatches back his record, "Get off, you fuckin weirdo. As if she'd let your pathetic little cock anywhere near her."
"She'd love it," Noel laughs, "I'd slap that little arse of hers and grab those big nips.."
"You've been reading too many of your dad's porno mags again," interrupts Billy.
Robert laughs out. "Reading!" he says, "Noel can barely read his own name."
"Up yours fatty."
Martin has remained quiet all this time, trying to make sense of his emotions; he should be thrilled that for once his friends are all in agreement. He should be enjoying their wonderful union of thought as they all concentrate without interruption on the marvel that is Deborah Harry. But Martin feels sick. This morning, Martin had her all to himself, she was his secret.
If anyone should be spreading the good word about her blessed breasts, it should be me, he thinks.
Today, like every other day, Martin woke from a dream about her, and could feel her warm body next to his own.. now he can only picture Noel and the others beside her, banging her from behind and hanging off her erect nipples. A cold shiver runs up the length of Martin's back.
"Ugh!" he says, and then realises he has said it out loud.
"What's the matter mate?" asks Billy.
"Oh nothing," replies Martin, "I was just dreaming."
"You're always dreaming."

Zzzzzzz

And Martin's dreams of the last couple of weeks become an embarrassing memory. He feels foolish for investing his emotions in something as fickle and capricious as a crush, making it out to be something greater; elevating it to the dizzy heights of genuine love, when it is simply lust. In his mind, Martin had placed the object of his desire upon a pedestal so he could worship at her feet; he now sees quite clearly that she is up there, so he can peer up the length of her legs and look at her knickers. It is an attraction based solely on the physical, because that is all Martin has. The head can often fool the heart, and the heart can often rule the head, but they can both be easily deceived and yet simultaneously deceive.. the balls however, are always brutally honest, bursting into action with unquestionable integrity. Martin's original intentions may have been sincere, but now he sees he is really just the same as Noel (and every other man in the world): he wants to stand behind her and jerk his crotch back and forth.
Martin at least can admit this to himself, but still the truth is no less painful, because this is not the way Martin wants to be. He wants to be mature and sophisticated, not juvenile or base. He also thinks this sensitive façade will make him more appealing to the opposite sex. But Martin forgets that he is a male of the species, and men are simple beings with basic needs, controlled all too often by instincts set in place long ago to ensure the survival of mankind. Martin does not want to admit to harbouring the prehistoric man within, he knows well enough that the world will continue to turn without the flow of his testosterone, or the addition of his own offspring. Martin is a thinking boy and hopes that he has evolved enough to behave rationally and responsibly, to show restraint and have control.. always control.
Martin breathes in deeply, and releases the Debbie Harry incarcerated within his heart, and shares her with the world; he does so reluctantly, knowing full well she is out there anyway, and in his present position, unobtainable. Disappointment floods through Martin's body and he feels a little sick. Believing this to be his heart breaking, Martin makes his excuses to his friends and leaves dramatically, looking rather pathetic as he staggers home, his face as long as the day.
The heart is a resilient little muscle, and it continues banging away in Martin's chest despite the day to day knocks and aches and strains placed upon it by Martin's ever-increasing fantasies. It seems capable of coping with every desire, infatuation or crush, and their subsequent disappointments, as well as its fundamental function pumping four and a half litres of blood around the body every minute.. maybe it's because the heart only acts a symbol for love and passion, that it can maintain such a staggeringly consistent record, leaving the brain (where the soul is truly located) to deal with all the real pain.
Twenty years will pass and Martin will fall in and out of love at a rate of three times a day; with women on the bus, women at the supermarket, women he doesn't know, and will never know or see again. His heart will pound beneath his ribs on every occasion, only to endure disappointment after disappointment, with a simple dum-dum, dum-dum, dum-dum.. in contrast, Blondie will rise through the ranks from their position as an underground post-punk, new wave, pop band, to become one of the biggest and most successful names in popular music.. and then as tastes alter they will plummet into the realms of a beautiful obscurity, only to re-emerge over a decade later stronger, older and wiser, and still with unquestionable style and credibility.
One day in the future, Martin will realize one of his ambitions and stand in the same room as Debbie Harry, he will still feel the hairs stand up on the back of his neck and his heart bang in his chest, as Clem Burke batters his drums on the intro to "Denis". He will see her skip across a floodlit stage, and remember and relive the thrill of the first time he discovered the tingling sensation in his ballbag that is lust, and then lost it to a million other souls.




Exposed.

There is a smell of newly cut grass that will act like a time machine on each occasion its heavy scent enters Martin’s senses. It will transport him back to a period of his life when summers seemed to last an eternity, and every new event was like a voyage of discovery that would later become embedded in his memory. It is a smell that will not alter over the decades and, because of its consistency, is always a powerful trigger for Martin’s memories and emotions.
Of the five senses, for Martin, the sense of smell will become the most powerful and untainted (his eyes will suffer from myopia; his ears from tinnitus; his taste buds will become dulled by years of chilli powder abuse; and his sense of touch will be corrupted, taken for granted and finally all but lost). His nose, however, will never lose its potency or its influence on the brain, and Martin will store a myriad of odours, strong aromas that affect him and become associated with whatever circumstances happened to occur at the time—a woman’s perfume, only ever caught on the breeze, so he never knows its name, a scent that conjures up images of style and beauty only because of its sense of mystery; the smell of rain on warm concrete after a cloudburst in the middle of summer; the salt and vinegar stink under his sweating bollocks; the smell of wood burning fires, from the chimneys of rows of terraced houses that remind him of holidays spent with his extended family in Liverpool and the smell of minty toothpaste that invokes images of his Gran‘s house there; Martin’s keen sense also notices the faint onion smell from stale towels; the smell of trees that will outlive the feel of bark against the skin; and the smell of a newly lit cigarette, which will always take Martin back to the day when his pathetic and weak body cheated him out of a valuable lesson in growing up.. again... and worse still, the lesson is experienced by his three friends, who talk about nothing else for months to come, leaving Martin to feel even more left out than usual.
For weeks, Billy, Noel, Martin and Robert have been scavenging bins and gutters, ashtrays and floors for the butt-ends of cigarettes and cigars—they are trying to assemble enough tobacco scraps to construct a homemade cigarette of their own. Occasionally they may get lucky and are able to steal a whole one from a newly opened packet of their parents, but this operation is particularly fraught with danger, as to be caught would subject them to the contradictory lesson in how bad smoking is for you. The reality is, that it is difficult for a twelve-year-old to form any kind of serious nicotine addiction, when the effort required to fulfil the habit, far outweighs the actual pleasure experienced. However, for the boys, smoking has become fashionable; it is a sign of maturity; a test.. a rite of passage.
It is curious how an action that incorporates setting fire to dried, processed leaves and then inhaling the smoke and fumes deep into your lungs, can become an international pastime. And better still, not only is it initially not enjoyable (no immediate giddy highs, like the hit from sweet, sweet chocolate), but the warnings about its fatal side effects are printed clearly on the packaging—it must surely be that cigarettes and smoking are a sign of age (not necessarily maturity), but a indication that you are a grown up, and this is a contributing factor to the reason why four little boys, with not even a single pube between them, demean themselves by trawling through shit and rubbish in order to participate in the single most cause of lung cancer the world has known.
The media must also share some of the blame; they overwhelm our senses with images of beautiful, thoughtful, cool, sexy people with cigarette tips hanging gently from pouting lips. In the films of the 1930’s and 1940’s, everyone smokes, it was as natural then as wearing a hat. In the decades to follow it was the rebel who took over as the torch bearer for the tobacco companies, making it even cooler to smoke, and a whole new generation was introduced to the joys of sucking smoke through a filter, and the subsequent dizzy nausea.
These signals from the media are very powerful and when the seemingly innocent summer blockbuster of 1978 shows the metamorphosis of a dull teenager, from squeaky clean ‘A’ student to dirty biker chick, they emphasize her newfound coolness by immediately jabbing a ciggie in her mouth. Is it any wonder that four easily manipulated boys soon find their attentions drawn to those little innocuous cancer sticks, after all they have practised for years with the little packets of sweet, chewy cigarettes and the stench of smoke is all around them; in their houses, in the street, in pubs and restaurants—cigarettes have replaced religion as the opium of the Godless working class, so how can they resist?
Four pairs of small, grubby hands empty the contents of their trouser pockets into Billy’s coat, which is laid flat and spread out on the ground in a small clearing of the wood. The results of a month’s scavenging now lies before them; lipstick stained dog-ends, scraps of tobacco, bent and broken cigarettes. Billy smiles down at the contents of his coat and picks up a seemingly intact cigarette, only to find it is ripped at the filter and hangs down, flapping like a broken arm. He shrugs and unwraps the tobacco from its paper casing, carefully placing the brown shreds into a separate pile. The others follow his example, silently and carefully, and after a few minutes there is a healthy pile of tobacco.
"So what do we do now?" Noel asks seriously.
"Well," Billy begins smiling, "we roll it up into a big, long sausage shape and stuff it up your rectum, and then we take turns smoking it out of your arse."
Noel shakes his head, knowing that he has one over on his friend, while Martin and Robert snigger uncontrollably. "It’s just," Noel continues nonetheless, "we haven’t got any filter papers."
Billy’s forehead furrows and he sighs heavily: "Shit."
"Didn’t think of that," Robert whispers.
"No you didn’t, did you fatboy?" Billy roars.
"None of us did," Martin interrupts, secretly quite relieved that he won’t have to reveal his inadequacies of smoking in front of his peers.
"Hasn’t anyone got any paper?" Noel asks. "I mean, paper would work wouldn’t it.. normal paper?"
Robert nods, "It would do the job.."
"But taste like shit," Billy finishes his friend’s sentence.
"I haven’t got any paper on me, I‘ve only got tissues," Martin says looking from face to face. Billy and Noel shake their heads and look at Robert, who looks away nervously.
"Surely," starts Billy, "surely the bookworm hasn’t got his book with him today? Can we be that lucky?" Billy and Noel launch themselves at Robert, reaching into his coat pocket as Robert struggles in vain. "Bingo!" Billy cries out as he withdraws Robert‘s treasured copy of ‘The Time Machine‘.
"No," pleads Robert. "It’s my favourite book."
"You’ve read it haven’t you?" asks Noel. "Well then, you don’t need all the pages anymore do you.. we only need a few sheets anyway you big baby."
Billy starts ripping pages out of the middle of the book and Robert grimaces, his eyes closing as if in pain. "Don’t, don’t," he whispers.
Martin puts his hands over Billy’s, trying to cover the violation of his friend’s property, and manages to remove the book from Billy’s fingers. Martin recovers the torn pages and puts them back in place. He then flicks to the front and back of the book and pulls out the blank pages there. "It’s better to use one’s without ink on; the ink’s bad for you." Martin gives the pages to Billy and hands the book back to Robert who holds the damaged volume to his chest.
Billy shakes his head at Robert’s sentimentality and then looks at Martin. "I don’t know if you heard Martin, but smoking is bad for you, inky pages or not, you dumb goldfish."
Carefully, Billy tears the pages of Robert’s book into small squares and then begins to roll the edges. He then sprinkles the second hand tobacco scraps onto the papers and skilfully rolls up handmade cigarettes. Handing them out, he says, "Keep tight hold of them, cos I can’t get the ends to stick down and if you let go, they’ll fall apart." His three friends nod, obeying his command with intense gravitas. Billy pulls a box of matches from his pocket as Noel lifts the cigarette to his lips, Martin and Robert hold back nervously. "Come on you two losers, they won’t smoke themselves." Billy strikes the first match and puts the flame to Noel’s tip… and there it is, the aroma that will stay with Martin for a lifetime; the smell of sulphur igniting as the match scratches across the rough side of the matchbox, followed by the intoxicating odour of freshly burnt tobacco. Martin looks at Noel as he sucks the flame into the cigarette until the tip is bright orange and then blows dark smoke from his mouth. Noel smiles manfully and Martin has a strange sensation of being here before—the feeling of déjà vu. It is described as a moment in time repeating itself endlessly and comes from the French meaning literally "already seen". It suggests that the world is on a neverending cycle, running through the same mistakes, the same sunsets, the same jokes. However, there is a simple biological explanation, and scientists argue that when a moment or experience passes directly into our long term memory, bypassing short term memory (as everything must do when entering our senses), it gives the brain the feeling that the moment has come out of our deep memory, as if recalled from an earlier experience, when really it is nothing of the kind... sometimes science can take all of the wonder out of life.
Martin considers that this moment in his life is pivotal, which is why he feels he has already experienced the scene before. He watches as Robert has his cigarette lit for him and waits for Billy to strike the third match; his match. Martin lifts his cigarette as the small flame approaches. Robert and Noel are puffing like chimneys, but are not inhaling as they have already felt the burn at the back of their throats and have suppressed the choke that brought tears to their eyes. Martin sucks hard on the end of his cigarette and the tobacco and paper flare up. He draws a mouthful of smoke deep into his lungs and then sucks again before his breath is taken away by the mixture of thick paper and stale tobacco. Tears bubble up into Martin’s eyes and his face burns a bright red until he coughs the smoke back out of his body. During the convulsion he lets go of the lit cigarette which drops into the folds of Billy’s coat. Noel slaps Martin’s back with his free hand saying, "It’s fuckin great isn’t it?" Martin coughs again, trying to spit out the smoke from his throat and get rid of the burn across the roof of his mouth. He nods, smiling as his eyes also turn blood red.
"Big fuckin girl," Billy says before looking down at the hole being burnt into the lining of his coat. "Shit!" he screams as he pats out the small fire started by Martin’s cigarette. "You’ve burnt my coat you freak." Robert sits calmly through the commotion, enjoying the feeling of nicotine flooding through his veins. His whole life has been spent as a passive smoker and he finally is able to delight in the experience in a non-passive capacity. "This is really nice."
"The pages are really burning my throat," says Noel, while Martin continues to choke loudly, nodding in agreement with Noel.
Now that Billy has managed to stop the spread of fire through his coat, he lights his own cigarette and inhales. He pulls a pained face and says, "That is bloody horrible, I think I can taste Robert’s shitty fingers on the paper."
Martin finally recovers and standing up, walks off into the trees to recover. "I feel terrible," he says.
"You only had one puff, you puff," Billy cries out after him.
"I could really go for this big style," Roberts says feeling very happy with himself.
Billy nods, impressed by his friend’s unquestionable flair with a cigarette. "I can picture you with one of those long ciggie holders that posh knobs had in the old days." Robert smiles, pleased that at last he has impressed his friend at doing something Billy thinks is cool.
"It doesn’t half burn when you get near the end," Noel says, spitting out bits of tobacco that have stuck to his tongue.
"No filter," states Billy as he flicks his lit dog end into the trees. "Where has that spaz gone?
Martin wanders deep into the wood to get away from the sunlight, his head still spinning while his stomach turns over like a washing machine drum. He stops, and balancing against a tree he is sick down his leg. Too dazed to notice, he sits down and closes his eyes.
Billy stands up to see if he can see Martin through the shadows of the wood, but can’t remember in which direction his friend went. Suddenly he sees a white shape appear on the path approaching the clearing and squints to see if it is Martin. Billy thinks he is hallucinating for a moment as the shape turns into a girl.
When Martin wakes, he instinctively looks at his watch. Focusing on the hands on the dial, he realises he has been asleep for over an hour. He rubs his head and wiping his eyes, Martin gets to his feet. He notices the dried sick on his trousers and shakes his head, remembering what has transpired moments ago, even though it feels like a lifetime. Martin stumbles back towards his friends and almost falls over Robert who is squatting against a tree with his trousers down by his ankles.
"Bloody hell," Martin cries out, averting his eyes from Robert‘s big white arse. "I didn’t see you there."
"I wondered when you would wake up," Robert says. "Can I have those tissues you said you had Mart, please?"
"Yeah," says Martin, throwing the tissues from his pocket in Robert’s general direction, before walking back to the clearing.
"By the way," Roberts calls after him, "you’ve just missed something special.. you really missed something."
When Martin reaches Noel and Billy, his friends are laughing and giggling as Billy holds his forefinger under Noel’s nose.
"What’s going on?" asks Martin.
"Where’ve you been?" Noel enquires, not really interested in the answer, as he knows nothing Martin could have been doing would be any better than what they have just experienced. "You just missed the best thing ever."
Martin looks from Noel to Billy, who smiles and lifts his finger under Martin’s nose.
"Smell that," Billy offers.
Martin looks suspicious and looks at Noel who nods vigorously. Martin holds Billy’s hand and inhales. "It just smells sweaty, or like salt and vinegar crisps."
"That is a fanny," Billy states matter-of-factly.
"You know Louise," Noel starts, "well she just walks up to us, and says if we let her have a drag on our fag, she’ll show us her fanny.. so we did, and she did. I couldn‘t believe it."
"Louise?"
"Yeah, and not only that… she let Bill touch it. No word of a lie; un-be-f‘in-lieveable. I mean we all a good inspection and she was loving it. And she just says to Bill, ‘you can put your fingers inside if you want‘, or something like that.. and Bill was like, fuckin yes."
"It’s true," Billy says, a little more coy than usual.
"Why didn’t you call me?" Martin whines.
"Listen Mart, mate; you were the last thing on our minds when she pulls up her skirt. No knickers! Bang, have some of that."
Robert stumbles across the clearing to where they are standing: "Are you telling him about the fanny?" Billy and Noel nod excitedly.
"I can’t believe you didn’t call me."
"We didn’t want to frighten her off," Robert offers, trying to console his friend, who he can see is not only still a little green from the cigarette, but also sick with envy. Martin shakes his head.
There are stages in a boy’s life that determine his future, and for Martin this has been one of them. A woman’s body is still an absolute mystery to him, as his only guide so far has been glossy magazines, which publish lies and print pictures that in fact are a twisted reality. Martin wants truth, he desires above all else the absolute facts that only come from personal experience. However, this episode has forced Martin’s sexuality deep within his psyche and it will retreat even further as he becomes more nervous around the opposite sex. He knows that if today he had been witness to woman’s most secret place, he would not be afraid to return; now however, having missed the invitation, he feels that he would not be able to find it with an A to Z. Martin’s fear of the unknown will make him impotent in front of women, and worse still his insecurity means he will rarely be able to satisfy himself.
"Still, one of you could have got me."
"Martin," Robert says softly, "she’s always getting her bits out isn’t she? You wait, she’ll be around again, don’t you worry."
But Robert is wrong, Louise has carried out her experiment on man and from this day forward, gives herself only to those that deserve her attention, which unfortunately for Martin, will never be him.
"Martin?" asks Billy. "Did you know you had sick all down your trousers?"
"Yes."
"So not only are you a gay with cigarettes," Noel begins, "you are also a spaz cos you puked on yourself, and you are also gayer, cos you missed out on the fanny."
"Hmmm," Martin replies dryly.
"I have to say Noel," says Billy, "that Louise’s fanny is a lot more tidy than you mum’s box, which is like slices of ham dangling between her legs."
"Yeah, yeah; that joke is getting old now."
"You like ham sarnies don’t you Mart?" Billy asks, rubbing the top of Martin’s head. "So you can keep Noel’s old ma, and we’ll keep lovely Louise’s tight little tidy box.. you’re happy with that, Robert?"
Robert pats Martin on the back, "There’ll be other times, just keep awake a little longer next time."
"I’ll never touch another fag again."
"There," Noel cries out, as they all begin to walk home, "you heard it, he is gay, he just said ‘I’ll never touch another fag’."
Martin nods his head solemnly.




Swings and Roundabouts.

When Martin first saw Rachel he felt a deep attraction for her. An attraction not coloured by desire, or tainted by lust, but one that was true. He pictured a beautiful loving relationship and imagined flowers and poetry and long walks together, hand in hand. There is something very different about Martin's feelings towards Rachel, he doesn't consider her a candidate for the Readers' Wives section like Noel's mum; he is not thinking about her sex, or even feeling guilty about thinking about her sex; nor is she as unobtainable as an American pop-star or as undesirable as Louise and her insatiable appetite for stimulation; and certainly not as cold and frigid as his snow-woman (or so he hopes). Rachel is a vision of purity and beauty, and right there before his very eyes; and Martin is desperately in love.. or certainly in love with the idea of being in love.
"Rachel, Rachel, Rachel," he whispers to himself, the sound of her name caressing his ears, tickling his fancy and clouding his judgement. Martin watches her across the swing-park standing amongst a group of friends and wonders how it would be possible to get close to her, to be a part of that group rather than just apart. He is painfully aware that although they know of each other, they both mix in entirely different circles and it would take more courage than Martin can muster to break away from his own clique and invade hers. So instead, he sits alone and watches and dreams. His eyes gently follow the curve of her soft round cheeks, stroke her neck and smooth her long, dark hair; he notices and admires the shape of her body below her jumper, but does not dwell there, adopting an almost puritanical air, trying to control his boyish temptations with a more mature and moral outlook on life.
Suddenly, as if breaking a spell, a boy that Martin does not recognise approaches the group of girls and shouts something that Martin does not quite catch, but Rachel and her girlfriends giggle and Martin feels an indescribable sickness build up in his stomach.
"What are you up to?"
Martin looks up startled, as Robert silently steps toward him and sits down.
"I dunno," Martin mumbles, "just sitting."
Martin looks over at Rachel and watches as the unknown boy entertains her by falling over and dancing around, knocking into the girls playfully, touching their bottoms to screams and whoops of delight and disgust.
"Who is that?" Martin asks.
"Who?"
"That bastard over there."
"I think he's that girl’s brother," Robert says, pointing across the park. Martin nods, not really that interested.
"Bastard.. why does he have to be so.."
"Popular?" offers Robert.
"No," replies Martin, "..big."
"What's the matter anyway?"
Martin does not answer, he just stares at Rachel and the smile on her face, and longs to be the one that placed it there. Robert follows the direction of Martin's gaze, and notices the sadness in his eyes as he watches Rachel's every move.
"Why don't you talk to her?" asks Robert innocently.
"Are you mad?" Martin blurts out, before he realizes he has confirmed Robert's suspicions and shattered his own secret. "She hardly even knows me," Martin continues gloomily.
"Exactly," Robert replies rationally, suggesting Martin's next move. Offering advice is easy for Robert because he knows full well, he will never have to act on it himself. He feels fat and ugly and is certain that no one will ever invest their emotions in him to the extent that bodily fluids are exchanged. "Talk to her," he adds, nudging Martin softly in the ribs.
"It's not that easy.. what will I say?"
"You'll think of something; she's only human after all."
The two boys sit, and sit.. wait, and wait. Martin's stomach churns each time the group of girls move, like a flock of birds, over toward him; shrieking and laughing, singing and skipping, oblivious to the small heart breaking beside them.
Finally Robert can stand no more and he says: "D'you want me to ask her for you?"
"Huh!" Martin exclaims, genuinely frightened now. "Ask her what?"
"You know...?"
"No, no, no."
"What's the matter?" asks Robert.
"What kind of boy would she think I was, getting a friend to ask her out for me?"
Robert shrugs, "It's better than sitting here dithering like an old maid; you don't want to be seen as a ditherer do you?"
"I suppose not."
Robert stands up and is about to approach Rachel as her group walk past, but instead he stops as Rachel looks across at them, as if for the first time and says: "Hello Martin.. hello Robert." And then she disappears behind the two boys on her way home.
Martin reaches up and grabs Robert's hand, stopping him from following her and spoiling this perfect moment.
"She noticed me!" Martin splutters. "Did you hear? She said my name.. I've got something to work with now. I think I will talk to her."
"Go on then," says Robert.
"Not now!" cries Martin, "I need to plan a strategy."
Robert shakes his head as Martin dashes off home engrossed in his own little world. Robert may be young, but he has read enough books to know that in matters of the heart, having a clear-cut plan is far less important than recognizing an opportunity and seizing it with both hands, rather than letting it slip away untouched.
~
Martin is in a state of confusion; the excitement felt at the swing park has now dwindled into plain reality. He is aware of the simple fact that Rachel said hello (and more importantly said hello to him first) and this is his reality. However, Martin's imagination then stretches that Hello to have a multitude of meanings; everything from.. where have you been all my life, to.. I want your children. And all Martin is sure of, is that he wants to be with Rachel more than anything else in the whole world, and this feeling creates a sickness in the pit of his stomach that stops him thinking about anything but her.
The following day, the sickness turns into an all-consuming ache. Martin returns to the swing park in an attempt to force coincidence—to be a little proactive for once in his life; however, she never turns up and Martin sits alone for a good part of the day, his heart hammering away in his chest every time he hears a girl laugh.
~
Over the weeks that follow Martin thinks of nothing else but Rachel; he has half conversations with his friends and family, and barely listens at all, only partially concentrating on anything except where Rachel is and what she is, and will presently be doing. At the end of every school day, Martin rushes single-mindedly to a convenient position by the main door, or in the playground at the gate, and stands there casually, as if there were nothing on earth more natural than standing there, so he can watch her pass, and smile hello and goodbye.
Martin tortures himself on each occasion and promises it will be the day he'll move their relationship beyond the mono-syllabic. He makes out that his actions will be left to chance, and fate will bring them together if that is his destiny:
"If she comes this way today I'll ask her.." he thinks. "Er.. I'll ask her out to the pictures tomorrow.. yes, I will.. if I see her that is."
And on this particular day she is there but not alone, and she walks along with her girl friends, who whisper and laugh to one another as they notice Martin again, tying the same lace again for the tenth day running; and still he does not speak up. On the following Monday he vows to talk to her, even if her two friends are there, but again he remains silent and carries on nervously untying and tying his shoelace, too timid even to lift his head when her soft voice sings: "See you tomorrow Martin."
On another day he pays little attention to everything around him, looking through his friends when they address him, concentrating solely on psyching himself up for the ordeal at home time. This time he does not care whether she is alone or with friends, he will be confident and direct—he is going to say something to her; however, when Rachel comes into view from around the school building, to Martin's horror she is being accompanied by the older boy from the park weeks before, so Martin dashes through the gate, his lace still untied, and trips, falling flat on his face in the dirt.
But generally she never turns up at all and Martin waits without success, ready at a moment's notice to drop to his knees and concentrate on his shoelaces, simultaneously longing for and dreading to see her.
Rachel doesn't think about Martin. She isn't consciously not thinking about Martin, it's just that she doesn't think about him; the way you don't necessarily think about millions of people every day—Martin isn't important enough to be not thought about. Martin is not aware of this, he believes that because his every waking thought (and sleeping too) is concerned with her and how he can be with her, then she must be having an equally torturous time, but no.
He imagines that each time they see one another her eyes light up. However, Martin fails to realise that Rachel's eyes are always this way, it is not solely for his benefit; Rachel concentrates on having a good time, unlike Martin who worries too much about losing something that he has never even had.. and so, on days when Rachel is too preoccupied to acknowledge Martin with a smile or a wave, Martin is devastated and considers their affair over, before it has even begun. And all the time, Martin remains silent never attempting to win over the prize he seeks, just hoping it will magically fall into his lap. His deepest concern is asking her out, getting turned down and losing her and their present relationship (as insignificant as it may be) altogether.. at least now he has hope—to lose that would be too painful.
Rachel understands Martin. She has noticed his presence at the school gate and his look of pathetic adulation, and on occasion she is a little embarrassed; sometimes she will deliberately walk the long way home through the back gate rather than have to confront him and his absurd grin. But Rachel is as helpless as Martin, she has a crush of her own to contend with, and although she thinks Martin is undeniably cute, she is more interested in slightly older boys; boys with more confidence, more fashion sense, and boys that will not get turned away trying to get into certificate AA films.. boys in fact, that look at her the same way she looks at Martin. Rachel understands the heartache, the sense of hopelessness and the crazy sickness that automatically freezes a wide, stupid smile on the faces of those desperate for love when in the presence of their chosen one, but like Martin she is just another link in a never-ending chain, the only difference is that Rachel has the strength of character to plunge in and make mistakes, where Martin will never commit himself.
"So," Robert enquires, "have you got any further with Rachel?"
Martin shakes his head.
"Well, there's still time," says Robert, trying to comfort his friend with a few reassuring words, "you're not dead yet," he smiles.
"No I suppose not, but I feel like it."
Robert's smile drifts away as he feels his attempts to lift his friend are in vain. He senses that Martin is enjoying his misery and wallowing in it, so Robert makes his excuses and goes home, wishing that he could slap Martin hard and remove the sulk from his face; the world can tolerate genuine despair, and it will endeavour to offer support and a few kind words, but the world has no time for the moaner, and the whinger, and the whiner, they are best left to themselves until they grow up, or get a grip of their lives and stop going round and round in miserable circles, dizzy with their own sense of woe.
Martin's problem is believing that someone else will take responsibility for his life, so Martin waits and waits for something to happen, spinning in the agony of inertia, never knowing he has the power within himself, and only has to act to take charge of his destiny; for good, or for bad. The first step is always the hardest and most painful, and recovering after the first rejection is a harrowing lesson, but humans are not statues and they must live and move ever forward, growing both physically and emotionally. Martin is frightened to feel the blood pumping ferociously through his body, associating this with a lack of control on his part; and the only way he can regulate his emotions is to deny himself the life he is desperate to live (and consequently equally desperate not to lose).
Love is all about timing.. good timing, and seizing the moment when it finally arrives. It is easy to attach unsubstantiated meanings to major occurrences in life, like meeting your future wife or husband for the first time; but essentially your life is constantly shifting and is updated minute by minute (as is your partner's), and the variables really are infinite. So if you happen to start a conversation at a bus stop with a person you are attracted to, that is seizing the moment.. a moment placed before you by the miracle of good timing. As your relationship blossoms it is simple to find the point where it all began, and suddenly believe that you're whole life up until that point had been leading up to the moment when you first spoke (and she didn't reply by saying 'Piss off you sad loser').
But really, life makes absolutely no sense, and when Martin realises that, he may take a little more control over his own direction rather than blowing with the prevailing wind.. which unfortunately for him, at the present time is away from the arms of the one he loves.




Birthday Boy

Thirteen years ago Martin was born. There is a stark contrast between the events of that warm September night, when the attention of the family had been firmly directed at the freshly delivered package, all creased, bloody and screaming; and today, when Martin finds himself on his own. He hadn’t expected a fanfare or a round of applause, but a simple ‘Happy Birthday’ would have been nice.
Martin is now a teenager. He had spent the weeks approaching his birthday wondering whether he would feel at all different; more mature, more confident, more like a man. Last night he had considered the possibility of pubic hair suddenly appearing around his genitals, but as it had been the first thing he checked this morning, he is now fully aware that such an occurrence would have been highly unnatural anyway.
The growth of pubic hair is far from his mind as he walks through the house, from silent room to room, growing more desperate with each opened door, when the horrible truth gradually reveals itself; he is very much alone... no hug, no kiss, no card, no present and no telephone call from distant relatives with its familiar ring (their overly enthusiastic and affectionate tone, the repetition of banal phrases that are all too common when different generations communicate, the constant failure to bridge the cultural divide that separates them).
Martin is strangely unsurprised as he settles down to eat his burnt toast by himself. He has come to feel that to expect nothing in life leads to fewer disappointments; still, this acceptance does little to stop the tears that bubble up into his eyes. Martin tries to chew on the brittle, blackened bread but the saliva in his mouth has all but dried up, and as he sniffles, he chokes on the semi-masticated crumbs, as he realizes he has been forgotten.
After collecting himself, Martin sits down in front of the television, he is relieved at least that today is a Saturday and he is spared the inconvenience of a day at school. However, neither the carefully contained madness of children’s weekend TV or BBC2’s test-card can ease Martin’s troubled thoughts, or hold his attention for more than a minute, when every sound in the street could be his family returning, bearing wondrous gifts. Finally Martin can stand no more, he switches off the television set and stands at the window, pressing his face flat against the glass desperately trying to see as far down the street as possible, but Martin’s road is strangely devoid of life. It is uncommon for so little action, Martin thinks, and he considers the possibility of the whole street being involved in a big birthday surprise in his honour... but as an hour slips by, Martin abandons the idea as pure fantasy.
A light tap at the door startles Martin, and at first he cannot identify where the sound has come from. He is confused because he is expecting his mum and dad, and when the noise returns and seems to emanate from the front door Martin’s heart sinks again, for he knows it cannot be them. Martin walks slowly to the door and opens it gloomily. Robert is standing there and he smiles hello.
"All right?" he says. "You coming out?"
"Yeah," Martin replies. "May as well."
"Well don’t bust a gut."
Martin steps out of the house and locks the door behind him. The two boys set off up the road. Robert looks across at his friend and asks: "What’s up mate?"
"It’s my birthday today," Martin replies softly.
"Well that’s good isn’t it?"
Martin shrugs.
As they reach the end of the row of terraced houses where Martin lives, two figures jump out shouting and screaming. Martin shuts his eyes and cowers instinctively, but the blows he feels are only pats on his back, not punches. Martin opens his eyes; it is Noel and Billy.
"Happy birthday misery-guts!" they all shout. (Martin thinks: ‘If it is happy, which I doubt.’)
"Bloody hell!" Billy cries. "You look like shit Martin, what‘s up?"
"My mum and dad have gone off somewhere with Mandy, and forget me."
"You mean you’ve had no pressies?" asks Robert. Martin shakes his head.
"Where’ve they gone?" asks Noel, resting a hand on his friend’s shoulder.
Martin looks up at Noel with doleful eyes and says, "I dunno."
The four boys stand silently, and staring at the floor they shake their heads.
"Well then," Billy begins, "it’s a good job we’re here to save the day, ain’t it?" Robert and Noel smile. "Yeah! Birthday boy, we are here to celebrate your coming, and I’m not talking about jerking your turkey now!"
"What are we gonna do?" Martin asks nervously.
"We are gonna make your day."
Martin can feel a strange uneasiness in the pit of his stomach, as he underestimates the honest intentions of his friends; but he remembers the overwhelming silence of his empty house and his desire for company is suddenly a compelling force.
Robert checks his watch and says earnestly, "We’d better hurry, the bus is in five minutes."
"The bus?!" Martin exclaims. "I can’t go on a bus, I’ve got no money on me.."
Billy takes Martin’s arm gently. "Whoah there," he says calmly. "We’ve taken care of everything, you just relax and enjoy the birthday ride."
Martin has never travelled beyond the confines of their estate without his family before. He feels a strange mixture of exhilaration and anxiety, making him giddy with excitement, as he watches the houses at the edge of the estate slip away and turn into rolling green hills and yellow fields of rapeseed. Martin bounces around on his seat, firing questions at Billy as if they are father and son: Are we nearly there yet? How much longer? Where are we going? Can we stop, I need to go to the toilet? Billy sits cool and aloof, occasionally turning to check out a couple of girls who occupy the seats behind him. They smile sheepishly and whisper to one another, but Billy cannot make out what it is they are saying.
Martin soon calms down, and he reflects on the morning and his family’s absence. When Martin awoke almost five hours ago, he had laid in bed awaiting the rustling at his bedroom door, followed by a painfully off key rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’. He had been practicing his surprised look and the ‘Oh just what I always wanted’ line, when he became aware of the overwhelming quiet outside his room. Martin had left his bed gingerly and then ventured out into the hall, worried now that he may be ruining a well-planned birthday surprise. As Martin searched the rest of the house for his mum and dad and sister, he quickly resigned himself to the fact that he had been forgotten; after years of feeling ignored, he could come to no other conclusion.
The bus comes to an abrupt halt and Martin is jolted out of his reverie. Billy grabs him by the arm and pulls Martin from the seat and off the bus. The four boys choke on a cloud of carbon monoxide and diesel fumes, as the single-decker bus pulls away. Martin waits for one of his friends to make a move, anxious to find out their destination, but they all remain still.
"Are we getting another bus?" Martin asks uneasily, but his friends shake their heads enigmatically. Martin looks up and down the street trying to find his bearings, fearing that he is to be the but of a practical joke and will be left helpless and penniless in the middle of nowhere. Martin turns and smiles nervously at his friends, but their faces give nothing away. Suddenly, behind them, Martin focuses on a poster advertising the smash hit movie of the summer, full of sculptured hair, leather jackets, tight pants and fast cars. He disregards it as being a girl’s film and is about to turn away altogether when two words catch his eye. Out of context they mean little, but all at once Martin realises that he is standing across the road from a cinema which is presently showing two films, and as Martin stares at the two words of the second film his knees shake and his heart-rate soars.
"They’re showing ‘Star Wars’" he manages to say softly.
Billy, Robert and Noel smile broadly. Billy says: "Why else d’you think we’re stood here, you donkey?"
"It’s only on for this week," Robert explains.
"But I can’t go, I’ve got no money.." Martin begins, his stomach turning inside out.
"This is your birthday present Mart," Noel says, placing an arm on his friend’s shoulder. "We know you’ve been wanting to see it since last year."
Martin looks from one friend to another as tears trickle down his face. He opens his mouth to speak, but cannot.
"What’s the matter?" asks Billy. "Don’t you want to go and see it? Have you gone off it?"
Martin shakes his head, wiping the tears from his cheek with the back of his hand. "No, no.. I wanna see it, I wanna see it.." Martin turns and looks at the cinema again, to check that he is not mistaken; and there it is, he spots the poster, the same one that has been hanging on his bedroom wall for the last twelve months. He turns to his friends and whispers, "Thank you, thank you.. you don‘t know what this means to me."
Since August 1977, Martin has been waiting for this moment. In the greater scheme of things, his desire to witness the highest grossing film of the decade seems inconsequential. However, Martin has been denied the simple satisfaction of one hundred and sixteen minutes of celluloid for what seems a lifetime, and has been forced to exist in a world in which everyone has seen George Lucas‘s "Star Wars", bar him. Martin has lived the adventure through the pages of the book and the weekly comic, in the adverts on the television and with the dozen or so action figures in his collection; he loved the story and its concepts before watching a single frame.
Martin is not a spoilt child, and he has been raised by his parents to turn down offers, however insignificant, out of politeness (as if to reinforce the idea that the focus of Martin’s life is not to be any trouble). He will visit relatives and friends of his parents, and resist all manner of temptations, from ’Would you like a drink?’ or ’D’you want a small cake with that?’ with a courteous: ‘No thank you, I’m fine’—only much later in life after years of tragic invisibility, when all well-meaning requests had all but dried up, will Martin manage to choke out, ‘Oh go on then, if you’re making one’; but guilt will flood into his body and he will invariably make a trade off by doing the washing up. Consequently, Martin rarely asks for anything, hoping that his obvious enthusiasm for something will encourage others to take action—this has worked in the past and his interest in marine biology did prompt his mum to buy him a book that still takes pride of place on his shelf. However, for twelve months Martin has watched all his friends, and even his sister (who was taken by her school-friend’s family) make the illustrious journey to the pictures to witness the greatest film of its time.
And today, when Martin had felt at his lowest, he is suddenly transported to heights of ecstasy because his desires are soon to be fulfilled. Martin does not consider for a moment that his expectations will not be met, he has faith in Lucas’s vision—and if nothing else, the knowledge that his friends are so aware and understand him and his aspirations to such a great extent, that they express their affection for him with their present actions, fills him with a sense of enormous pride and well-being.
As the lights dim in the ageing auditorium, Martin sinks back into his well-worn chair; the ever present stench of popcorn and half-eaten hot-dogs reaches Martin‘s nostrils, but does not register.. he is focused only on the screen before him. The drum roll and fanfare of trumpets announce that the film is a Twentieth Century Fox production; the music will in time, become synonymous with the opening sequence of a film which will inspire and entertain him for decades to come.. but for now, as the screen goes black and silence rushes into his ears, the anticipation that has built up within Martin over the last year, gently subsides and he relaxes. From out of the blackness, a sentence appears in blue lettering and then fades, Martin knows the words well, and senses that he has arrived. Again the theatre is plunged into darkness, but this time, Martin is jolted to attention as the orchestra sounds and echoes loudly around the room; the film has really begun.
Martin sits transfixed by the images projected before him. The world created by another man’s imagination, flows over the young boy and floods into every inch of his being. Martin is fully aware of the story and is not confused by the film’s language, or mystified by its mix of special effects and underlying theme of destiny, and consequently the idea of a fundamental order to the universe. Martin grasps onto this concept, and wants more than anything to be like Luke—he wants to feel important.. he wants to feel useful.. and most of all, Martin wants to feel needed. He can identify with the farm boy, bursting with dreams and ambition, and sick with the feeling that he is going nowhere, destined to endure menial work for a lifetime, only to end up being vaporized alongside his aunt and uncle. And Martin wants to find out what it is that he can do that is special.. because although his confidence is shaken by his enforced anonymity, he feels that there must be a reason for his existence. Martin is not consciously aware of the complex thought processes turning over in his mind as Luke’s story unfolds, but this is the reason why he empathizes so completely with the young Skywalker’s predicament. Martin is acutely aware however, that he has yet to find his own place in the universe (or one in which he feels fully justified, or at the very least, comfortable).
As the titles run and then fade out, and the house lights fade up, Martin finds himself alone. He looks up from his seat and sees that apart from himself, the cinema is empty. Martin’s eyes adjust to the light and he catches sight of his friends, not at all interested in reading the end credits, but nonetheless, patiently waiting for him at the exit. He waves and makes his way to them. The expectations Martin had had before the film, have been met completely and exceeded beyond his wildest beliefs. There will be few instances in Martin’s future where he could honestly admit to being so free of disappointment.
Martin is silent on the bus journey home, his mouth frozen into a wide smile. His friends look on in amazement, but have such a high level of understanding for ones so young that they let him be, not wishing to disturb his precious moments of reflection and contemplation.
"This is the best day of my life," Martin says as the four boys step off the bus. "Thank you. I think it‘s the only time I‘ve ever got what I really wanted on my birthday"
Billy, Noel and Robert all roll their eyes and shrug, embarrassed by Martin’s short speech. "What are friend’s for?" says Robert.
"Yeah," agrees Martin. "But still, it really was the most thoughtful thing you could’ve done."
"So how old are you then?" asks Noel.
"Thirteen."
"Thirteen it is then," laughs Billy, grabbing Martin by the hands as Noel and Robert each grab onto a leg.
"No!" screams Martin. "Not the bumps!"
"Uh-uh, ’fraid so," giggles Robert.
His three friends lift Martin high into the air, and let him fall gently to the floor, barely grazing the floor; but each time, as he is launched into a cloudless Autumn sky, Martin is rocked by doubts that they will let him drop to the ground like a stone—this fear both sickens and elates him, and as much as he wants the scene to end, the feeling of being the centre of attention for just a few moments is truly sublime.
On the thirteenth bump, Martin is left flat out on the floor, giggles are tearing through his body and he sits up dizzy with excitement. His friends lift him to his feet and slap his back in a truly grown-up, English way (not wishing to appear too familiar or affectionate with one another).
"I’m gonna have to get off home," Robert says at last.
"Yeah, I suppose I’d better go too," agrees Billy.
Suddenly the memory of the lonely morning floods back over Martin, and he realizes that he may be returning to an empty house. He nods and again spreads his words of gratitude amongst his friends. The four boys split up and all head for home.
"Where the bloody hell have you been?!"
Martin is momentarily stunned as he steps into his house from the street, and is confronted by the manic figure that is his mother; her face red with rage and gaunt with worry.
Martin is pulled into the hall, but he backs up and closes the front door behind him. His eyes focus on the floor, but he sporadically looks up to take in the tormented expression before him that becomes more animated as a hale of abuse mixes with terms of affection, until relief floods in, extinguishing the fear and pain that had been building up within his mother over the last few hours.
"I was worried Martin," she says holding him close to her chest.
"I didn’t know where you were," Martin splutters out. "There wasn’t anybody about."
"I’m sorry," Martin’s mum says, brushing the tears from her eyes before they can flood down her face. "As long as you’re safe."
"Where were you?" asks Martin. "I waited and waited.. but nobody came."
"You didn’t see the note?"
"There was a note?"
"It‘s on the table."
Martin casts his mind back to the morning, and although he would never normally be allowed to watch TV eating his breakfast, as he was alone he boycotted his usual place at the dining table for the settee. "I didn’t see it."
"Oh I’m sorry Martin. We were going to wake you, but we didn‘t think we’d be more than an hour... we had to go to the hospital with Mandy; she’s not well."
Martins swallows hard and says: "What’s the matter with her mum?"
"Come in and sit down, and I’ll tell you all about it."
Martin and his mum walk through to the living room and settle down on the sofa. Taking her son gently by the hand, Martin’s mum explains the events of the early morning, how they had awoken to find Mandy complaining of a powerful headache, followed quickly by painful vomiting that had shook her frail body and left her weak and aching.
"We took her straight to the hospital," Martin’s mum continues. "It was so early; we didn’t think you’d be up before we got back.. I did leave a note on the kitchen table, just in case.. and then the doctors kept us waiting while they carried out tests.. I‘m sorry Martin, and on your birthday too."
"Is Mandy all right?"
"She’ll be in hospital for a couple of days, but don‘t you worry. Your dad‘s sitting with her now.. she‘ll be okay."
"What’s the matter with her?"
"They think it might be meningitis."
Martin looks blankly at his mother, she understands that the word means nothing to her son, and forces a smile. "It can be very serious," she explains tenderly, "but the doctors say she‘ll be fine, so don’t worry."
Martin sits silently and considers for a moment how selfish his sister is to be so ill, and on his birthday of all days; leaving him gift-less and alone.
"I’m going back up to the hospital tonight. I know Mandy will be glad to see you and give you her present personally."
A smile grows on Martin’s face; yes, presents, he thinks, that’s what today is all about.. and then Martin remembers his friends and their present, and feels that nothing could top that, and he suddenly understands the truth behind the saying, ‘It’s the thought that counts’, and his heart swells with intense emotion once more.
"So," Martin’s mum says. "Do you want to have your presents now?"
Martin nods. "Yes, please."
"Okay, then," she says, leaving the room to collect the gifts that are hidden away. She calls from the next room: "So what have you been up to then?"
"Oh nothing much," Martin replies, not wanting his mum to know he has had the best birthday of his life, and his family had played no part in it. "Just messed about with the gang."
"That’s nice."