An Idiot in Love (a laugh out loud comedy)

by David Jester

  ‘I have to go,’ I felt her swing stop and jolt as she suddenly jumped. She stood at the base of the swing-set, one arm wrapped around the support pole, her body leaning towards me. ‘Goodbye Kieran.’

  I didn’t want her to go, but I was still bathing in the joy of meeting her and I was sure I’d see her again. ‘Goodbye Lizzie.’

  She giggled one last time, then she turned and ran away. The quickening gloom of the depressing afternoon rained shadows behind her as she cut into the trees and disappeared.

  I walked back to the caravan with a skip in my step. The day had drawn cold and depressing, but I still felt a warm glow bathing my skin.

  My parents were hovering around the kitchen when I strode through the door and greeted them with a fresh face.

  They looked at each other. My fathers’ eyebrows were raised. My mother shrugged her shoulders with a meh expression. ‘Dinner is ready soon,’ she told me, brushing past my dad and busying herself by buttering bread.

  ‘What’s got into you?’ Dad quizzed, remaining still and keeping his eyes on me as Mum danced around him with muted sounds of frustration.

  ‘Nothing,’ I replied with a smile.

  I slid past them both and strode into the main room. I picked up a magazine and plonked down on the sofa which stretched across and around the back end of the caravan like a tartan scarf.

  Dad followed me. He sat down with a loud exhalation and turned to stare at me. After twenty-seconds of uninterrupted comical glaring he joked: ‘If you’re on drugs you can tell me you know.’

  I lowered the magazine and laughed a muffled response. ‘If I was on drugs I would never tell you.’

  ‘Why not?’ he feigned surprise and hurt. ‘You’d be missing out. We could share. I have a cupboard full back home.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Sure. Uppers, downers, lefters, righters. I got the lot.’

  I raised my eyebrows and lowered my head, gesturing that I wasn’t impressed with his attempt at humour.

  ‘Well, if that’s the way you’re going to be,’ he slapped his thighs with both hands and stood up. ‘It’s your loss. No drugs for you. Just don’t come running to me when you’re all desperate and shaking for your fix.’

  He left a smile over his shoulder and then disappeared back into the kitchen, greeting my mother with an unwanted hug from behind before getting in her way when trying to help her with the dinner.

  The smile that Lizzie had put on my face remained there throughout dinner. I ate with glee, keeping one eye on the gloomy day outside the window and my mind on Lizzie. She occupied every thought I had for the rest of the day and that night I struggled to sleep.

  She made me feel comfortable. I had yet to feel myself around girls, but with Lizzie I felt at peace, I was content. It was as if she oozed an anti-anxiety drug that I had breathed in when I sat down next to her.

  I hadn’t been talkative, I hadn’t been charming, but conversely, I hadn’t acted like a complete idiot as I had the tendency to do.

  As I struggled to sleep that night, tossing and turning in a bed that squeaked and resisted every move, I decided that from that day I would never act like an idiot in front of a girl again. I decided that now I actually liked girls, and now that I had experienced my first crush, things would change for me. I thought Lizzie had lifted the spell.

  On that peaceful night, when the moon cut through the plastic window like torchlight through a water bottle, I thought I was becoming a man. I thought things were going to be okay from then on.

  I couldn’t have been more wrong.

  I woke with the sun beating a spotlight onto my pillow and spreading bright warmth over my face. I closed my eyes and squinted out the glare with an unappreciative moan.

  I cursed myself for not closing the curtains, and I cursed the day for waking me. I was up and staggering to the toilet, my eyes half closed, my bare feet slapping sullenly on the cold bathroom floor, before I realised that I needed that sun; I needed that glare.

  If the sun is out, maybe Lizzie will come out, I thought.

  The thoughts of running into Lizzie brought delight to my face. I hurried through my morning urination and dashed out of the bathroom.

  ‘Breakfast?’

  My mother was standing in the kitchen, having been woken by my morning stumbles.

  ‘Erm, no thanks.’

  ‘You going back to sleep?’ she asked, still half asleep herself.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then sit down, I’ll bring you your breakfast.’

  I peered around her shoulder at the room beyond; my dad was spread eagle on the bed, his legs enjoying the sudden extra room as they kicked invisible footballs under the duvet. On the wall above the bed I glimpsed the large decorative clock: 7.43.

  A little early for Lizzie to be outside playing.

  ‘Okay,’ I relented. ‘I’ll get dressed first.’

  I threw on my clothes from the previous day and sat down to a bowl of cereal and a slice of toast. My mother sat with me, drinking coffee and looking like she needed an extra few hours in bed.

  ‘Why do you keep staring out of the window?’ she asked, watching me tuck into a slice of peanut butter encrusted toast.

  I shrugged. ‘Nice day I guess.’

  She stared at me with raised eyebrows, daring me to express any physical tells that told her I was up to something.

  ‘They fitted new swings and stuff in the park,’ I said, deciding that she would see through the vagueness of my original answer. ‘If it stays sunny I’ll get to play with them later.’

  She took a long and thoughtful sip of her coffee, staring at me over the rim, her eyes cutting through the steam. ‘Is that why you were so happy when you came back yesterday?’

  ‘I wasn’t that happy,’ I said, hoping to play down my mood.

  ‘You didn’t stop smiling all day.’

  I filled my mouth with the remains of my toast to buy some time, letting a few thoughts wash over me. ‘I met another kid there, we had fun.’

  ‘Another kid?’

  ‘Another kid,’ I nodded.

  ‘A boy, kid?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  She smiled broadly, failing to hide both delight and amusement. ‘Well, if you want to bring her over here later on…’ she allowed the sentence to trail off.

  I imagined bringing Lizzie over to meet my parents. My mother would probably be okay, but I doubted my dad would let up. The stupid little references: “Does your girlfriend want something to eat?” “Does your girlfriend want a drink?” “Kieran, ask your girlfriend if... And then his jokes: “did you know Kieran wets the bed?” “Maybe you can replace his cuddly toy, he’s getting too old for that” and “So, did he tell you he used to be a girl?”

  ‘No,’ I said. I didn’t want to scare Lizzie away. ‘Maybe another time.’

  Mum shrugged, still grinning.

  I watched the clock over the next couple of hours. The time drifted languidly.

  At eleven I eagerly rushed out of the caravan. My dad was just surfacing, he moaned with surprise as I brushed past him. I muttered a goodbye and dived from the elevated caravan and onto the grass below.

  In the trees, at the exit to the park, I paused and composed myself before stepping out.

  I looked around expectantly. Lizzie wasn’t on the swings. She wasn’t on the slide. She wasn’t on the climbing frame or any other piece of broken equipment.

  My heart dipped but didn’t sink entirely.

  I sat on the same swing as the previous day and stared at the view that had enticed Lizzie. The horizon was clear and shone like a shimmering topaz, broken by the penetrating rays of heat from the sun that bobbed on its surface.

  I thought about what I was going to say when Lizzie came:

  Hey Lizzie. Nice day isn’t it?

  Too boring.

  So, where do you live?

  Too forward.

  Do you want to go out with me?

  Way too forward.

>   Lizzie, hey, I was waiting for you.

  Too desperate.

  I began to swing back and forth gently on the swing.

  The sun had climbed the very tip of the horizon before I finally turned around. Lizzie wasn’t there. No one was.

  A rustle in the trees had alerted me, but the wind -- picking up and fighting against the beautiful day -- was to blame. The smile had dripped from my face. The warmth had ebbed from my body. A light chill cut through me.

  The sun was dipping down in the skies behind me; the wind was getting feisty with the trees. I gave up waiting for Lizzie and lurched solemnly back to the caravan.

  I couldn’t hide my disappointment from my parents and they sensed something was wrong. I didn’t want to tell them, but before the night was out my dad figured things out.

  ‘Your girlfriend didn’t show, huh son?’

  I shook my head, looking beyond him at the television where three unrecognisable actors swam amongst a mass of grey and black pixels.

  ‘Did she tell you she was going to be there?’

  Again I shook my head. ‘Where else would she be?’ I asked him. ‘It’s the only place to go for kids on the resort.’

  ‘She could have spent the day on the pier. At the arcades. Shopping. Maybe her parents dragged her to the club or to a restaurant.’

  I brightened up a little and turned to face him. ‘I never thought of that.’

  ‘Of course you didn’t. You head out to that park tomorrow and I’ll bet you’ll find your little friend waiting there for you.’

  ‘Okay,’ I said happily, ‘I will. Thanks Dad.’

  For another night I went to bed happy, and for another morning I woke up excited to get out of the house.

  I rushed to the park again, found my spot, nestled into the sun-drenched sky and waited.

  She didn’t show.

  I waited the next day and the next. Lizzie didn’t show at all.

  I stopped off at the park every day during the two week holiday, but Lizzie, the little girl who had won my heart and the first girl I had ever fallen for, never showed up.

  4

  Teenage Dreams Part One: Katie

  I thought that the feelings I had for Lizzie would open up doors for me. I expected that my return to school would be a return to a world of new opportunities, a world where I adored the opposite sex, had multitudes of crushes and perhaps, eventually, got myself a girlfriend.

  It didn’t happen.

  I returned to see the same faces on the same girls I had known since nursery school. They didn’t appeal to me. My short lived adoration of the opposite sex stagnated.

  Then, in middle school, the doors didn’t just open, they imploded in a sticky mess of hormones and desire.

  First there was Katie. She lived a few miles away and had gone to a different primary school. I first laid eyes on her during the very first day of school. The teacher had been babbling tediously and our eyes had met over the room.

  She had thick shoulder length hair which bounced with a springy vibrancy when she moved. The dark locks framed her cute features: deep dimples, chubby cheeks, big eyes. Her skin was heavily tanned, beyond the powers of the English sunshine, which made the whites of her hazel eyes stand out like bright lights at the end of a dimly lit tunnel.

  On the fourth week I decided to make my move. I had correctly assumed, albeit very late, that Katie was waiting for me to do just that.

  I planned to let my friends ask her out for me. I hadn’t told any of them that I liked her, but it was obvious to most of them. Unfortunately for me, the friend I chose was Max, perhaps the only person in the class who hadn’t realised I fancied Katie.

  In class I wrote Katie a note and nudged Max. I gestured for him to give it to her with a swift nod.

  He looked across the classroom and then glanced briefly at the note. His immediate reaction was one of surprise and horror, but then he seemed to come to terms with himself. He shrugged, muttered something under his breath and then handed the note to Chris Peterson, the school bully.

  The next few seconds were a bit of a blur, my heart was pounding too fast for my brain to keep track. I don’t remember what was said or how he reacted, but I do remember the beating that he gave me on the playground afterwards.

  ‘Why the hell do you think I would want to ask Peterson out?’ I asked Max after the beating.

  He shrugged. I could see his eyes scanning my forehead from left to right. ‘What’s a Hama?’ he asked innocently.

  ‘I think it’s an O,’ I shook my head. ‘It doesn’t matter, it’s not important!’ I snapped, instinctively rubbing my forehead where the words had been ingrained in sloppy black ink. ‘The note was for Katie!’

  ‘Oh,’ realisation dawned. He looked down at the concrete slabs underneath his feet, then back up to my wounded, graffitied face. ‘She’s pretty.’

  I threw my hands in the air and groaned heavily. ‘You’re fucking hard work Max.’

  He didn’t seem to know how to reply to that one, so he remained silent.

  Over the years myself and the other kids in my class had assumed that as we were growing older and maturing, Max was staying the same. We thought he was retaining the same level of innocence, ignorance and general stupidity that he had possessed since an early age. It didn’t become apparent until later that Max was actually getting stupider.

  I watched Chris work his way around the playground. After beating me and holding me down to draw on my forehead, he had gone to join in a game of football. I glared at him through lowered, bitter eyebrows as he hacked and slashed his way through the field of players.

  ‘Did you think I fancied him?’ I asked, gesturing angrily into the distance. Chris had scored a goal and was gesticulating wildly and proudly to a group of spectating girls.

  Max shrugged. ‘Not my place to judge.’

  Olly had also joined me in the middle school, but when I asked him to put in a few good words with Katie he told her he had seen me undressing in the changing rooms and promised her she would not be disappointed.

  ‘I don’t care how old she is,’ Olly insisted. ‘Girls love that sorta thing,’ he said defiantly.

  ‘Clearly she didn’t,’ I said.

  ‘Maybe she’s a lesbian,’ Olly offered.

  ‘I don’t think--’

  ‘You should get a tattoo with her name,’ Max cut in, ever the idiot. ‘Break the ice as my mother says, then you can show her your massive cock.’

  Peter, Olly and I all stared at Max in open mouthed wonder.

  Three girls from the year above us had been skipping nearby, even they turned to look. Max stared back, oblivious.

  ‘Never get a tattoo,’ Olly said, shaking Max out of his head. ‘My dad knew a guy who got one once; he wanted Elmo boxing Tyson on his back, paid a small fortune for it. The tattooist was a pro, forty years in the business, thousands of happy customers. Poor sod had a minor stroke ten minutes in, didn’t know where the fuck he was, couldn’t remember anything. The guy ended up with Maggie Thatcher riding a Space Hopper.’

  ‘Bollocks,’ I spat, sensing shenanigans.

  ‘I shit you not,’ Olly assured. ‘The tattooist reckons he had that image in his head for weeks, said he was glad to get it out.’

  ‘Is that really true or is this like the time you saw Lord Lucan in Tesco?’

  ‘It was either him or his double.’

  ‘In Tesco though?’

  Olly simply shrugged. ‘He’s gotta do his shopping somewhere.’

  I stared at him unsurely for a moment, shrugged off the insanities and changed the subject: ‘I’m not getting a tattoo.’

  ‘Maybe you should,’ Peter piped up, attracting everyone’s attention. ‘If I had gotten a tattoo of Lisa’s name maybe she wouldn’t have dumped me.’

  The group sounded a collective sigh.

  Lisa had used Peter to adapt to her life at a new school and a new environment. He became increasingly obsessed with her, the few times he wasn’t with he
r he was talking about her.

  It had taken Lisa a couple of months to find a new group of friends, not realising that if not for Peter, and his reputation as a boring idiot, she would have befriended them a lot sooner. She broke up with him four months in. She hadn’t really been interested in him but he did have pity and familiarity on his side, so they spent the next two years in a yo-yo relationship until Lisa eventually decided she had enough.

  ‘Would you forget about her already?’ Olly said. ‘You’re twelve now, you’re nearly a man. Grow a pair of balls and find another girl to play with them.’

  Peter looked appalled. ‘Lisa never--’

  ‘Well, then why are you complaining so much? Shut your mouth an’ find a girl that will.’

  Peter harrumphed and pressed his lips tightly together. His talking done for the day.

  My friends had failed me, but I still refused to meet the situation head on. I went to Katie’s friends.

  Christy was my first port of call. During the dinner break, after scrubbing my skin clean in the school toilets, I found her wandering around the entrance, her eyes on the floor.

  Katie and Christy had been best friends all of their lives. They lived near each other, went to the same schools and were even born in the same week.

  I tracked up to her with my hands in my pockets. She wasn’t a very pretty girl and she wasn’t very interesting to talk to, but I liked her. Partly because of her connection and proximity to Katie, mostly because her friendship with Katie reminded me of the one I shared with Max.

  ‘Hey Christy, what you up to?’

  ‘I’m looking for a contact lens,’ she said without looking up.

  ‘I didn’t know you wore contacts.’

  She looked up at me, confusion in her eyes. ‘I don’t,’ she said with a frown, as if I was insane for stating such a thing.

  Christy reminded me a lot of Max.

  I decided to skip the questioning, not sure where it would take me. ‘Can I have a word with you about Katie?’

  Christy shrugged as if to say I’m not going to stop you.