by Tom Becker
He pushed his legs to the right, so his swing moved toward mine – his body looming closer. I could feel the warmth from him.
Was he playing me? Lying to me? Soothing me so I’d shut up?
I raised an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, right…”
“Seriously.”
If he was playing me, he was good at this game. Every inch of his body bled sincerity. I found my own swing creeping in his direction, my body pushing itself to his, because it’s never known what’s good for me.
“Even though I’m a down-and-out mess?”
He shook his head ever so slightly. “That’s the thing. That’s why I asked about your smoking. You’re not,” he replied. “How you behave … from what I’ve learned about you … you’re not that at all. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Well, you don’t make a lot of sense either.”
Because he didn’t. Ben didn’t lend coats, Ben didn’t untangle hair, Ben didn’t pay for a random girl’s McDonald’s, night after night. Ben beat his chest and everyone cheered. Ben said the word ‘banter’. Ben winked at Jenny Carrington as she sauntered down the hallway. Ben, sometimes, walked past my friends and sniggered.
Our heads were almost touching, our bodies twisted in chains and we leaned in to each other. It would only take one movement and we would be kissing. I looked up at him through my lashes, wanting … thinking… I could tell he wanted it. I could see it in his eyes, feel it in his energy. The way he looked nervous, the way he licked his lip without realizing, the way his hand shook on the chain, and not just because it was cold. I wanted it, too. Of course I did. Every girl in school wanted Ben. But I didn’t want the Ben everyone at school got. I wanted the Ben only I knew. The Ben who gave me leg-ups over railings, the Ben who, last month, stayed out all night with me without even asking why. The Ben who, last week, turned up at our meeting spot with a giant bag of pick ’n’ mix and told me his favourites were jazzies. I wanted the taste of Ben in my mouth, the feel of his hands at the back of my neck.
Ben looked at me, I looked at Ben. I blinked away snowflakes. We leant closer … closer…
…
…We both pulled back at exactly the same moment.
Then we kicked ourselves into our swings, like it had never happened at all.
Freezing air sailed past me as I pumped my legs through snow and blackness. That feeling of freedom and flying as I swung through the air, Ben at my side.
“You ever think of getting out of here?” he called over. He was swinging back as I swung forward, meeting in the middle each time.
I laughed to diffuse the tension we were currently swinging through. “How?”
“Go to university. Get a loan or something.”
I laughed again. “Not going to happen.”
I would finish school the moment I was legally allowed to, so I could earn money and escape. I would get one of the shit jobs they give people who leave school the moment they are legally allowed to. I would harden before my time, always struggle to make rent, always have a chip right there on my shoulder. It was my path and I felt powerless to stop it. The thought of doing anything else was too exhausting. My only real hope was that they might let me have Natalia, if I could earn enough. If I could prove I’d give her a better home.
“What about your singing?” he asked. “I heard you at the talent show last year, you’re really good.”
I almost skidded to a stop. He’d heard me?
I did dream about singing. The only time I felt free was with my band, a mic in my hand, an audience clapping.
“Your band are terrible though,” he continued. “You should take off on your own. Write your own stuff maybe…”
I was too stunned to reply for a moment, until I just lobbed, “Shut up, Yoko,” at him. He laughed, surprising me by getting the joke. I had thought about it. I’d even been tempted to enter that bloody singing show on TV, but my friends would kill me. Laugh at me. Tell me I’d sold out.
“It’s OK for you,” I say. “What have you got? Two and a bit more years? Then off to university with you. Your escape tunnel has already been dug.” …And paid for.
But when I looked over, he wasn’t smiling.
“Hardly an escape tunnel,” he replied. “Going to the university my parents choose, doing the course they want me to do.”
“Aww, diddums.” At least it was university. Options. Choice. Not this town…
“You don’t get it,” he said.
“Well, you don’t get it either.”
He skidded his swing to a halt, the chain screeching in protest. “Let’s stop trying to get it and finish the vodka.”
*
It’s hard, vaulting iron railings after a bottle of vodka. But we giggled and we tried and we managed. We stumbled back through the park, deliberately walking wider and narrower again, leaving as many footprints in the snow as we could.
I exist. I was here. I walked here. Here is a piece of me. A piece of me to prove I’m alive.
I walked him to his house – it was always that way around.
“So what’s your excuse for tonight?” I asked.
Ben made himself skid on some ice. “I’m chairperson of this year’s Rag Ball, don’t you know? We have lots of meetings. An infinite amount of meetings.” He smiled sadly. “What’s yours?”
“I never need one. We’re both equally glad when I’m not there.”
There was space between each house in this neighbourhood. And it was so quiet. Just us and the snow. There was no tinny music, no noise from other people’s televisions, no barking dogs in tiny gardens, or shouting and crashing the whole road would wince at, then pretend they hadn’t heard. Not like that didn’t happen in this road, too – you just didn’t hear it, I suppose.
We never usually talked on the walk back. Tension would build inside of us as we worried if we’d stayed out late enough, stayed out long enough. For our houses to find sleep, so we could slip in and pretend they were homes.
I skidded as we stopped outside Ben’s house. We both looked up at it blearily. It was dark, all lights off, and I felt his relief. He sank into his bones, let go of the breath he’d been holding. Whatever he’d wanted to avoid so much he’d freeze to death in my leather jacket, he’d successfully delayed.
For one more night at least.
“Looks all clear,” I whispered – just in case my voice could travel through their double glazing and undo the spell.
“Seems that way.”
“I guess I’ll see you, then.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow. Last day of term…”
We swapped back coats, it breaking my heart and my body temperature to part with his.
“Thank you, for lending it.”
“Any time.”
He turned and crunched through the snow – on a slight tiptoe to minimise noise. He stopped for a second, turned back.
“You going to be OK?” His voice was filled with concern.
I looked at the time on my phone. We’d made it till 11.30. “I should be fine.”
“You’ve got my number if it isn’t fine?”
I bit my lip. “I’ve got it.”
“Well, night, then.”
“Night.”
“Mercedes?” he called after me in a loud whisper as I was almost past his house. He blinked hard, his fists clenched. “Honestly,” he stumbled. “If you need to call me tonight, do. My phone’s always on.”
“Ditto for you.” And I saluted.
The snow had almost stopped, but enough of it swirled around us as we stood and smiled at each other. Distance between us, but not the sort that counted. Different worlds, but the same sad reality. And I wish I could freeze-frame on that moment, with the snowflakes and Ben’s dimples and my body still warm from his coat. The two of us not knowing yet that I hadn’t stayed out late enough, that I would need to call him later, screaming for help down the line. But that moment wasn’t now. That reality was yet to exist.
So,
if we end here, we can say this is a happy ending. Can’t we?
Homo for Christmas
–
Juno Dawson
Is there anything more repulsive than people eating crisps on trains? I watch a businessman shovel greasy pawfuls of salt and vinegar Tyrrells into his gob, crumbs raining down on to his moobs. They reek, too, and he’s on his second gin-in-a-tin. He’s watching Mad Men on an iPad and looks like he’s hankering to go back to the good old days when you could smoke in the office and slap women on the arse as they walk by.
I’ve got that ‘Driving Home for Christmas’ song stuck in my head on loop even though, technically, I’m not. It’s Christmas Eve Eve Eve and the train is packed. I had to ask Crisp Man to move his briefcase off my seat and he wasn’t happy about it. I asked if his briefcase had bought its own ticket. He didn’t like that either.
Never mind crisps, I’m too nervous to eat. I can’t even stomach a cup of tea.
I rub my sweaty palms on my jeans and try to focus on my essay. Something about ethics in psychology. The Milgram Experiment and Skinner and all that. I’m still not sure about psychology. One semester in and it’s not the Criminal Minds stuff I thought it would be. I’ve already asked, and I can switch to criminology before second year if I want to without having to start over.
A new thought butts in: This could be the last time I sit on a train to Newcastle.
My heart is proper achy.
As if he can sense me having a wobble, my phone lights up and it’s Ade. I swipe into the message.
Hi McSexface! You don’t have to do anything if it doesn’t feel right x
I want to, I reply. And I do. Well, I don’t, but I have to, like.
The crazy thing is, all I have to do is think about Ade and it chills me out. I think about him making up a little song this morning called ‘You Have to Get In the Shower Now Or You’ll Be Late But You Should Definitely Make Me a Cup of Tea First’, and singing it in my ear as we were squidged like sardines in his single bed. I smile to myself.
We usually sleep at his halls, as my cell is right next to the lift and it clanks and whirrs all night. His always smells of pot, but at least it’s quiet and warm. He’s in the posh halls, I’m in the povo ones.
I so wish he were with me for our first Christmas together. We’ve barely spent a night apart since Halloween and my big bed at home is gonna be bloody Baltic without him in it.
Although it will be quite nice to kick my legs around.
This is why I’m doing it. This is why I have to tell her – because then, the next time I come home, I can bring Ade with me.
My stomach gurgles again. I picture green, toxic, nervous gunk churning around inside me. I remember a few years back when we had Hollyoaks on at home and John Paul tashed on with Ste, and Mam was like, “Ooh do we have to see that while we’re eating our tea?”. It was steak and kidney pie, mash and mushy peas. I still remember.
At the time, I was jealous of Ste, I just didn’t know it. It was like someone trying to explain a rhino to someone who’s never seen one. It didn’t make a lot of sense. I hadn’t joined the dots.
I’m a good-looking lad (not to mention very humble). I’m told I’m the spit of my dad and that’s probably why Mam sometimes looks like she wants to knock me teeth out. I don’t remember him, if I’m honest. Girls loved me at school. I was called Hunky Dunc – and didn’t I just love that.
I loved girls… Well, girl, singular. Me and Ellie were together since Year 11 and I thought I was proper in love with her. Well, I was, just not the same kind of love I’m falling into now. It’s what you do, isn’t it? I was on the football team, had all my own teeth and a four-pack if not a six-pack. I’m a tidy specimen. Everyone else was tashing on with girls, so I did, too.
Maybe I’m, like, bi or something, because when I had sex with Ellie it wasn’t repulsive or anything. It was nice. But it was nice like eating cornflakes. These days I’m strictly on Coco Pops. Shit, is that racist? Ade’s skin is actually the colour of Coco Pops milk now I think about it. Balls, I just meant I’m now on a superior breakfast cereal, which Coco Pops clearly is.
Ade wasn’t the first guy I mucked about with either.
Fernando.
OK, I don’t actually know if his name was Fernando, that’s just what I’ve christened him. In the Easter holidays of Year 12, a few of us decided to have a lads’ holiday to Kavos. It was mint. Gaz got so sunburnt on the first day, he had to lurk in the shadows like a mardy vampire for the rest of the week. Every night we went out, had a skinful and got slaughtered; slept till eleven or twelve and then hit the beach.
Near the end of the week, we was on the beach. The sun was starting to set and it wasn’t quite so roasting. I was cooling off in the sea on my own when I first saw him. He had a cracking body – just wearing a pair of turquoise Speedos – proper six-pack and tattoos. Definitely foreign … lush olive skin. Maybe I’ve got a type.
He clocked us and sorta gave us a nod. I just looked away and dived under the water. I swam it off. How did he know? Did I look too long or something?
A bit later I went for a cheeky piss in the beach bar. He was standing by the little ice-cream kiosk thing. He pulled down his Ray-Bans an inch to look me in the eye. Faggot, I thought, and scowled at him. But when I came out of the lavs, he’d moved down the path towards the sand dunes you have to walk through to get to the beach. They were covered with shrubs and trees, winding up into the hillside away from the beach.
Fernando made sure I’d seen him and then vanished off the path and into the trees. My heart was all the way up in my throat. I was more awake than I’d ever, ever been. I knew what he was up to. My head was telling me to go back to my towel, but my feet – and my schlong, if I’m honest – told me to follow him. And so I did. I literally strayed from the path and followed him into the sand dunes, my Havaianas filling with sand every step of the way.
He was tucked away in a little clearing between some trees. He’s probably a murderer, a little voice kept saying, but I swear I could feel adrenaline pounding through my body.
We never said a word. He just yanked my board shorts down and got on with it.
When it was all over, and Fernando walked away without a goodbye, everything felt very real. It didn’t feel like porn any more, it felt grainy and shit. I puked in the sand. I went back to the lads and said I had a headache. I had to get in the shower and get him off me.
The funny thing is, although I knew I shouldn’t have done it and it scared the crap out of me, every time I thought about it, for months after, I got a lob on. I watched a bit of bi porn and stuff. You know what? Sooner or later I think I knew I’d need that high again.
Bing bong. The train announcer says we’re pulling into York station. Shit. That means we’ve only got Darlington and Newcastle to go. My mouth is dry as Ghandi’s flip-flop. I feel rank. Is it peppermint tea that’s meant to be good for your stomach? I text Ade to ask. He knows about tea and stuff like that. He can make food that’s not from frozen. Maybe I’ll get a cup of that.
Me and Ellie were totally mature and grown-up like and decided to call it a day before we went away. It was sad as fuck. She was going to St Andrews and I’m at Liverpool, so it was never gonna work. We both knew. What’s funny is that when we were applying for universities, us going to the same place was never on the table.
The thing with Ellie and me is that we were best friends. When I was with her I didn’t have to be Hunky Dunc and she didn’t have to be Little Miss Perfect. We could just be. Sometimes it felt like we had an arrangement. Does that make sense?
When I emailed her and told her I was seeing a fella, I was scared shitless, but she just said she was thrilled for me and would I like her to come down to meet him. She gave us her blessing. You know what? I wonder if she knew. I never confessed to her about Fernando, but I wonder if she knew.
I was never planning on ending up with a guy, but that’s Ade in a nutshell. I don’t think he was gonna take no for an
answer.
Halloween. It happened like this: So when I first got here, I joined the hockey team because I was a bit bored of football, to be honest. What I didn’t know was that, every year, the hockey team do a naked calendar to raise money for a charity that’s trying to stop homophobic bullying. It was too late for me to be in this year’s calendar, but there was a Halloween party to launch it, organized with the LGBT Society.
The difference between school and university is that no one here gives a single fuck. Like why wouldn’t the hockey team and the LGBT society have a party together? It was fancy dress and, with the calendar, a bit of flesh was heartily encouraged. I wore some red Calvins, painted myself red all over and stuck some horns on my head. We looked boss striding through Liverpool pretty much in the buff.
The party was in one of the SU bars. It’s a bit of a fleapit, but the music was good and it was £1.50 for a spirit and dash. Get in. Luckily, I didn’t have a lecture until eleven the next day so I could get nicely battered.
I clocked the DJ while I was queuing at the bar. He had his top off and was sprayed with gold glitter all over. (Apparently he was Rocky from Rocky Horror Show, but I didn’t know what that was.) I mostly saw his smile. I know that’s a dead mushy thing to say, but when our eyes met, he looked me up and down and just did this giant beaming grin. The UV lights made his teeth glow. He had dimples.
It’s a good job I was devil red, because I must have blushed like a proper twat.
Later in the night – several bevvies in – I bumped into him when I was coming out of the lav. I don’t know why I’m always meeting guys near toilets. Sketchy. Anyway, he gave us the nod and I nodded back, just to be friendly like. Then he grabbed my arm.