Wrong Place Wrong Time

by David P Perlmutter

  "Hello", a softly spoken voice said at the other end of the phone. It was Mum.

  "Hi Mum…it's Dave, from sunny Spain," I replied cheerfully.

  She sounded so happy to hear it was me on the other end of the line. My heart sank.

  "Hi darling, it's so wonderful to hear from you. How are you?"

  "I'm good Mum and having a great time. Marbella's such a nice place". I just couldn't bring myself to tell her about the state I was in. She sounded so happy.

  "I was just telling Minnie and Sid that I hadn't heard from you for a few days!"

  They were my parents' best friends. It must have been a Thursday night as they always hooked up at my parents place on that day, regular as clockwork. I'd lost all track of time.

  " Well, here I am now! Send them my love. How is everyone?"

  "They're all well, darling. They miss you, you know."

  "Tell them I miss them too. Mum. I better go, this will cost you loads. I'll call you soon. I love you."

  "Okay darling, keep in touch. I love you too," she said with a parting kiss down the phone.

  I put the receiver down. I must have stared at it for a minute or two. I imagined Mum and Dad with their friends having a laugh and a drink, Dad sitting in HIS chair in the living room. I wished I was back there, joining in with the conversation. Dad was a Spurs fan — just like Bob and Gary — and Stuart was obsessed with Manchester United. Pink supported Chelsea, but only because she had a thing for Ray Wilkins. Sid was a Gooner — an Arsenal supporter. The conversation always ended up being about who the best team in North London was.

  I went back to my room. It was around nine in the evening. Lying on my bed with my hands behind my head, I looked at the ceiling once again. I knew every single crack, crease and patch of damp on that ceiling. The conversation with Mum was the only thing I could think about. All I wanted was to be in Mum's kitchen, listening to her talk about her day whilst she made dinner for the family.

  I was a twenty seven year old man but the urge to be in the home where I grew up was overwhelming. I didn't know what was happening to me. I had never felt this desperate or lonely before. I was trapped in my thoughts of home when a sharp knock at the door made me jump into consciousness.

  "Open the door! I want to talk with you now! I heard you on the phone. Open the door!"

  It was the owner of the hostel. Shit, this is all I fucking need, I thought. He hammered on the door and I had no choice but to answer it.

  "Okay, one minute," I yelled, as I quickly hurried around the room and cleared some of the mess away. When I opened the door, he forced his way in.

  "I have not seen you for days. A week. You owe money, over a week. I need it now," he demanded as he inspected the room.

  "I know, I know. I'm sorry. I have no more work at the moment."

  "That is not my fucking problem. You owe me money." He became a little aggressive and started waving his hands and pointing at me.

  "I just spoke to my Mum back in England and she's sending me some money, so as soon as I get it I will give you what I owe you," I lied, grabbing the chicken bones from the bed and tossing them into the bin.

  "Okay, but you better. I need the money. In a couple of days, yes?"

  "Yes, it should be here by then. I'll pay you." It was all bullshit.

  "Good. I see you in a couple of days." He opened the door and closed it behind him.

  I went back to my usual position of lying on the bed and staring at the ceiling. Fuck, I was bored of it. I knew I had to do something, and fast. The landlord would be back in a couple of days for his rent so I had to find some work somehow. I needed money for food, too — I hadn't eaten in days and I was starving. My mind swam with the mess of it all and I closed my eyes. When I felt my eyelids getting heavier I was relieved, because I knew that within a few minutes I'd be oblivious to it all and miles away from the nightmare that lay ahead for me.

  I woke up a few hours later with thin beams of sunlight filtering through the gaps of the window shutters, accentuating the dust that swirled around the room. I jolted out of bed and for the first time in days I turned on the shower taps to release the water. It gurgled and splattered and when it finally came to life I stood beneath it, just letting the water fall over me. After a few minutes I washed and when I felt almost human again I stepped out, dried myself off and got dressed. I was determined to find some work; any work.

  Without a cent to my name, I left the hostel and made my way to the main strip of Marbella, stopping to pick a couple of oranges from the trees outside that I ate on the way.

  I went to bars; I went to shops, but nothing — I couldn't speak the language which was a big problem. I avoided the bars I'd worked in with Kelvin and his brother; in fact I stayed completely away from that area, not wanting to bump into them, to face them. Rosa sprang to mind and I thought she could possibly help me, but I didn't want to ask. I may have had next to nothing, but I still had my pride — the very thing that had stopped me asking my Mum for help. It was an impossible situation. My confidence was shattered and I sank deeper into a pit of depression. For two days I searched for some work without success and all I had eaten were the oranges from the trees outside my room.

  On my third uneventful day I returned to the hostel, praying that the owner wouldn't be at his desk, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw his empty chair. I sprinted up the two flights of stairs to my room, quickly unlocked the door, closed it behind me and turned the key. I lay on the bed, not even bothering to get undressed. Exhausted, I tried to plan my next move but I couldn't see any way out. My eye lids started to close and my body was so weak that I drifted off to sleep.

  I woke up in a total panic with loud banging against the door.

  "Open the fucking door now! Where's my fucking money? I want it now!"

  I said nothing. I froze.

  "Open the door before I fucking break it down!"

  He kept shouting and banging on the door and I was scared. I scrambled out of bed and opened the windows to let some air into the room. The sun was shining. It was morning. I turned the key in the door and opened it, and he forced his way in, turning his nose up at me and pushing me to one side. He looked around in dismay; the room was in a complete state. I hurriedly dashed around, picking up my belongings from the floor and apologising profusely.

  "Where's my money? You said you will have it from England, now where the fuck is it?" His face was turning red with anger.

  "I'm sorry. I haven't got it. I don't know when I will have any," I said as I wiped his spit from my face.

  "You fucking told me your mother will be sending some. Now where is it?" He came closer to me.

  I was terrified. "I haven't got any. I'm sorry," I pleaded with him.

  "You leave right now!" He pointed to the door. "Go now, fuck off!" he screamed.

  Taking hold of my arm, he led me to the door. He was a big guy and I was too weak to fight back.

  "You leave everything with me and when you get money, you can have it back."

  "Okay, okay," I said. "Let me just put everything in my suitcase, please."

  He let go of my arm and I threw all my belongings into the case and closed it. He pushed me away and grabbed the handle.

  "Now fuck off and don't come back until you have the money, or this is mine."

  I managed to grab my passport from the bedside table and quickly hurried out of the door, down the stairs and into the street with nothing more than the clothes on my back.

  I picked another orange and wandered across the square in front of the hostel. It was a beautiful, cloudless day and the sun was blazing. Taking the first right after the tapas bar, I stepped into a small cobblestoned alley and walked through it until I came to a church. It was a pretty building — mainly white with some brown stone cladding and a spiral reaching up towards the sky. As I looked up at it, the bells began to chime. They stopped at ten. With the entire day ahead of me, I ambled through the grounds of the churchyard, kicking my feet t
hrough the lush, green lawn. The whole area was surrounded by shrubs and trees that were swaying in the cool, light breeze. There was a bench facing the entrance to the church across from the cemetery, and I walked over to it and sat down. Unless something miraculous happened, and fast, I knew there was a very real possibility I'd be sleeping there that night.

  THE SON OF ELVIS

  The sound of the bells made me jump. Twice they rang. I'd fallen asleep on the bench facing the entrance to the church and when I woke up with the sun beating down on me, my shirt was clinging to my skin. I sat up, wiped the sleep from my eyes and tried to moisten my mouth, but my tongue felt too fat for it, my lips were cracked and I was seriously dehydrated. Remembering the fountain I'd passed on my way to the church, I decided to retrace my steps.

  The small, cobblestoned square, which was closely hemmed in by Georgian style buildings, was bustling with people. I glanced across at the cafe in the corner where families and couples were sheltering under umbrellas and protecting themselves from the scorching afternoon sun. They were talking and laughing, sipping their coffee and beer, and I tried to ignore the sudden stab of envy in my chest.

  The water in the fountain swirled around a carved stone basin, trickling over a handful of coins which had been tossed in by visitors. For a moment I contemplated scooping them out but they amounted to little more than a few pence at the most. I cupped the cold water in both hands, splashed my face a few times and drank until my thirst had been quenched. Standing up, I felt a little more human. I heard the church bells chime again in the distance and it struck me how strange it felt to have no time restraints or schedule. With no money or belongings and no place to call home, the town was just a vast, lonely space of possible opportunities. I could have gone anywhere, but the beach seemed like my best option.

  The soft, white sand beneath my feet felt wonderful and I dug my toes in, stretching them out as I walked. Again, it was crowded and there were beautiful people in every direction I looked. I watched them for a while, noticing the smiles and care-free looks on their faces, wondering what their plans were for the afternoon and evening ahead. I turned my attention to the sea, sparkling in a magnificent blue beneath a matching cloudless sky, and having already undressed, I ran straight in. The water was cold but so refreshing, and I swam past the holiday makers who were playing and splashing until I was alone. Diving under the water felt surreal; it was so tranquil and peaceful, still and silent. My troubles seemed to leave me as I became absorbed with nothing more than my body gliding through the waves and the sea-bed below.

  As I surfaced, the sound of the people on the beach magnified and I swam back towards the voices until I could stand. I waded towards the shore, walking against the strength of the tide. The waves crashed around my ankles and as each one receded it took with it some of the sand I had just been standing on. The sensation of the ground shifting beneath my feet was weird, and when I stared down at the water ebbing and flowing around me, I felt dizzy. Standing still for a moment, I attempted to get my bearings and stop my head from spinning. I knew it was the lack of food and the sudden exertion which had caused me to feel so terrible, so I slowly made my way to an empty spot on the sand, dropped my jeans and shirt in a heap and lay down. I could hear fellow sunbathers laughing and talking close by and the hissing of music coming from their headphones. A dog barked in the distance. The noises mingled together until they were nothing more than a comforting hum in my head, and before long I was asleep.

  I was awoken by a wet, hot tongue licking my face. Sadly it wasn't one of the beautiful topless women who were sunbathing earlier in the day, but a puppy. I pushed it away, wiping the saliva from my face and sat up, shivering. I'd been asleep for a few hours and the sun was slowly disappearing into the horizon. The beach was near enough deserted, there were just a few stragglers packing up for the day and a handful of couples strolling hand in hand along the shore. The puppy — a black Labrador with a shiny black coat — was still beside me. It cocked its head curiously, stared at me with big, innocent eyes and promptly licked its arse. I couldn't help but laugh.

  "Oh, thanks a lot!" I said."

  "Hey man, sorry about that. Is the bitch being a pain in the butt?"

  An eccentric looking guy — obviously American judging by his accent — towered over me. He was well over six feet tall, painfully thin with shoulder length blonde matted hair and a rather unkempt goatee. He had a joint hanging from his mouth.

  "Na it's cool. I just got a tongue bashing on my face," I said jokingly, patting the pup on her head.

  "Sorry dude. Come here Hound Dog!" He picked her up and stared out to sea, blowing smoke rings with the last remains of the joint.

  I pushed myself up from the sand, put on my jeans, grabbed my shirt and started to make my way to the sea to wash the crap from my face.

  "Hey dude, what you up to, man?" He flicked the finished joint through the air.

  "Just gonna wash my face. Why"? I stopped and turned to look at him. Fuck he looked rough.

  "Join me for a smoke if you want man, unless you have anything better to do?"

  Anything better? I thought. Yeah, right. "Sure, thanks!" I said. "Just give me five minutes." I picked up the joint he'd discarded and put it in my pocket.

  With a washed face, I joined my new American friend on an old tartan blanket, covered in dog hair. He passed me a ready rolled joint.

  "Here dude. It's pretty strong weed."

  "Thanks." I lit it and inhaled. "Shit, that is strong," I said, coughing a couple of times before carrying on. It didn't take long to feel the familiar sensation in my head. I'd smoked weed before, but this was something else! "This is good shit, really good," I told him, before passing it back. "So where're you from?"

  "America, man. Hollywood. The place where it all happens!" He took another drag. "Here man, you finish it."

  I took a couple more hits and felt relaxed for the first time in days. His pup was resting her head on my leg with her body on the blanket next to me. "How long have you been here?" I asked him, glancing up and down the beach. The place was deserted.

  "Three months dude, sleeping right here on the sand. Just me and the bitch. Been travelling around Spain, hanging out, getting high and enjoying life, man!" He started to roll another joint. "What about you? What's your story?"

  I told him about London and what had happened with the brothers. They seemed a distant memory now. I told him about getting kicked out of the hostel and meeting Rosa and Emma.

  "You lucky bastard! You've been here only a couple of weeks and fucked a couple of chicks? Man, I'm jealous. Good going!" He lit the joint and then suddenly raised his head in excitement. "Hey Dude, stay here! Crash here tonight, on the beach. You know, on the blanket!"

  Why not? I thought. I've got nowhere else to go. "Cool!" I said. "Sounds good to me!"

  We had a few more joints. I was so wasted. We talked shit as I lay on the blanket, listening to the waves crashing in the distance and staring at the stars scattered across the dark, night sky. The moon was glowing in its full glory, lighting up the sea below. It looked amazing.

  "So man, what's ya name?" He'd manoeuvred his body from an upright position and was lying on the blanket beside me with Hound Dog sandwiched between us.

  "At the moment it could be anything," I replied, "but normally it's Dave. Yours?"

  "No name," he said, quite seriously. He looked at me, his eyes bloodshot. "They call me the Son of Elvis." He smirked and stretched his arms out towards the sky.

  "The son of Elvis?" I repeated as I nearly choked on the smoke I'd just inhaled.

  "Yeah, man. My old man was Elvis. Elvis fucking Presley. Rock n Roll King of the fucking world. He was never around. Hardly saw him. But when I did, he called me the Son of Elvis." He paused, as if he was trying to capture a long lost memory. "No name, nothing," he went on. "Fucking nothing."

  I went along with him. He was just wasted; he'd been living rough too long and was fucked up on drugs.

&
nbsp; Over the next few hours we were completely under the influence of the weed and rambled incoherently. The pup, Hound Dog, was gently snoring and practically lying on top of me, but I had no complaints. The cold air had started to drift in from the sea and she was keeping me warm. The Son of Elvis was totally wrecked and just staring at the stars, dribbling from his mouth. I felt compassion for him; he was one mixed up guy.

  It was around six in the morning, I guess, when the man with no name suddenly woke up, stood and started to search for his rucksack. "Food! Where's the fucking food?"

  I'd been awake for a few minutes — having been woken up by the pup again, licking my face like it was her arse — but long enough to know I was starving.

  "Dude, you wanna eat?" He unzipped a section of the rack sack and took out some bread and ham.

  "Sure, can you spare it?"

  "I wouldn't have asked, man."

  I watched him take out two slices of white bread and a couple of slices of ham. He placed the ham on one piece and closed the sandwich with both hands. As he'd been sleeping rough, his hands were covered in filth and his fingernails were black. I hesitated for a split second, but hunger prevailed. "Thanks," I told him. And I meant it.

  I took my time eating it, aware that this may have been the last bit of food I'd get for a while. I could have had another, but I didn't want to take advantage of his kindness.

  We talked further as the sun peeked over the ocean and started to warm the air. He rolled another joint and we smoked it. I wandered where he got his weed from, but didn't want to ask.

  "So man," he said, "what're your plans today?"

  "Have a swim, search for work and see what happens, I guess."

  "Good plan dude, good plan," he muttered as he lay back down on the blanket and closed his eyes.

  I watched him for a while, his chest rising and falling in an easy rhythm. The guy would be asleep before long.