I think I better explain this:

I fell in love when I was thirteen. Not the sort of love you can walk away from. It just got to me. Worse than heroin; I don’t take drugs but I know once you’re on it you can’t get off it. Well think of it a thousand times worse. I mean really bad.

The first time I ever saw her was just after I had swung on the basketball hoop. How could anyone forget that day - the biggest eclipse in thirty-five years was just about to happen.

I walked up to the lower side of the knoll - it's where the older boys go to smoke because it is hidden from the main block, but I like it because it's quieter; really the knoll is just a heap of crap piled up high in the corner of the playing field, probably from when they built the school. Some of it is grassed over but if you kick the surface a few times you will see old bricks and stuff. Sixth-formers sit ontop the granite boulders at the top of the knoll but plebs have to stay below the rock line.

To be honest the whole school's a pile of crap.

I dream a lot when I am in school. I imagine all sorts. That's why I sit at the back of the class. My eyes are crap. Even if they were okay I still wouldn't know what's going on. You have to invent something to kill the boredom at school, there's only so much I can take of the second world war. You wouldn't believe how every day is such a bore.

But that day the eclipse was just about to happen. It was like you could half look forward to it if you had a mind to. I was sitting on the pathway leading up to the knoll, reading The 39 Steps. There's a problem reading, it takes me an age just to read one page.

Justin Mann, my form leader, came up and sat down next to me. I hate it when someone interrupts. I have a thing about that.

There are a few books I read over and over. They take me away from school. I'd use ear phones but I don't like things stuffed in my ears. Drives me crazy.

I see movies sometimes but if it's a bad movie you've gotta hang in until it's over because you've normally gone with some Buddie or other. There is nothing worse than hanging in watching a dud movie with a Buddie you like. You stand up to go then sit down again because you are with your Buddie. Then if you start looking around people get pissed off. They think you are looking at them. You explain you don't like the movie and they say why don't you leave then. Then you get up to leave and you sit down again because you are with your Buddie and you cannot leave when your Buddie is there watching the movie. Hollywood actors are a dead give away to a bad movie. No one in the world is as good looking as a Hollywood actor so if they are pretending the movie is real why are they all so damn good looking?

I was half waiting for Justin to say something really stupid but he said nothing, which was pretty unusual for him; he just kept flicking his hair back. I knew he was doing it, he was that close to me.

The 39 Steps, top of page one hundred and forty-four and she walks up, right up, and stares down at me. Right there. Right there in front of me. Staring down at me while I'm reading my own book. That was the first time I ever saw her. The very first. Then like she was some sort of god the sky went black. Then the sun almost disappeared. And we had this massive eclipse. It was weird. Really weird. Everything behind the playground just went black. The trees went black. Everything was just disappearing. Never seen anything like it. All I could see was she had a cigarette in her hand. To be honest it didn't look like she really smoked that much.

Justin suddenly freaked out big time shouting, 'Fuck, it's all going black, it's black as fuckin' shit - Jesus fuck, I can't see fuck all!'

He jumped to his feet and danced around like some possessed screw ball. I don't know what he was playing at because the whole damn world knew there was going to be an eclipse over Fenton Prep.

It's pathetic, but only because Justin was sitting there I wanted to yell at the little twat to get her pussy feet out my way because I wasn't going to move for her, but by the time I had squinted up the second time the sun was beginning to come out again and she'd walked around me and carried on; I noticed a book tucked in the back of her tatty track trousers. To be honest I'm not sure I would have told her to piss off, with a book tucked in her track trousers an all. In fact I wished Justin hadn't been there as she looked the sort, that if you got her right the first time you met her, she'd be your friend for ever. All orange and warm. May be I should've moved out her way.

I don't what it was but I found myself looking at her ass. I'm not sex mad or anything. I'm usually okay with girls. I haven't had a real girlfriend yet but when I do I think I'll be okay, I won't wear my jeans in a strange way and show my muscles and stuff. I only think about that sort of thing at night when I'm in bed. She was wearing the tan school gym top and track suit bottoms. Girls change at break-time so they don't have to traipse back to the main block. Not sure if she was one or two years below me because I didn't recognise her. Her hair was all over the place so it wasn't as if she was that neat or anything. There's five forms in our year and six in the year below. It's a hell of a of big school and at that time I'd only been there two months. My eyes followed her round because she was sure as hell going to get shouted at by the sixth formers lounging about up on the rocks looking up at the black sky.

As she leapt up onto the highest crag of the granite boulder the sun exploded out from a scarlet cloud sending hundreds and thousands of shadows everywhere and half blinding me. Small fluffy clouds appearing everywhere. My eyes are crap. I'm only thirteen. I think I'll be blind by twenty. I have loads of these circles floating around my eyes like snakes. I can't see through them. Some sort of degeneration. Each time the sun hits my eyes there's another half dozen circles. For a moment all I could see were red poppies coming into my head; really red, I don't know why. I'd told my Mom a million times to take me to National Vision or Specsavers but she never believed me, so I reckoned on just going blind when all the snakes joined up.





Anyway, when I could see again I got this sort of faint smell of pink roses and saw silhouettes of two six formers glancing over at her but none of them said a damn thing, which I felt pretty disappointed about as they should have gone berserk with some little hot shot standing on their big rock; but when I think about it there's a lot of people out there who think they rule the world but they don't really. It's such a crap world, Even on my best days, like my birthday, I don't own my world. There's always some bastards out there taking bits of it away and pulling me down. I don't even know why they're trying to do it but believe me they're sure as hell doing it.


The school bell rang. There was like a million school shoes all trudging back to the main school block; accept her, me and Justin that is. Rock girl carried on staring out towards the hills. She reminded me of one afternoon last winter at my last school. Our class visited the local zoo and we saw this baby gazelle perched on a rock, all stretched out like Bambi looking for its mother. Then it looked up to the sky toward this star, Venus or something, and made this hella of a strange noise. Everybody laughed and some of the girls said how cute the deer was. I mean it was a gazelle for christ's sakes. But it's no good telling a girl they're wrong over something like that so I just watched them call it over and stroke it nose, but I wished it hadn't of just walked so easy like that. It made me sad as hell. It was only four o'clock and I tell you there was this star in the sky that was real bright. It seemed to be moving but it was probably just the small little clouds kidding me along. I'd swear that baby gazelle wanted to get the hell out of it. Then it trotted back to it's rock and started waling even louder, right up to the star. Calling it down. And if I could've been Jesus for a moment I'd pulled out a pocket full of miracles and made that star slide down a rainbow for ol' Bambi to jump on, and to hell I probably would've gone with the dude as well - riding up high, passing through the night, star jumping like a couple of crazies from one shining stepping stone to another, hopscotching into the universe 'till we were a million miles away from the zoo and its black metal railings.

I turned the page but I wasn't really concentrating on my book anymore, I'm not sure what I was really thinking about but Justin caught my eye as he leaned over toward me, 'Who the fuck’s she?’ he whispered.
‘I don’t know.’ I replied.
‘Fuckin’ hell, she was in your face, you gay fagot, an' you just let her walk away!’
‘She only looked at me.'
'She was gagging for it for Christ's sake!'

I'm not into fuck and cunt and all that heavy stuff anymore. When I was ten I was but now when someone says fuck in our class you're half expecting something bad to happen. I'm not really into fighting and all that sort of stuff. Actually I was never very good at it.

But it was strange, rock girl looking down at me like that. With a cigarette in her hand. If you really want to know I quite liked the way she stood there for that second or two but it's not the sort of thing you let on. If she had stayed there another second I would have told her to piss off. School does that to you; I always end up doing the opposite of what I want to do.

Last summer, shooting with Justin's crap air guns in the woods; I was dead keen on shooting this deer but when it turned around and looked at me all I wanted to do was hug it. That's how I felt about her standing there. It sounds crazy but I knew I was in love.

I wanted to keep her in my head so began mentally taking snap shots of her looking down at me. About twenty I guess. I intended using them that night; I have a hell of an imagination when I'm in bed.

I thought I might as well finish reading the page I was on; but when I peered up, everybody had gone, including the girl. The sun had come out hotter than ever. I was soaking wet with sweat. I shook the grass from my black trousers but not all of it came off. I hate grass that sticks to my trousers. Most of the dry brown grass shakes off dead easily but it's the green stuff that stays on. It has no right to stick like that. So I took each piece off. One by one. Then just for the sheer hell of it decided to go up to the same rock where the girl had been standing to see if I could get into her mind, know what she was feeling. Silly really when you think about it. But I did it anyway. As I was standing on top the rock I notice an old book wedged in a crevice. It looked like the same beaten up book she had slipped down her waist band. Sort of beige with three words in big red colours down the cover: The Third Man.

I am pretty good at Art but I couldn't keep my concentration on the first lesson that afternoon. Miss Fellerman's pretty good looking for a teacher and she's not bad at drawing horses either but never stops banging on about Picasso and Van Gogh. The lesson is actually called Appreciation of Art so we don't always get to paint stuff, we have to write as well. How many times do we have to hear about how Van Gogh cut his ear off for love, sold no paintings and died without anything. Most people die without anything for Christ's sakes. We must have heard it about every two weeks and I'd only been in the school two months - if we weren't painting Van Gogh crows in the corn field or sketching his old frigging boots we were being asked to write essays on whether we would cut our ears off for love. One time we had to pretend we were some great Artist or Musician and write five hundred words on the craziest thing we would do for love. Now that's pretty dumb if you ask me. I think Van Gogh was totally mental. Of course no one wanted to buy his paintings because they wouldn't be seen dead with a painting on their wall of some crazy nut with his ear cut off. And besides he uses too much yellow. If I wanted to be a millionaire I'd tell everyone I'm eleven old artist (I'm actually thirteen) and go to some field outside Paris with a canvas and splodge yellow everywhere and drip blood from my heart onto the yellow splodge and call it 'My Red Valentine'. And I'd pretend to be crazy too. Like I'd only wear girls underwear and walk around the Artist's quarter playing 'In The Summer Time' on my Dad's $150,000 stradivarius violin. And I'd play really badly too. And no matter how bad my version of 'Summer Wind' was everyone would give me bucket fulls of money because they would think I was crazy like Van Gogh and they would all know if I really wanted to I could knock the hell out of the violin and play like a genius.

I can't remember what Ms Fellerman was banging on about exactly that afternoon, something about the eclipse and how light and dark affect Art or something but as the air conditioning was drumming right above my head I kept getting flashbacks of earlier that day. I started thinking scenarios: if I'd talked to the rock girl would she have said anything back or just ignored me? She looked like the sort who would have probably ignored me. Why did she she just look at me the way she did? Maybe she was going to say something stupid to me like most people do. Would she be at school tomorrow, the last day of term? What should I do about her book? Pretty sure it was hers. The more I thought about her the more my whole mind was full of snap shots of her standing there.

Of course, I half fancied her from that first moment I saw her but it was more than that, I promise you. She didn’t look like those models you see in glossy magazines; you know, the bored thin vampire type that never smiles or the Jessica Rabbit type with egg timer curves, false eye lashes and always looking so god damn desperate for someone to say how pretty they are; models generally make me feel cold as hell.

Now I think about it she was pretty skinny, but naturally skinny and you couldn't help notice her long legs. She looked pretty fit and bouncy on her feet and half reckoned she would've made a terrific hurdler if she set her mind on it. I'm no good at sport but I can sit by the playing field watching girls running around all day long.

Her ragged track suit, dishevelled hair and old pumps; a real Cinderella - would've driven Walt Disney crazy. The strange thing was her eyebrows, hair, lips, face legs, the lot, all melted into the same honey fawn colour, even the school track suit was almost the same damn colour. And she didn't have that fake six months in Acapulco look or the type who'd go around sucking a red lolly pop either. Actually, if you put a feather in her head you could half imagine she might be an Indian squaw.

During the fifteen minute break that hot afternoon I made my way to a table in the corner of the old wooden tuck shop and sat listening to some old hat music from the fifties. As the cooler box had run out of coke I had to put up with warm stuff off the shelf. There's this black guy everyone calls Dello who serves behind the counter; he's the size of a double decker bus and wears this red and white apron and's got these spooky round glasses, bigger than John Lennon's. His right eye always looks to the left. Weird. Dello looks pretty miserable but he's not really. He's got a smile the size of the grand canyon. Everybody likes him. Just shows you can be ugly as sin but popular as hell.

Everyone clears out his way when he waddles through between the tables - that's real respect - they wouldn't do that for no teacher - and it was no different that day as he slung open the windows shutters and let the sunshine in; as he lent over me to flick the catch he was humming some tune or other; he has this wife or some girl friend or other that sings in bars, that's what Justin said anyway - and he's seen her down town and says she's called Lorrie and a hellava looker and sings in the Old Blue Ding Club with all the big Mama's from the fifties without a microphone or anything. She even went over to him while he was standing on his own at the back. That's what Justin said. He through she was going to tell him to leave because he was too young to be in the joint but instead just bent down and gave him a real smacker on the lips while she was still singing the damn song. That's what Justin said. And you know I believe him. He gets away with murder.

The smell of beef burgers and sizzling cheesy sunflower oil mingled in hot breezy waves and to be honest I was half-minded to have a chicken salad burger but felt a bit sick having just eaten a soft chocolate bar with the warm coke and I had this indegestion. I was really trying to help it up, pretending to cough, bang my school shirt and extend my arm up and backwards, it works sometimes. I ruled out the burger for good when something like the smell of little puppies started wafting around. That really did it. And there were fried chicken legs on the hot counter. I really hate looking at chicken legs. Besides I was beginning to feel depressed in the old wooden shack as it was heaving with girls celebrating a birthday, and they all seemed so damn happy. It was as if everyone might just stop and stare at me sitting in the corner but I knew the hell they wouldn't because they were all falling about having such a god damn good time. But it didn't stop me thinking that way. I get embarrassed sometimes, even thinking about people looking at me.

The rock girl started taking hold of me again. I was going to munch the second chocolate bar but it was so soft it was stuck to the silver paper so I began carefully wrapping it up again. It was difficult to wrap up properly because the paper didn't seem big enough. There was always one side with chocolate coming out. Well iI did my best and put it back in my Zippo. The warm coke fizzed up my nose whilst two flies kept buzzing back to my table. They were really pissing me off. Actually everything was starting to piss me off. It was tomato sauce they were going crazy over but I had no napkin and didn't really want to use The 39 Steps to kill them- sort of disrespectful. if I wrote a book I wouldn't want it being used at a fly swat, unless it was life or death or something. If it wasn't for the fact the whole damn tuck room was so damn full I would have stood up, made some room, and gone all out to swat them. You know if there's one thing I hate it flies. I can't stand flies. I'm sorry but they are the only thing I like to kill. I can kill them all day. They were taking the piss, they really were. And I can't stand the way ol' Dello never cleans the tables either. I would have said something to Dello but he has such a damn big smile.

The tuck shop roof has wooden shingles. you can see them from the inside. And I was looking up at them thinking things over which my eyes shut trying to cut out the screaming din and smell. She did stare at me didn't she - rock girl - for Christ's sakes it wasn't just my imagination was it? Could I have imagined it? I do have a hell of an imagination. sometimes I actually believe I've done things I couldn't possibly have done. But she was right in my face. Justin noticed it so I wasn't just playing it up or anything. Why me, I'm such a dork? I wondered what her name was. I'd love it it to be Nakita or Anya, some romantic Russian ballet dancer's name but I guessed it would probably Jane or something.

It's different when some stranger stares at you on the street or bus. They just look at you because they've got to get up or something and need to pass you. The rock girl just walked right up to me. I mean the knoll is the farthest point away from the main school building. Maybe she was short sighted and got me confused with some other guy in her class or something. But she didn't look like the type who had forgotten to wear her glasses out to the playground. The look she gave me was when...I'm not really sure how to put this, but if I really had to think about it, it was as if I'd been her best friend for ever but had just told her to leave and she wanted to just look at me one last time.

Justin's one of those guys who's forever lucky. He never studies but always gets in the top three. He's full of bull when he talks to the teacher and cheats like hell. Teachers like him cause the bastard looks like River Phoenix. He's like one of those young Hollywood actors and's for ever asking about my Dad who's sort of in the business. Justin's got this really elegant handwriting too. If I was marking his work I would probably give him an 'A' as well. You can be really fooled by some one's handwriting especially if he looks like River Phoenix.



He's not even a good guy if you think about it, he just damn lucky. Some people are just born lucky; but there's always a few who get dumped with all the bad luck the friggin' lucky ones should have had but never did. Justin's dad's a Hollywood writer but when ever I've been around his place he says he's out in the 'woods' so I've never really seen him, oh, except once when he was taking a bowl of mushy peas down the garden. I said, 'Hi.' but he didn't say anything back. Justin's really hung about him but he sure sounds cool to me.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not some kind of paranoid school kid. But school mates are school mates. I don’t go home thinking about how happy I am. The next day my class take the piss anyway so the last thing I want is to see them for at least a week. That's how school friends are so if I told Justin he made me happy – which he doesn’t – he’d think I was gay. He thinks I'm some sort of pussy anyway. All I've done is grown my hair for Christ’s sakes.

But once in a life time, even the unlucky ones get a break... and I was about to get mine: It was one of the sixth formers who came across to my small table where I was sitting. I knew he was going to say something stupid, and sure enough he did: "Hey, float off asshole!"

He was one of the tall lanky idiots who always hangs around with two other guys from the Mile End rowing team; he held a sandwich in one hand and a coke in the other and to emphasise his command nodded his head toward the doorway. As the other two were making their way toward my table I wasn't going to argue. I probably wouldn't have argued even if he had been on his own but I would have said something if I'd been a year older and a foot taller.

Well thanks to that lanky twat I stood up... and could I believe what I saw next! She, that very damn well same god damn girl, passed the tuck shop door! I could only see her from the shoulders up, but there was no mistaking that hair - even with so many other kids milling around everywhere. The same bunch of crazies were still at the entrance singing Happy Birthday with fake Chinese accents but I slipped my way through and found the doorway. The sun did my eyes in again. God, it was bright that day. You could feel the heat in the breeze and my under-arms were dripping. Must have been the eclipse on top a mid-summer solstice or something.

She was heading toward the new gymnasium and from behind, hanging from her shoulder was one of those old gym bags you don't see any more. To the left side of her forehead she had this red ribbon bow in her hair. She hadn't seen me of course but I damn well started breathing heavily. I suddenly had this crazy moment of mental confusion. Worse still I felt shy as hell all over. I get like that sometimes. It's like epilepsy, I feel I'm going down, down right there and then. My whole head felt like a stepped-on giant puff ball dying in slow motion. If I've ever been slightly mad that was the nearest I've ever been to being full out crazy. In my mind it all seemed so easy to burst the balloon and say something to her. But you know I just couldn't.

She was becoming my daydream. And this weird side of me that wanted to put my hand in her hair and bring her head close to mine and sing her some sop song like, "It's a crazy afternoon let's fall in love." But somewhere deep down there was this cool inner dude thing telling me to say, "What the hell were you looking at me for?" And of course there was no way I could tell her truth - that I was totally nuts over her; but I can tell you that was the God's honest truth. I'd have given every god damn thing I had for her to be a friend of mine. But I stood there not knowing what I was going to do. How can you go so damn crazy over someone without even knowing them?

I'm not sure exactly what I did next but I remember climbing up the steep red soil bank, where there's this ten foot gully below, and peering through the high level fan light window into the gymnasium. I could see her there, playing netball. She had a hell of a jump and gave one those feminine shreeks when she made a long pass. But ten seconds was about all I had because like a real dork I slipped and fell into the gully ripping a button off my shirt, banging my head on the wall and catching my ankle something crazy. I stayed down dazed for a minute. Or it may have been three minute because you don't know when things like this happen; but when I came to my senses I just couldn't believe my trousers, it was like some camel had shat all over them. No way was I going to my next lesson like that so I sat down, crouched there hiding behind the gym listening to the echoey sound of the girls screaming inside. At times I was pretty sure it was her voice. Jesus, I never knew girls could scream so much when having fun.

The gully made a good walk way for me to check out the ankle without anyone seeing. I took my shoe off a few times to check it out but there wasn't even a bruise. The last thing I wanted was for someone to catch me spying into the gym. The school looks down on that type of behaviour. Rollersham got suspended for hiding in an empty metal locker in the girls' changing room and peeking out the bent vents.

The class eventually poured out in small girly gangs. Rock girl came out in the first group, half skipping and half making imaginary dunks; in a jiffy she was over thirty metres away. With my turned ankle it was impossible to catch her up so I approached a short girl walking out on her own whose face was all red:

'Excuse me,' I said, 'but what's the name of the one with a red ribbon in her hair?'

'You mean Lily?'

'Yeah, I was wondering what her surname was, I've got something I want to give her.'

I tried to smile at her but I guess it looked a bit fake. She seemed a nice sort anyway.

She gave me a slightly weird smile back before replying, 'Lily Rolt.'

I didn't give her time to kick in with any more conversation so I thanked her and made off with a jog. A half jog, I gotta tell you because the ankle really hurt, but I feel good limping back to the main block. I went straight to the toilets, took my black trousers off and washed them using this liquid green soap stuff above the sink and all the while soaked my twisted ankle in the basin. It quite fun making faces in the mirror. I do it all the time. I can do really ugly one by twisting my lip downward and nose up. Did a pretty good job with the trousers but when I put them back on my underwear felt really uncomfortable, like really wet, especially round the bit I like. So I took them off again and really squeezed them tight. Stretching each leg out and really giving it some. All this soapy white stuff came out onto the tiled floor and I started worrying about whether anyone might notice the poncey smell. A bit like those green things they shove down toilets. I heard a couple of older boys coming in so I took myself into a cubicle and looked down as a the water dripped onto my shoes until they left. Still it was hot as hell outside. But I would have to careful who I sat next to in the next lesson. I decided to lie oyut in the sun for five minutes a be late again. Then I had this brainwave.

There's a part in The 39 Steps you just can't put down and I was reading it as I hopped up five floors of stairs 'till I got to the top. The long corridor has shiny clipity lino. I reckon all schools have clipty lino. All the ones I've been to have. I knocked on the door signed 'Administration' door:

'Come in.'

'Excuse me Miss.'

'Yes, what is it?'

'I found this book near the knoll,' I passed her the book, 'it had a paper book mark in it, it's owned by Lily Rolt.'

'Well, you can give it back to her can't you?'

'She's gone home...early, Miss; I was thinking I could post it to her, I mean...'

She was thumbing through the pages while we were talking and she said,' It can wait 'til she returns.'

'But it the last day of term Miss; and er.., there was this book mark stuck half way through it, I think she's only half finished the book Miss, and..'

'Do you know her?'

'Er...no Miss.'

There was a pause and both of us just stood there. I was begining to feel a bit of twat. It didn't come out with any conviction but I mumbled, 'It's no bother Miss, really, I can post it on the way home.'

'So you want her address?'

'No, well yes Miss.'

She bent down, opened a large wooden drawer and pulled out a file. She had some big ass I can tell you. Wearing a pleated skirt and jackets made of thick worstead didn't help. Sometimes you really want to crack a joke about way someone looks even though you know it's really unfair. Her glasses had those wavy handle bars that were the rage about thirty years ago. I really don't know why I sometimes I really want to say things that are totally rude. I've got into trouble for things like this. Anyhow the old biddie was obliging so I shut up and carried on being dorky watching her search down the register list of the file and then, like the gods were on my side, she began scribbling on a note pad and handed it to me. I could see her fat wrinkly finger had the biggest diamond studded wedding ring you could imagine wrapped around it. The sort of ring you'd expect the Queen of England to wear on a good night out at the Opera. Hella of size. I guess some guy probably reckoned she was a dish forty years ago. She probably was. I'm hella prejudice when I think about it.

'Thank you Miss,' I said, 'I've read it myself - it's a great book.'

'And...refresh me with your name young man?' She said it looking me right up and down. Couldn't really understand why she did that. Pretty sure my trousers weren't dripping anymore.

'Sam... Samuel Mudd, Miss.' I replied.

'What grade are you?'

'Eighth Miss.'

'Thirteen...a real boy's year.'

Old ladies with glasses say those sort of things. I don't think they know what they mean themselves.

Blow me if she didn't tilt her glasses looking me up from toe to head again and in a slightly high pitched voice said, 'You can go now Samuel...go on with you boy.'

I squeezed the note-paper tightly in my palm. In between my fingers lay Lily Rolt's address.

I was still thinking about her in my pajamas as I lay on my bed with my arm around my pillow staring up at the fluorescent tube. If I stared at it long enough with my my eyes closed I could see tiny white lights and little bits of fluorescent lightening come out from the blackness that turned into images of abstract things; then through the muddle of light and dark emerged black and white pictures that, like a miracle of the mind, changed into short movies; my own lovely movies from my own lovely head.




I crept deep under the sheets, curling up into a ball and began wiggling my toes. That what I do to start of with. A sort of Charlie Chaplin like movie comes up through this black hole, then faded shades of bright yellow lines and white - so white, weird shapes... I’m only telling you this because I want you to know that I'm not a crazy nut. Then up comes Fenton School in bursts of hot light flashes. I could recognise different stuff like the drinking fountain and netball hoop. All the junior classes are out playing, most of them just larking around in all this din like you'd hear at the lower level of The Roseball or something; a few of them are crying but only playground crying. I think I'm the only serious one, searching for rock girl - like my whole life depends on it. I see her at the far end of the hockey pitch by the chain link railings but when I run over there she's gone and someone else turns around and starts bawling their eyes out. Then a football hits her in the head and she's crying like a baby and I feel I should give her a hug and I would've done but I see rock girl by the knoll but when she turns around it's a strange face of a boy who only wants to gawk close up at me and laugh like some demented nutter. It's freak me out all this weird stuff. Then suddenly it's Assembly, the main hall, green walls, long yellow drapes and the Headteacher's on a roll banging on about how we must try hard now and we won't have to try hard later; and how we must be polite outside the school gates and not swear. I'm not sure of all that sort of crap. Half dreaming I'm outside again racing toward the gymnasium in the scorching hot sunshine and this stupid song comes into my head. God it is so bright and loud, some lullaby song for babies with this out of tune electric guitar playing in my head and this noise like an orchestra rehersal going on all around me. Everything twirling around and suddenly Justin is trying to sing which freaks me out because he's a really crap singer, but all the girls are all loving it not because he can sing but because he's so damn good looking. Suddenly everything changes; it's dark, with my eyes closed tight and the music fades out and the Rock Girl appears. I know she's gonna make me happy. And in my brain she comes into my bedroom and we are standing there, real close, as only we edgy types can be, in the half dark, breathing staccato softness. Boy it so real her standing there. We want to dance real slow but we don't know quite how so I stand by her side, aware of how near she is, her thin arm unknowingly touching my shoulder; my hand so wanting to touch her; the sillouette of her soft perfection and that red ribbon; the only pleasure she has ever given herself. She dares to smile, a tiny smile. My heart beats a million times knowing she is melting closer. I want us to stay like this for ever but she triggers an invisible flood of white tears in me like the sweetest music ever heard. Then my heart starts shaking. All I could do is lie there breathing heavy big full stops with my eyes open looking up at the ceiling because I knew no matter how hard I try I am just a nothing.

My hand goes up to my head and I start scratching it, digging my nails in and feel pretty wiped out.

I really want a Dad like Gregory Peck... a Dad I can talk to; I know Gregory Peck would talk to me and he'd know about everything. He'd go around with me, pick me up from school and know all the answers to the teachers questions about my low grades and stuff. Maybe he'd even know how I change sometimes. I swear I'm changing. I've been changing ever since I was ten but don't know what from or to. I don't know how may more times I'm gonna change. I don't know if I'm gonna change into someone really neat or end up a banana-head? Is there a bit inside me that always stays the same? It's so stupid when you don't know who you are. I mean how can I be like Gregory Peck when I don't know who I am in the first place?

I can't remember my beginning. But things went off the rails after mother left me in a bus station. In a pram. I guess she had somewhere better to go. I don't think I've had a lot of friends since.

I remember going to my adopted parents by train when I was five and while I was playing with some food scales they told me about my beginings. They said they were called Mr and Mrs Mudd. That makes me Samuel Mudd with two d's but in class I have the name 'shit-face'. And I've only been in this school two months. Some wise crack about my surname got twisted into Sam Shit. Then into shit-face. I don't make a deal about it but it's weird having a normal conversation while being called shit-face. Only Justin and the teachers calls me by my real name.

It's pretty important having a Dad. But my Dad's pretty busy in Hollywood or in his office writing stuff so I sort of get forgotten. A bit like my new bicycle left in the corner of the hallway. I never ride it anymore. I sort of want to. But with a Dad cycling next to me.

I never tell anyone I'm adopted. Dad's sort of famous in an acting sort of way. But he's the sort of actor no one ever really remembers. No one mentions his name at school. There's a lot of actors like that. He's got a different Hollywood screen name. He got recognised in a supermarket once. They just stared at him though, didn't say anything. I guess they didn't know his name and didn't know if it was really him. He's a dead ringer for Brando, when he got to his 'get fat' stage. In my head I call him 'Brando'. You may of seen him on the credit rolls. He's no big deal. A Hollywood 'C' actor. 'Lonely Mountain'. That was his last movie. He played the third dectective, the one that gets killed in the mill. A whole lot of corn comes crashing down and he sort of drowns in the corn. He's one of the good guys but when you watch the movie you'll probably want him to die as well. They have to kill off actors like my Dad to make the movie more real. Heroes never die in movies unless it's a good movie. Anyway he plays the part really well. He really looks like he's dying and makes me feel pretty weird seeing my Dad's hand come up through the corn shouting 'help' and there's no one there to help him out. Anyway, we have a cracking house.

Not everyone has had two fathers dumped on them but if I could choose a Dad, I'd have Gregory Peck. I would beg him to see me every night before I go to sleep. I'd be Sam, Sam Peck - a bucket load better than Samuel Mudd; you sort of almost know a nice guy from his name sometimes. Greg Peck would look over his eye brows and sure as hell everything would be alright, while ol' Brando just slams me against the kitchen wall, knees me in the tummy then ask why the fuck I didn't go to school. That's Brando for ya.

Over evening dinner Brando looked across at me and said, 'Before you go to bed, I want to see you in my office.'

I wasn't too sure if he was angry and I was thinking what I had done that may have upset him. I tapped on his office door. His office is the size of the Titanic with signed photographs of a million actors splashed all over his walls accept a big wood panel behind his flat back comfy chair with painting of flowers.

'Come in.'

As I closed the door behind me I took a quick glance at the neat black and white photograph of Greg Peck and touched it quickly as I could without getting noticed as good luck thing. It's signed to someone but I dunno who. I wish it was me.

For once ol' Brando wasn't playing Frank Sinatra. He's crazy over Sinatra. He'd been playing 'One for my Baby' a million times these last few weeks. I know because his office is right under my bedroom. It drives me mad when I'm trying to sleep an' ol' Blue Eyes is belting out his crap for the fiftieth time from under my bed. Anyway he had this soft piano stuff on which made a bit of a change. The stuff they play on an airplane just before take-off to calm down all the nutters who start freaking out and asking the stewardess for the fith time which lousey toggle they've gotta pull on the life-jacket and why in hell the airplane has no parachutes.

'Sit; Sam, you're going to a new school after the vacation, how do you like that?'

'I dunno.' I replied.

'Fenton's not doing the business is it!'

To be honest I'd only just started at Fenton. Having gone to four different schools in the last seven years and spent three years in a public school in Great Britian it was difficult to know what ol' Brando was doing with my educaton - what ever it was it wasn't working. Ol' Brando came up with the British school because he thought American culture was going down the drain. Before packing me off he said, 'Sam you're gonna come back a true English gentleman.' Hell, he really believed it as well. All I seemed to learn in that school was to say 'sorry'. Saying 'sorry' always got you out of trouble. Everyone says 'sorry' over there. Long as you say 'sorry' you can half kill someone and get away with it. I said 'sorry' four times a day for three god damn years and when I came back they all said I had an English accent. Well, that pleased the hell out of ol' Brando, it really did.

'Are you listening Samuel?'

'Well, yeah, Sorry,' I said almost forgetting what he was banging on about.
Over his studio desk is this dark wood panelling stuff with really bright paintings of flowers by some famous Artist. He once told us over breakfast the primrose painting was worth at least a Ferrari. I wondered why he only had a Mercedes. Eight little flowers all grouped into little sets of twos all hanging on the wall. Each one has a colour theme. The blue one was okay. Yeah, I liked the Bluebell. I wondered if he would give it to me when he died. I'd quite fancy a Ferrari Dino. But I guessed it wasn't a good time to ask.

'Dr Halwiess has recommended this school in Carson City,' he continued.

'Okay.'

Sometimes there's no point in arguing. The deal had obviously been signed and sealed so I just acted like one of the nodding dogs on back cill of a car. Still on the good side I guess I won't be called 'shitface' in Carson City. Well if they did call me shitface in Carson City it's gotta be because I really do look like a shitface.

Father saw me smiling, 'Good on you son, you see you'll like it.'

At that moment I felt pretty keen on leaving; leaving home that is, for good.

'You'll grow out of it Sam... Carson City Military Academy'll soon have you doing what other boys do!'

To be honest I didn't know what other boys did that was so damn different to what I did. I guess I was a bit quieter but I wasn't the only quiet one in Fento prep. Who wants to be like Justin shouting about pointless crap all the time. Everything so god damn pointless. I suppose I wouldn't mind looking like Justin then everyone would come up to me and want to be my best friend.

I was starting to feel pretty much the same as I did at Wellington school when I came sixth in Physics and eighteenth in Math and ol' Brando decided I needed 6 hours extra tuition a week on how to work out equations, pi and cosines and all that sort of crap. I can now find the 'x' and the missing angle and work out how far it is around a circle when I only know how far it is across. I know all that stuff now. I guess if I'm an astranaut or something it'll come in handy. Boy didn't he go on about it though.

'Why did you come 18th in Math when you came 6th in Physics?' He must have said that fifty times. There was no real answer to that one. All I could say was, 'I dunno'. Because that was the truth. It seemed to annoy the hell out him though, me saying, 'I dunno.' But it was like someone saying why is the moon nearer to me than Jupiter; hell I dunno why, it just is. And so he went on: Why is it I couldn't remember simple facts... line up all the ducks...it's so easy. God he loved saying, 'line up all the ducks... One,two, three, that's all school is, it's so easy.' Why couldn't I spell? Why was my hair growing long? Why did I wear red shoes? Why didn't I play football? Why did I stay in my room all day? Why did I eat chicken wings but not chicken legs? Brando could always think of something to make me feel like I was seriously screwed up and in need of extra lessons. Sometimes I think I'm like a red rag to a bull to ol' Brando but I don't mean to be. He was talking to me like I was a new recruit and he some Commando, 'So Carson City it is!'

'Sounds great,' I said lying.

Then he did something really weird. He pursed his lips, strode over and gave me this hell of a big hug. A sort of Rambo type hug. And I lifted right off the ground.

Back up to my room I really wanted to forget that hug. Boy did I want to forget that hug. I knew then I wanted to get away from home for a night or something. Get some air. See what it feels like to be on my own outside all day and night. The last time I had gone out really late, all night that is, was when Justin dragged me out to a late night music concert and he got really drunk and stood on his feet swaying about and starting dancing to some stupid music and the two lead singers danced like a robots and Justin yelled across to me, 'That's the way to do it, lemme tell ya, those guys ain't dumb.'

I needed someone to have fun with and if it was a girl it would be pretty cool. Being on my own most of time makes it pretty difficult. I thought about this for a bit then I reckoned it was pretty impossible to find a girl just like that. The next best thing - I would get drunk, like Justin did. You may not believe this but I'd never had more than two cans of Beer in my life. I'd still rather have a Fanta if you really want to know. But I wanted to escape and getting drunk might change me into someone I like. There were four bottles in the liquor cabinet, so I took a swig from all of them. They all tasted as disgusting as hell but I reckoned on the sherry as it didn't taste quite as bad as the other three. I really couldn't become an alcoholic. It's so damn disgusting. But that evening I was desparate to find something that would make me feel like a man, like Clint Eastwood. And I began thinking what the hell he would do. I squinted my eyes and emptied the bottle of sherry into an empty flower bowl and took it up to my room. I sort of stopped pretending I was Clint and pretended I was Justin and started dancing into the wall mirror, then got undressed and lay on my bed and downed the whole damn bowl of sherry. No crips, nothing. Not sure I felt happy but sure felt like dancing again so grabbed my pillow and pranced around a while to some old radio music before collapsing over the end of the bed.

God knows what time it was when I awoke but I was half off the bed tangled around my Japanese quilt cover. I fancied a piss and I was pretty cold laying there naked so I got off the floor and felt for the clock. It said quarter to three. I placed it back but it missed the side table and fell onto the floor. It took an age to get each leg into my jeans and I ripped the mirror off the wall trying to stare at my face at the same time. I looked at the small screw holes in the wall and felt drunk as hell, then held the mirror up. I think I looked okay drunk but I didn't feel that great, in fact I felt a bit sick. But no one would know. Ol' Brando was still in his office, playing Sinatra. Gody gody geesh!

With two hundred green backs stuffed into my pocket I swung around and the door seemed to come toward me, then I remembered Lily's book under my pillow so went back and got it because I needed that. I was going to take it back to her. I got to the bedroom door again but started gliding around a bit and hit the door frame so went to the bathroom and sat there for a while.

The stained glass entrance door downstairs has got this orange and red dragon poking its head through a circle of stained glass green leaves and and no twat is trying to stab it with a poker or anything. I had a half notion to look through Brando's key hole. What the hell was he doing in there. Maybe he was a depressed hell like me. At forty eight he looked a bit washed up.

I guessed it would be cool outside so I plumbed for my bendera leather jacket that cowboys wore when they were up against the Apache and Commanche warriors. And why I was at it I took father's foldable suede hat that makes anyone look fifteen years older.

Did I get a shock; as I was checking in the hall mirror whether to have the hat facing up with my long hair hidden or down to cover my eyes, Brando's door opened. I felt myself really go at that moment. Would you believe, all at the same moment of time, ol' Brando's Swiss grandfather clock began chiming three o'clock. Six foot two of walnut retard sounding off like a thousand Swiss bells tied to a herd of cows. Christ did I know I was in for it.

'Where the fuck do you think you're going Sam!'

'I dunno, I was just going out for a walk, Brando.' And then I realised I'd called him Brando. It was the god damn sherry that did it. Geesh was a big mistake or what.

'Hey!' He took the hat off my head and belted it around my ear shouting, 'Get the hell back upstairs, now!'

I wasn't going to be pushed around any more. I lay on my bed and thought Clint Eastward wouldn't just lay back on his bed just because his Pa told him. To hell with ol'Brando; two minutes after four and I was walking past a line of black silhouetted houses. I pulled down his hat over my brow and pulled up my jacket collar then lit one of ol' Brando's favourite cigars he'd left in the ash tray. I hadn't actually smoked cigars before and to be honest I couldn't see much going for it but it glowed red in my fingers and made for an invisible friend; and so me and my invisible friend walked down Bishop's Road listening only to the sound of my own shoes and a couple of crazy cats fighting it out over in the park.

I thought the fresh air would kick-start me but when I looked up at the foggy 'jesus halos' around the street lamps they shimmered and if I hadn't known better I could have sworn the road was uphill. But in a odd sort of way I was warm inside so started thinking what Justin would do. Having a few drinks wasn't so bad, Justin was pretty well right.

I loathe poets, I loathe poets, I loathe poets - getting a beat is so easy when you're walking along in the quiet night. One foot just follows another like a muffled drum.

I carried on for ages until I was standing bang in the middle of the main Square. Noise of the odd car and drunk broke the silence. The same place seems a different world in the daytime when you can see hundreds of office workers all milling around hanging out on the wooden benches eating sandwiches pretending to look at the central statue. It's probably a monument to Shakespeare or someone like that but with my eyes the only thing I've ever been able to read on the dirt plaque is 'Poet' and 'Playright'. Anyway who ever he is he's sitting in a big bronze chair in the middle of a pond holding a book in his left hand a feather quill in the other. Small bronze dolphins spaced around the pond squirt water all over the shot, so I guess strictly speaking it's a fountain. The dolphins are supposed to be shooting water back into the pond but when it's breezy it sprays all over anyone sitting around the edge. Justin put a box of detergent in the pond once and it foamed up but the bronze head and book always has white pigeon crap on it. The poet's not smiling but you know he's hella pleased with himself and probably the sort of guy who'd walk past his own statue wearing some disguise just to hear folk babbling on about how great his latest play was.

As it was a couple of hours before the bus station gates opened so I thought I might search for a bar over by the Catherdral. I quite fancied another drink. I could see how drinking could get to you. I was already feeling a bit mad with all the drink in me.


I'd never been up this late and the wind was chilly so I pulled ol' Brando's cowboy hat right down over my forehead 'till only one eye was looking out; I must of looked like some crazy bastard. I'm not though, crazy that is. But I'd never drank so much in my life, in fact I don't even like drinking, but when you've downed like a bucket full of sherry, and you sort of can't help being pretty crazy 'till your brain comes back to your head again.

The blue and orange uplighters were shining up at the cathedral at two statues standing on their little ledges. The colours were bright, halogen bright. I was beginning to think I could only see two colours. I see blue and orange a lot. never green and and brown. I always see red and orange and bright blue like you see on on a hot day by the sea side. I see these colours before any others. I think I gonna go blind.

I have no problem talking to statues. They just stand there waiting to be talked to. And these two were standing there ready to teach me about good things. That why I like them. Because they are good. They don't want anything from me. They weren't disciples but they must were have been pretty high up Saints. You don't a ledge above a cathedral door by acting the fool. Okay they were dead. But in some ways I don't think they were completely dead. They carried on in that half twilight. The sort that hob-nob with Jesus when things get bad and need sorting. The one nearest me looked a clever dude, the sort that would make hella good father. So I sat down on the damp grass and began staring up at him. He stood out because the orange light was really bright on him, and he had no arms or legs missing like the other one. He's just above the main arched entrance door and slightly to the left if you ever you want to walk over there and talk to him yourself. And just above him there's a big arched window with hundreds of pieces of different coloured glass. I mean hundreds of different coloured pieces of glass but mainly red and yellow. I shook my head to get the water out my ear and it looked liked a big Catherine Wheel. Cool. At the very top, above the window, is this spire. Just a small one but really pointed. It's got an orange light in it. Sort of goes well with the blue. You can't see the lamp but whole spire just glows like it's really living. There's a bell too but you can't see that either.

After a few minutes I was talking to the Saint; well, not exactly talking but he was sure pretty close and called himself something like Saint Golph. He was pretty quiet as it happens but he had a warm and deep voice. If you ever watch the old movies you may have have seen one called Roman Holiday. I don't say you should go out and get it. I mean it's not that great but for an old movie when there's nothing else doing you can sort of get into it. These naff guys are riding around on a stupid little motor scooter. And the guy driving is Greg Peck and that just if you wanna know the Saint was a dead ringer for him. Quiet but sorta deep. He came out of this faint blue light, and he had something pretty near perfect about him although he was made of stone, not God but damn well as close as you can get to him. Someone who'll never makes you feel bad and the sort of guy who'd make you feel good even if you were dying. The problem with doctors is they're always shaking their heads and saying, 'It's not looking good.' Brian died that way, that's Justin's brother, with this doctor saying, It's not looking good.' anyway he sure wasn't because he dies but doctors shouldn't be going around saying, 'It's not looking good' - they're in the business of living not dying and it's better to say, 'He's got a few hours.' If you say, 'He's not gonna last the day,' it makes you feel crap. Anyway I wanted Saint Golph to start talking. If I start talking first sometimes they go away. It's not polite to talk first anyway. The whole thing is on invitation only. The next thing was I could feel it raining. Hard. I think it was the rain that put him off. I could hear Saint Golph splashing down onto the york paving stones. It was like I was blue-cold and begining to suffer. Rain drops were falling like tears down my cheeks. Almost makes me want to cry when something like happens, and I sort of went along with it all soaking wet and pretty well done in and alone and I thought perhaps it was all a bit stupid being out here.

Big neon lights of the Blue Ding club were flashing on and off. One minute 'Blue Ding club' the next a pretty girl with peacock feathers twisting her half naked body.

The noise sounded cool but hidden round the corner under the canopy stood this doorman. No ordinary doorman. A mammoth.

'Is it okay to go in?' As I waited for him to answer I caught a glimpse of the packed bar all decked out with black walls and fancy red and blue lights. On the far wall a band was playing silhoueted by a big white glowing moon; gad, it all looked so warm and cosy with the noise of the band and all; the guy blowing the trumphet was really going for it.

The doorman didn't say anything, I thought her was gonna let me in but instead he wagged his finger and shook his head sympathetically like some old jovial retired boxer, 'No can do bro.'

'How old you got to be?' I asked.

He didn't answer. He shook his head again and pointed down the road so I drifted off into the drizzle and the sound of symbols faded away. It looked as if I was going to be wet, cold and miserable but I was determined not to back out and go home.

A little way down the Avenue under a street lamp there was this rumpus going on. It looked like some black lady was getting upset with this fella.

'Damit give me the money!'

'Ah,...fucka you too... black bitch!' The guy was coughing and spitting the road as he talked back to her.

That really seemed to annoy her. It would have got me annoyed too.

'Ya come over here 'ere ya'arl fucka white trash and you're meat 'n tray.' Then she held the guy's black jacket and pushed and pulled him like a rag doll. She was strong as hell. He just shook around until he stumbled and fell on his knees - she pushed her stiletto into his ribs and he collapsed onto the tarmac but he just about managed to get himself back under control and on his feet again when she punched him in the shoulder really hard. This made him try and walk off. He really wasn't up for a fight. But he'd only gone a few feet away when I could tell shecouldn't resist it, she came back and spat the old drunk guy right in the face. Then I could see the Ding Blue doorman coming over. He just stood there and didn't say anything. You could tell the old drunk had had enough of this rough cat treatment and ambled half looking at the doorman, mumbling some rubbish or other.

'Ya white fuckin' trash!' She shouted after him, but he didn't react, just staggering from side to side. Gad I hate swearing.

Then she looked over to me, 'An' you're lookin' at ya two toned fucka? Hey Winston,' now she was yelling across at the doorman, 'tell this lil' white trash to get his butt out it.'

She had her hand out gesticulating at me while holding a red purse in the other. She was really pissed off with everything. If it wasn't me standing in front of me looking such a dangerous son of a bitch I would have said she looked pretty funny doing what she was doing there. The doorman didn't say anything. I guessed he'd seen it all before a million times and probably knew the crazy cat but I wasn't sure.

I looked up at the black lady: 'Sorry...I just thought you...err...you needed help.'

Seriously she was over six foot and as mean a looking chic as you'll ever see. Her hair was up in this crazy heart shape but I can tell you that was the only funny thing about her. She looked as dangerous as hell.

'No...go fuck yourself lil' bro... okay.'

'Sorry.'

I walked off.

'Hey...I'm talkin' to ya' boy!'

I looked round. I really didn't want to get belted by her. She was definitely up for it.

'Hey... dis no place for a kids to be out.'

'I've gotta go...sorry.'

What the hell was up with this chic?

She came over with me just standing there like some dumb animal and put her arm around my shoulder, 'Hey mama-boy... wanna cup of mama's coco?'

'Thanks but I gotta go...somewhere...I mean... gotta go home.' I tried to say it really nicely like she would feel sorry for me. I could have cried. I'm good at faking things like that. For two pins she could've had a gun and blown me away. That's how I felt anyway.

'Hey dat's not nice boy... speakin' to ya Mama like dat.'

'Sorry,' I said. Her hand now had gripped me like a god damn vice.

'Eeeh...yeah lil' bro, even some trash got manners...some trash got no manners...you got manners... an' I'll never forget ya...' She was half singing now. God she was crazy. To be honest I think she was stoned out her head but at least she was easing up on her grip a bit.

Her face rocked from vampire to angel. You could smell her rich perfume ladies wear when they go shopping at Christmas, as she got closer though the alcohol kicked in which was pretty foul. Her face came right into mine, really big, and her afro touched me and those white gleeming teeth spoke to me, 'What ya thinkin' lil' bro.'

'Dunno.' I replied. Her long red fingers nails touched my face and next thing she was rubbing my ear lobe and whispering all cuddly things as if I was a teddy-bear. She was a psycho as hell and really starting to freak me, so I just kept walking but she still had hold my ear and talking: 'Heya serious...hey lil' britches...hey stop a moment for ya mama... fifty dollars and I'm ya mama's girl till da sun rises.'

Sometimes it's best to do the thing you know you shouldn't.

My red shoes walked in time with her silvery boots and I made sure they didn't touch the lines on the pavement. A sort of good luck thing I had going.

To be honest it was pretty sleezy inside the apartment but you don't expect much else really. It wasn't so much dirty and just everything was everywhere. Something about it was pretty cool come to think about it. The kitchen sink was clean but washed black sheets were half hanging from the ceiling and stuff; shoes, lip-stick, make-up and some guys trousers lay scattered over lounge floor but hanging up on a coat stand was the most beautiful black, red and white dress. Coco Chanel. She eyed me carefully as she placed a thick red elastic band around a bunch of fifty dollar bills.

A black cat with a white spot on it's head sat on the window cill looking uncertain and staring around.

'Ya got ya fifty dollars lil' bro?'

'Erm.. fifty?'

'Forty.'

She wasn't kidding. I wasn't exactly trying to bargain either but I just didn't expect her to ask like that. I wouldn't have asked her, but handed over four notes anyway.

'Cool apartment,' I lied.

'Do you have another bedroom?' I said.

'This 'ain't no hotel, ana’ what's sooo wrong with lil' mama's bedroom?' She was off on her coochy-coo voice again and was talking as if I was some baby.

'Whatcha drink lil' britches, rum or whiskey?'

'Whiskey.' I replied. Ah geesh, I was beginning to feel tired and gave a hellava yawn.

‘Wait there for mama honey...’

While she left the room with the money I stroked the cat on the window cill. I played with its tail and it looked up at me with eyes that were half in love until it jumped down and walked around my feet. Its tail was right up; I reckoned it only really wanted me to let her out into the parking lot.

I heard the shower run and wondered what time was, I didn't want to miss the bus out to the hills. Lily's book was still close to my heart inside my bendera pocket, The 39 Steps. I wondered if I should take it out and dry it on the radiator but thought against it. I might forget it. The Post It! note with her address was safe in the middle of the book stuck with tape. My trousers were still pretty damp from sitting out in the rain and the sound of the hot water splashing and steam coming out from the behind the door seemed quite inviting. I began to shiver. The white plastic wall clock said quarter to five.

She came out naked and sat on a comfy chair, 'take ya shirt off honey an' dance for ya mama!'

I sort of felt cool with all the whiskey but my legs and arms just weren't going right and she started killing herself until she got up and started dancing like Ginger Rogers. Boy could she dance! Then she came up close all naked and close and started moving me the way she wanted and I was half getting the hang of it when the record finished and she disappeared into the shower.

'...Come in honey-babe!'

I poked my head into the bathroom, 'Gee I'm sorry...I didn't know you were in... the shower.' Through the foggy plastic I wouldn't say she was big but she had Rhino thighs.

'That's okay honey, come in,' she repeated.

It's okay, I'll wait...err...'till you're.... actually I'm not...'

'Ya catch ya cold out there with dem wet clothes lil' britches, yum cum in ‘ere wit all of nuthin' on right now and 'ave yourself a shower or you're on da floor tonight I’m tellin’ ya. I'm not wasting no hot water for some dum lil’ scat, you 'ear, it’s off in one minute... so get your lil' butt in 'ere now.'

‘Turn da radio on honey-babe!’

‘Where’s...’

‘On da shelf next da fuckin' fire honey.’

A song belted out and Rhino sang along. I guess I was tired with a belly full of sherry but it seemed pretty easy coming in on the chorus so I turned the radio up while taking my trouers off and hanging them over the radiator. I kept my black briefs on, they looked okay for swimming so I guessed they'd be okay for the shower.

Rhino made space for me and we both looked at each other a while in the steamed up shower then she carried on belting out the song. Geesh, she looked so funny with her heart shaped hair , I didn't even know it but I started belting it out too and we just laughed like two crazy cats through the bits we didn't know then banged in on the chorus together:



"What ya drinkin’, rum or whiskey?"

‘Whiskey!’ I shouted.

"Now don’t you ‘ave a... double wit’ me?"

She teased me her glass with a Cuban dancer engraved on it. It looked liked it really had come from Cuba not some fake stuff. Maybe Rhino was Cuban. I wasn't going to ask though. She really teased me like hell will the whiskey, propping it up in the soap holder then passing it over my head till I jumped and grabbed it and drank it but coughed up half of but she only started rocking some more, singing:

"We were mischievous and you were always wearing black."

She turned me around and shampooed my hair and her black fingers nails went down to my briefs but I wouldn’t let her.

"We just got swallowed up.
I you know that I didn’t forget you
We just got swallowed up
But you know that I didn’t forget you
We just got swallowed up by the whole damn world
What ya thinkin’
Did ya miss me?
Always remember me.
I’ll never forget ya
You’re my joy always remember me."

I was just killing myself larking about and singing in the shower with Rhino. Gee, I don't know if I like her more when she was laughing or when she had the biggest smile that ever was. They say about teeth being as white as snow. Well hers really were. And I am sure her smile was twice the size of any smile I've ever seen before.

'Can you dance lil' bro?

'Sure!' Well you know I couldn't dance for shit but when you're in the shower and pretty well drunk what the hell; and I started shaking just about every part of my body that seriously impressed her because she made some space for me and I danced some more crazy stuff and she lent right against the wall so I could have some of the hot water too.

Then I kinda fell forward and slid down her with my hands clinging around her rhino thighs. I donno if I was just exhausted, drunk or what but I slid down into the shower tray and sat there looking up at her laughing while she took the shower rose in her hand and sprayed my hair with it. And know I couldn't of got up if I tried, my legs were like jello and my head just lolled against the tiles and I couldn't stop laughing. I don't know why I couldn't stop laughing but I just couldn't. And she just carried on spraying me all over until I got some shampoo in my eye and she knelt down and wiped it away and all the last of the suds just went around in a circle and disappeared down the plug and she kissed me on the lips. Only for one moment. But it stopped me laughing. Then she half fell over me curled up there and stepped out leaving me in the tray with water still running down on me. I really wanted her to stay...

I think I must have fallen asleep there and then lying in the shower tray because the next thing I was shivering and hella cold and Rhino was bent over me turning the shower off. The radio was off and she said nothing, just hooked me under her arm up and sort of carried me then threw me onto a yellow towel that lay on the bed. I didn't want her to but she pulled my wet briefs off. I was just too tired to fuss. The bed was warm, I remember that. And I remember finding a pillow but don't remember much else after.

'Hey whatcha thing in school?' - She said shaking my head gently - that's how she woke me up.

'Huh.' My head hurt.

'Time ya gone, ya got schoolin'?'

'Goin' to the Hills,' I replied wishing she wasn't so old.

'What ya like in school... ?'

'Dunno... dunno much about history, dunno much biology, dunno much about the French I took...'

'Ya dunno much about nuthin'...

No, but running though my mind I was thinking I did know one thing - I was in love, tingling at the thought of seeing Lily Rolt. Well he we go. I got dressed and pressed her book against my heart, closed my eyes and kissed the air.

Outside my whole mood changed. Shows you how a door can change you just like that. Out of one world into another. God I felt depressed. I knew ol Brando and mother would be going through the roof at me going off like this. I guess it was pretty irresponsible. But to be honest when you don't love someone it is hard to be responsible to them. But I felt depressed anyway. Rhino thighs had really made me happy for a moment in time. Now it was over. I knew I would never see her again. That was depressing. I sort of half wanted to tell her everything but if I did she wouldn't like me. I think she knew something was up but I guess she didn't want to get into all that kinda stuff. She'd probably seen a thousand depressions walking in and out her door.

There is something in me that wants to be loved. I know that might sound silly but not having anyone at all it pretty hard to bear. This being alone thing is not so easy as it looks. You feel you are being used. People only want you in their life when it's right for them. Then they make a thousans excuses when they've found something better and you're left their on your own standing there like some dumb ass feeling really crap. There really is something nice about a family. A family that care and look out for you. That's why I bang on about Gregory Peck so much. I've never had one and I guess I never will now.

My head was hurting and I sat on the stone step outside Rhino's apartment. she couldn't see me but I was there. I was angry with everything. You see there was nothing I could do. I would always lose. The mammoth on the door of the Blue Ding club was a nice guy. I know it. But I felt I could wap him. I know he would wap me and half kill me if he had a mind but I felt like going back there just to get wapped. Anyway the guys inside were just as stupid, singing and hoofing. I never could see wahat there was in hoofing. Clipping your heels up and down like you're trying to hammer a nail into the floor. Then when there's two of them the whole damn theatre's goes crazy because there's tow of 'em banging nails into the floor. Pretty over rated if you ask me. But a good sax player or a singer that makes you cry - now you're talking. God I love art. But humans are not much good at it. Nor are seaguls. But a hummingbird, I can watch a hummingbird all day. Don't ever kill a hummingbird, I'll never forgive you.