Pica

by Jeff Gardiner

  Guy’s voice made me jump.

  Imagine you’re part of the tree. Be at one with it.

  I couldn’t see him but the voice was very close; a part of me, in fact. I wasn’t too sure if all my thoughts were my own now. This couldn’t be right – surely.

  Why was I losing grip of normality? Now I couldn’t be sure about reality itself. Up to this point things with Guy had been exciting; a buzz; something to live for. Now I wasn’t so sure.

  The sensation was freaky and it happened much more quickly than I had expected. At first it affected my face. Where my cheek lay against the rough bark I could feel my face turn soft, like liquid, and slowly seep into the thin runnels, grooves, and swirls. The tree accepted me and my face collapsed willingly into a mulch – skin, muscle, bone, sinews all melted and spread slowly over a vast distance around the trunk. But I felt absolutely no pain as this seemed, somehow, normal.

  Then I felt my hands stretch and entwine the trunk as my fingers turned into tendrils, snaking around like ivy until they too dissolved into the tree. Once I got through the bark I reached the hard wood, which was more difficult to penetrate. The pores were so tiny that I had to split and fragment into millions of particles; yet oddly it still didn’t hurt. I was strangely aware of myself sitting on the branch, clasping the tree, but my sense of being was larger – magnified and elated. My head was now completely devoured by the tree as I sank deeper and deeper into its heartwood. The rest of me flowed and trickled from my clothes until empty material flapped on the branches ‘outside’ of me.

  I had entered the mighty oak.

  While my senses didn’t register, I could still ‘feel’ in a non-physical way and remain aware of myself as me. And yet I had become part of the tree. Where was up? Or down? I couldn’t tell the difference.

  As I permeated through the wood and knotty root system I had a sensation of vastness, with my extremities reaching through and beyond and within and far away. Tiny twigs and leaf buds became as vital as colossal roots which delved, twisting, grasping, and mining the ground for goodness, while establishing a permanence; stability for the enormous existence above. Then my essence became the water, the sap, the knots, the buds, the deadwood, the luxurious blossom …

  And I understood.

  I understood the ancient wonder of nature.

  I felt billions of years of existence overwhelm me. The knowledge and emotion of aeons passed through me – burning everything else away – as if what I knew as a human was ridiculously trivial and so pathetically … temporary. I experienced creation; destruction; transformation; extinction; resurrection; burning; freezing; explosion; implosion; then stillness. The stillness lasted for centuries, millennia. I could sense the geological and meteorological shifts and counterbalances. The planet turned relentlessly; grinding its way through infinity as nature continued its struggle to survive on its surface and within.

  And I laughed wildly. No longer weak and tiny, I thrilled to be part of creation, released from all pain and fear.

  Suddenly the sound of howling erupted into my head. It was my own voice. I was midway through separating my physical being from the tree – extracting each atom and molecule from the wood and rough bark – when I heard myself. I pulled away from the oak trunk so abruptly that I lost my grip and fell from the branch.

  My hands hit the floor first with a stinging agony that ripped through my arms. Then my shoulder jarred into the rock-hard earth just before my body slammed with a sickening thud. I rolled over onto my back, spitting dirt from my mouth. When I closed my eyes it seemed that the ground itself swayed gently, rocking me from side-to-side. Then sick came up into my mouth, burning my throat. I turned my head to one side to spit it out. It slimed down my chin but I had no energy to wipe it away.

  A throbbing headache in my temples forced my eyes closed, but even rest and darkness couldn’t bring relief. The pounding blood in my head and ears stopped me from drifting into unconsciousness. Instead, I relived the enormity of the oak tree. I recalled what it felt like to be gigantic, important, to be still and ancient; what it was to know and understand nature itself. Such knowledge, gaping over eternity, which I had been lucky enough to glimpse and taste.

  I couldn’t be sure how long the experience had lasted. It could have been a second or a few hours. It didn’t matter. It was real – and more than just a vision or hallucination. The gigantic scale of what I now knew remained with me. From now on I would be different. Of that I felt certain.

  Something sharp prodded my chin and I became aware of a light moving object creeping over my chest. Summoning any reserve of strength I managed to swat a limp hand which bashed my own face. It touched something soft, which moved and then chattered angrily, springing up to avoid the hand before landing back on top of me. I felt pin pricks through my jumper.

  ‘Get up, lazy.’

  Laughing helplessly while also dribbling, I raised the same hand slowly and located Pica’s head. He nudged against it. I grinned and let my weak arm fall back to my side again.

  Pica hopped onto my belly and then fluttered onto my forehead; his tiny claws scratching my skin gently.

  ‘You did well.’ Pica snapped his beak and returned to my chest. ‘How do you feel?’

  I took a few breaths and tried, but failed, to open my eyes.

  ‘I need sleep.’ I tried moving my legs and they seemed to work fine. However, a spasm ran through my back and up to my shoulder blades. It felt like my spine had broken. It took everything I had to not scream aloud.

  A hand took hold of mine and tried to pull me up – and failed. Guy stood over me, looking concerned.

  ‘You need to get home.’

  I don’t know how I managed to struggle home, but anyone who saw us would have assumed I was drunk.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  School just seemed so unimportant now after what I’d experienced. None of the teachers could ever hope to show me a fraction of what I’d learned from Guy. Unbelievable secrets.

  So many of my lessons were uniformly dull. Merely sitting in a classroom was no real education. Sure, there were books to read and basic theories to learn, and lots of writing – we never went on trips, or enjoyed outdoor activities. And every lesson had become the same – we always had a predictable and patronising starter activity that often had nothing to do with the rest of the lesson, but I assumed was given to us to shut us up while the register was taken, then every teacher used a PowerPoint presentation which whizzed about with colours and shapes but were only glorified worksheets. Like my dad always said, ‘Form over content’. Then we always ended up with a class discussion when we had to explain in ninety-seven different ways what we were supposed to have learnt in that lesson, which was always bloomin’ obvious because the lesson’s aim was written at the top of the interactive whiteboard screen. What I hated was when teachers made us stick our thumbs up to show we understood the learning objectives as if we were five years old. And as for those flippin’ self-evaluation sheets we had to fill in every day – there is only a certain amount you can write about a lesson before you repeat yourself ad nauseam.

  School became difficult for me because my so-called (or rather ex-) friends decided to punish me for changing my allegiance from them to Guy. The gay-bashing got worse and became the focus of their hatred for me until it appeared the whole school had turned me into its victim and public enemy number one.

  On one hideous day some year sevens shouted out the usual offensive stuff. I did my best to ignore it.

  ‘Yeah, walk on, fag.’

  From the giggling and whispering behind me I guessed they were mincing behind me. It had become the school joke that I skip about waving my hands in a camp way. I’d never bloody done this in my life and I made a point of shuffling with my hands in my pocket.

  ‘It’s OK, you can call him anything you want,’ a year seven girl said to her friend as they walked along with me. ‘He never replies or retaliates.’

  ‘Maybe he’s a bit of a
spaz as well,’ her friend replied.

  ‘Mm, probably.’

  Obviously bored with my lack of reaction they left me to cope with the stairwell on the way to the science labs.

  This was the gate to hell.

  I knew what was coming, but kept on anyway. As I reached the bottom of the stairs I blocked out the name-calling and waited for the bombardment.

  ‘He’s there. Go.’

  This time a shower of random objects spilled down upon me. Pens, rubbers, balls of screwed up paper, pebbles, a bread roll, and the contents of a crisp packet.

  Wiping the crisps from my hair, I attempted to keep a blank mind, which is so much harder than it sounds. How I wanted to punch one of those little runts.

  I reached the classroom door without being tripped up this time. Names and insults echoed and swirled around me.

  A group of year nines in my class stood back to let me into the room, giggling suspiciously. I didn’t care.

  As I grabbed the door handle, my hand slipped off, and I realised something gooey and wet was now on my hand. The laughter turned into screams and howls.

  What the hell was it that stuff on my hand? It was yellowy brown, and smelt disgusting. Once in the science lab I washed my hands and took my place at the front desk.

  Outside, Cheryl was screaming at the crowds.

  ‘Leave him alone, you losers! He’s my boy and he’s braver than all of you put together.’

  It went quiet, even when Cheryl opened the door to join me, but the sniggering returned as the door swung to again.

  ‘What a buncha tossers, eh, Lukie?’

  She reached out to embrace me, and even let me rest my face on her squishy bosom as she fiddled with my hair, which only forced me to endure a very different kind of agony.

  She told Mr Saddler about the victimisation and I was sent to Miss Mire again. This time I just nodded and accepted the leaflets she gave me. Any other response was a waste of effort.

  ‘Here’s the gay guy,’ quipped Simon one time, ‘who likes to get gay with Guy.’

  The jibes and teasing were really starting to get on my nerves.

  ‘You must miss your little bum-chum, you bender.’ Connor approached me with an ugly frown fixed on his face. ‘Unless you’re hiding him somewhere.’ Connor grabbed my shoulders and spun me around before I could fight back. The others all made a big show of looking at my backside and calling Guy’s name.

  ‘Yoo-hoo! You can come out now!’ The lads all fell about laughing and were soon joined by a number of others. Just before it got completely out of hand I heard Cheryl’s voice.

  ‘Leave him alone, you prats! You are such a load of dickheads!’ she screamed. It had an astonishing effect. The younger kids scarpered as if she was a teacher and the older boys all looked up dumbly as if unable to argue. Connor and the older boys wanted to impress her; to them, she was an opportunity to lose their virginity. Connor always bragged about his sexual conquests, and even though nobody believed him, no one was stupid enough to argue with him, so he carried on boasting.

  ‘You bunch of saddos aren’t half the real man Luke is,’ Cheryl said. I didn’t like to intervene, although I began to wish I’d had the guts to. ‘See, Luke knows who he is and he has the bottle to tell the truth about himself, even though you’ve all turned against him.’

  Connor dared to respond first.

  ‘Yeah, well, I’ve shagged ladies twice your age – that makes me a real man, ’cos I shag real women.’

  ‘He’s got bigger balls than you have, boy.’

  I couldn’t help wishing Cheryl hadn’t brought my testicles into this discussion. I couldn’t see how this intervention was exactly helping my cause, but at least the lads weren’t threatening me for a few moments.

  ‘Just because he bats for the other side and doesn’t fancy girls isn’t reason to hurt him,’ she continued, unabated. ‘He’s such a sweetie and he’s my friend. If I see you lay one finger on him then you’ll have me to answer to.’

  I winced at the word ‘sweetie’ and saw Connor snigger at the idea of a girl protecting me.

  Then Connor squared right up to Cheryl.

  ‘I don’t take no orders from a … girl.’ He stared at her, unflinching. ‘A bitch is only good for one thing, innit? And I know you want some, babe.’

  Cheryl moved with supernatural speed, slapping his cheek hard. He stood upright, shocked beyond belief. His face had already gone red from both pain and embarrassment.

  ‘Not interested in you, ugly. Anyway, I hear you don’t have much to write home about.’ She stuck out her little finger, all droopy and crooked. ‘You’re such a sad case. See you, boys.’

  She blew me a kiss and waved to the remaining onlookers, before disappearing outside to join the smokers by the back gate.

  Unfortunately, that left me with the pack of snarling bull terriers. Connor’s hatred for me seemed harshly irrational as I’d never really done anything to hurt him. Pete and Simon’s anger, I assumed, came from their reaction to my friendship with Guy, which they saw as a rejection of them. The others were just mean-spirited pillocks.

  ‘Are you looking at my dick?’ Connor strutted towards me menacingly. He pointed down towards his groin with his fingers. ‘I tell ya. This big boy is only for the ladies. You geddit, homo? Don’t even look at me, gayboy!’ He pressed his forehead right up against mine and continued spitting in my face as he spoke. ‘’Cos if I catch you even looking at me or any other bloke I’ll castrate you with a rusty blade.’

  Snot started running down my nose but I couldn’t do anything about it.

  ‘You dirty queer!’ he screamed, and moved slowly away from me. I quickly wiped my sleeve under my nose, but I just felt the snot smear across my cheek. Then without warning he put his head down like a rhinoceros and butted into my midriff. I was winded and on the floor, doubled up in pain. I felt myself being hauled over the cold floor and outside onto the back fields. Forcing me onto my feet and surrounding me, the gang of boys pushed me behind the cricket nets and through the small allotments as far away from school as you could get while still on school grounds.

  I’m not sure what their intentions were after that because I suddenly became aware that the beatings had stopped. Raised voices filled the air and I was alone for a few moments. Looking up, I could see why they had scarpered. Mrs Fuller was marching towards me with Cheryl jogging behind her. As they got closer I could hear Cheryl reciting to the Head Teacher all the names of my assailants.

  I saw the school nurse and was given the rest of the day off. Dad picked me up, and said very little in the car. It remained an awkward, tense journey home and I felt like I’d let him down somehow. He clapped me on the back at one point and told me to keep my chin up. Mum was more sympathetic and gave me lots of hugs, which I accepted gratefully. I definitely preferred Cheryl’s, though.

  My girlfriend (as in my friend who happened to be a girl, and sadly not the other kind) rang me later.

  ‘Connor’s been excluded, innee? He’s a goner an’ a loser and we say goodbye …’ She broke into an improvised and tuneless song as she regaled me with this news: ‘… to that sad, stupid muppet – now sod off and die …’

  Not the greatest song in the world, but her sentiments were kind – at least to me.

  With that, I made the mistake of thinking it would mean an end to those particular problems.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  I didn’t go into school the next day, and with both my parents at work I stayed at home alone. When the front doorbell rang I initially considered leaving it as it was bound to be a salesman trying to get us to change our gas provider or the like.

  I certainly didn’t expect Connor.

  Before I could close the door, he’d barged it open and was inside. Right behind him came Simon and another boy, Carlton. They bundled me to the floor and jammed what must have been a plastic bag into my mouth. Then they tied my hands behind my back and hauled me up to my feet.

  ‘Now we’
re gonna go outside. You walk in the middle and don’t do anything stupid. If you do, you’re dead. Understand?’ I could only nod to Connor’s command. The bag in my mouth hurt my jaw, saliva filled my throat, and I began to gag. It took a huge effort to stay quiet.

  Simon pushed me roughly outside and I walked with Simon holding one arm, Carlton, the other, and Connor behind me with something digging into my back. A knife? A gun? I had no way of knowing. I desperately wanted to plead with them that this was unnecessary. I had no idea what they planned to do with me or how much it would hurt.

  We walked for about fifteen minutes, until we reached some private garages. Connor had the key to one, and flipped up the large, square, metal doorway. The heavy counterbalance weights moved as the door flipped outwards. I was shoved inside with enough force to make me stumble and fall to my knees, which grazed on the rough concrete floor. They stayed outside. My hands were still tied so I couldn’t use them to balance or even grope around in the darkness that surrounded me as the garage door slammed closed. I tried kicking the metal to alert any passer-by – although if it was locked, what could they do apart from call the police? It seemed unlikely that I’d be rescued at all. The noise made by the resounding metal sheet became horribly deafening, so I gave up and fell on my rump.

  The bag in my mouth began to make me choke, making it difficult to breathe. The musty reek in the dark garage added to my stifling sense of panic. Bile filled my mouth and began to dribble down my chin. Trying my best to breathe through my nose, I stayed calm and used my tongue to gently ease the bag from where it had got stuck between my teeth and where it jagged up into my gums. With patient prodding, and by pulling a series of extreme faces, the bag got dislodged and I eventually spat it out, allowing me to gasp and breathe in the dusty, thick air.

  Then I concentrated on untying my hands. The binding was strong and so tight that the string cut into my wrists, and pins and needles began to tingle through my forearms.

  ‘Bloody hell! How stupid is this?’ I hissed into the darkness. What gave those prats the right to drag me here? The more I thought about how unfair it all was the more I seethed. What had I actually done to deserve being imprisoned and treated like a criminal? In fact, criminals are treated better; they get a bed, food, and exercise.