March 2012
7 posts
Naive
I am to take the fourteen-year-old to see a psychiatrist.
“Why do you need to see a psychiatrist?” I ask her, as we leave.
“Apparently because I’m disorganised… and have a bad attention span.”
“Okay.”
“It’s bullshit.”
“Okay.”
“It really is bullshit.”
We trudge up the hill. She has been learning about communism at school. She is opposed to it because she believes humans are intrinsically selfish...
Gob-smacked
I am a spitter. I spit in gutters, I spit on pavements, I spit on tarmac. I spit when I run, I spit when I walk. I had, however, managed to avoid spitting in front of the five-year-old, until recently…
In hindsight, I blame the sun – it had dulled my senses and exacerbated the productivity of my salivary gland. I regretted the expulsion, before my phlegm hit the road.
“Did you just spit?”...
Lord, Make Me A Rainbow
Every week, I pick the five-year-old up from swimming. When I arrive this week, there is an unfamiliar face on reception. It is wrinkly, sprinkled with bleach-blonde hair and adorned with gold-rimmed glasses. It has a slither of a top lip, with no discernable bottom, and the mouth is taut and pouty, like an anus.
“Hello”, I say, “I’m here to pick up *****.”
“And who are you?” asks the face,...
Fucking Faggot
I am in the garden, playing football with the five-year-old, when the thirteen-year-old comes over to introduce his friend.
“This is Matthew”, he says.
“Hi Matthew, nice to meet you”, I smile.
“Alright, faggot”, he responds, “can you take a punch?”
Before I can answer, he punches my arm.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Punching you, faggot.”
He swings his fist again and connects with my...
Blood in my eyes, for you
“What is this stuff?” asks the five-year-old, plunging a stick into the pond.
“What stuff?”
“This stuff. Like bubbly jelly. I’m squashing it.”
I look into the pond.
“Oh no, don’t squash them, they’re alive!”
“What are they?”
“Frogspawn.”
“What?”
“Frogspawn.”
“Huh?”
“Frogspawn.”
“What’s that?”
“Like, frog eggs.”
“I hate frogs”, she says, thrashing them once more with her stick.
I confiscate the...
Alarm
“What’s this?” asks the five-year-old, proffering her palm.
“Christ, where did you get that!?”
“I found it. What is it?”
“Where did you find it!?”
“In someone’s coat.”
“Whose coat?”
“Someone’s”
“Give it to me.”
“No”.
“Hand it over, now.”
“No.”
“You stole it, it’s not yours, give it to me.”
“No. What is it?”
“This is your last chance, hand it over.”
“No.”
“Right.”
I walk towards her.
“I’ll press...
Grenade
“Don’t forget to take the fourteen-year-old to the hairdressers”, says the mum, as she leaves.
“I won’t”, I reassure her.
She spins around and regards my hair curiously.
“You could get something done too, if you like, just put it on our account.”
“Thanks.”
I look in the mirror. It could do with trimming, smartening up. The fourteen-year-old bounds down the stairs.
“Stop looking in the mirror. You...
