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 .   .   .   .  .   .  .   .  .   .                  "PART 1"
 .   .   .   .  .   .  .   .  .   .
  . . .  .   .   . . .  . . .  . . .               by Schoolboy


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        The toads of woe were as warty as ever when the doors were flung open
 and Daniel was dumped onto the pavement.  With his cheek rapidly cooling to
 numbness as it rested on the concrete his eyes began to fill with the tears
 of a man who felt as low as a wood louse.  He had no idea how long he lay
 there for but it was long enough for a puddle of tears to gather at the foot
 of his nose where it met the ground.

        He had been in Ring Towers for only about half an hour but the course
 of his life had taken the steepest of downward spirals in that time.  Even
 though it was all so recent he couldn't remember precisely everything that
 had happened in there.  But what was certain was that he was without a job,
 without a home, without a life.  He was the lowest of the low.  He was
 nothing.  He was eight years old again.


 A DIRTY JOB

        He lived with his family in a house that was more of a snail's shell
 that a normal home.  It was low slung, dank and the atmosphere inside made
 the place seem coated with a slimy residue.  It had three rooms--none of
 which where toilets in the literal sense; only in the colloquial--and five
 miserable, hateful souls.

        His father, born in Leicester, was absolutely and without any debate
 the head of the "house" as it was the only place where he could exercise any
 influence whatsoever.  He was a thin, sinewy, light man but had so much
 latent energy and self-hatred weighing him down that his hunched shoulders
 would only straighten when his tinder dry fuse was splashed with the
 white-hot napalm of cheek, lateness, loudness, suspicious quietness,
 over-cooked food, under-sugared tea, skewed school ties, laughter, crying,
 letter writing.  And escaping. When his temper was ignited his strength was
 generated, and felt, in a way reminiscent of how the cane is fast and
 stinging but painful long after.  He was a human whip.

        His mother was little more than a broken woman and had a spirit
 doused in alcohol and Himalayan layers of make-up.  She had a laugh that
 sounded like crying which often confused her children listening in another
 room.  She could speak fluent Welsh from her years living with her uncle
 during the war and this gave her a means to speak and write what she wanted
 without being beaten any more than she was.

        She did not wear make-up to attract male admirers--although that's
 what it did--but to cover the scars of her wretched marriage.  She did,
 however, have to take the off-licence manager's cock into an orifice of his
 pleasing every Wednesday morning to get the level of supplies of drink that
 her meagre resources would never cover.

        A childhood of this sort made school a blessing.  Clean surfaces,
 sunshine, air and structure.  Daniel was a star pupil.  A dirty pupil, but
 nevertheless a star.

        His undernourished heart would rattle around inside him at every
 picture or poem or certificate he would see of his pinned to the classroom
 board.  But he could never share his pride with anyone else.  His mother was
 scarcely sober enough to decode an oven ping let alone an excitable,
 babbling child.  His father was too self absorbed to put a coat on in the
 pissing rain and his siblings, Dawn and Leo, were too old for him to
 communicate with them at any other level than, "I hate you, fishface!"

        His one friend was his imaginary one.  "Suez" (the first word that
 came on the radio when he "saw" him) was an invisible hybrid of a rabbit and
 Barney Rubble.  Suez spoke Upside-downish which, of course, only he and
 Daniel could understand.

        Although he was a teeny bit old for imaginary friends, his mind was
 so screwed up and yet fertile in imagination that he couldn't help himself.
 After all it was the only practical distraction from real home-life.

        He never told anyone about Suez.  Normally, kids tend to blame their
 imaginary friend with everything naughty they get up to.  Not Daniel.  He
 didn't want to make Suez public property.  Besides, what he spoke to Suez
 about was private so why should he bring him up with anyone else?

        So the day came, as it does with everyone, when something actually
 happened in his life.  And this changed his life as well.

        Emelda came late to Crompton Junior School, when both Emelda and
 Daniel had just turned 10 years old, because her mother had finally managed
 to prise herself free of her marriage and moved to her home town.  Her now-
 ex-husband had been in prison for 2 ½ years for half killing his gay brother
 in a drunken rage on finding out about his arrest in a notorious cruising
 area of the town.  He wouldn't be out until at least 1978.  Ten years in the
 slammer was just about enough for the courts to "free" her.

        Emelda was the sort of person you had to look twice at to gauge her
 emotion at any one time.  One glance she could look suicidal, the next like
 she'd just remembered a joke.  You could say something to her, think you'd
 said something wrong, and then she'd come back with something perfectly
 normal or witty.

        She had long dark hair and light-bronze skin (her mother was half
 Indian) with a slim frame.  Her eyes were of a colour somewhere between blue
 and brown and would veer between the two depending on the light.  Her eyes
 never employed a smooth scanning motion.  Instead, they darted, almost like
 a bird.

        She had a tiny nose and her lips seemed pinker than most, although
 they probably weren't, because of her slighty darker skin shade.  She only
 dressed in black, red or gold (not necessarily the shimmering kind) and wore
 school uniform in the most lack-lustre way she could.  But she got away with
 it.  Why?  Because she was such an excellent student.  She could really have
 finished a degree already but she had chosen to stick with school so that
 she would have something to do at 15.

        What ego Daniel had was blasted out of the water the very first week
 of Emelda's arrival.

        She was introduced to the class at 10 o'clock after she had spoken to
 the Head Mistress.  "Class, we have a newcomer to the school," said Miss
 Front, "This is Emelda Crossley and she has come from over the Pennines to
 be with us."  The class were unmoved.  "Say hello to Emelda, everyone."

        "Hello."

        "That's it, make her feel welcome."  Emelda tugged Miss Front's
 sleeve and whispered into her ear.  "Yes, of course you can," she replied,
 confused.

        "Now I know I'm new and that I look different from you all," said
 Emelda with off-putting confidence, "but I'm a quarter Indian--and I don't
 mean "wig-wam" Indian, I mean from the country of India where you get curry
 and elephants.  I'm nervous at the moment because it's a new school but I
 want some friends and I think I'll be a good friend to you but don't try to
 bully me because I'll just outsmart you."

        The whole class shuffled in their chairs and screwed-up bits of paper
 and pea-shooters were rapidly and seruptitiously rehoused in their desks.

        "I know it doesn't sound like it," she continued, "but I do have a
 sense of humour and I like laughing at funny things.  I'll end up using
 words you won't understand but I can't help having advanced intelligence so
 don't worry about asking what I'm on about.  And Miss.?"

        "Front."

        "Miss Front, I'm sorry to say this, but I'm not a teacher's pet and I
 never will be so don't expect me to suck up to you.  I have to say this now
 so the class won't label me wrongly, I'm sure you understand.  So class, as
 you can see I want to get off on the right foot.  Please give me a chance
 and I'll fit in like I've been here for years.  Thank you."

        Unbelievable.

        And with that, she went to her new desk.  Next to Daniel.


        TO BE CONTINUED.

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  .           anada 182                  by Schoolboy  (c)2000 anada e'zine .
      
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