Spud - Learning to Fly
Page 12
Mom and Dad didn’t stick around when we reached Crusaders sports club because they were on their way to a ‘bring and braai’ at Marge’s. This further fuelled the idea that this gathering may all be a grand conspiracy and just like Harrison Ford I’ll be the last to know.
Mermaid raced up to the car and I thought I made quite a good show of slamming the door and looking generally cool and debonair. Mom and Dad shot off like they were in a terrible rush. Suddenly Mermaid’s arms were around me, and her moist lips on mine. Then there was a loud shout of ‘HOWZAT!’ from the cricket field. An umpire wearing a large white floppy hat raised his finger solemnly into the air and the batsman left the field shaking his head and casting sullen glances back towards the pitch.
Mermaid shouted, ‘Go, Gav!’ and the umpire tried his best not to look our way. ‘That’s him,’ said Mermaid delightedly and pointed at the figure in white. Mermaid led me around the boundary to where she had a blanket and a picnic basket neatly laid out. From the edge of the field, Gavin hardly looked much like stiff competition. Tall and gangly with narrow shoulders and a definite old man-ish stoop. I began wondering how it was possible that he snared the Mermaid. Mind you, I snared the Mermaid when I weighed 47kg and spoke like a girl. Perhaps she has a fetish for freaks?
At the end of the over, Gavin lifted his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief, revealing his badly receding hairline.
‘How old is Gavin?’ I asked Mermaid, attempting to sound like I was just making polite conversation. Mermaid covered her face and giggled as if she was embarrassed.
‘He’s twenty-nine,’ she said.
There was a pause as I digested this rather disturbing news.
‘But I’m going to be seventeen at the end of the year so it’s not as bad as it sounds.’
There was another silence and I could feel Mermaid watching me. I kept my eyes fixed on the pitch and chewed away suavely at a grass stalk.
‘Why didn’t you write back?’ she asked.
I shrugged and chewed on.
She then asked me if I was cool with Gavin and her being together. An electric chill ran through my body and a stream of bile travelled steadily from my chest into my throat and no further.
‘Definitely,’ I lied. ‘I want you to be happy.’
Then she touched my arm and her delicate pale hand slid down and found my right hand. Sharp tingles shot through my elbow and out of nowhere a loud heartbeat began thumping away in my armpit. I felt the irresistible desire to lean over and kiss her.
‘Howzat!’ appealed the bowler in hopeful desperation. Gavin’s finger soared into the air. The batsman glared at Gavin for some time before stalking off the field. ‘Well done, Gav!’ shrieked Mermaid. ‘He’s got another one!’ she said, and clapped heartily as the surprised fielding team exchanged high fives. Gavin looked officious and made a precise note in his small notebook.
Then just as I was completely losing interest in her endless twittering about Gavin, Mermaid absent-mindedly placed her hand on my knee and kept it there for at least thirty seconds. Unfortunately, the hand didn’t slide seductively up my thigh as it does in some movies, and returned to her lap instead. I sensed that I might be losing control so I excused myself and headed for the clubhouse toilets. I avoided the toilet in the bar in case somebody shouted at me for being under age and risked the players’ change room instead. As I stood on the urinal step and waited for something to happen, I couldn’t help overhearing three players vilifying Gavin the umpire in the showers. One of them even accused him of cheating.
A great feeling of warmth spread over me and I found myself grinning like an idiot at the thought that Gavin the Umpire might well be the most hated man in Durban North. He’s not too popular in the Midlands either.
Unfortunately, it’s difficult not to like Gavin the Umpire. He’s friendly, generous and unthreatening (he still lives at home with his mom). It was also good to see very little physical contact between him and Mermaid, besides a ‘bums out’ hug after the game that ended early after Gavin’s six LBW decisions. On the long drive to the Holy Water Ministry, Mermaid only once placed her hand on his knee and for no more than five seconds. (It felt like a victory at the time.)
Gavin the Umpire is far more responsible than Dad. In fact he seems more responsible than most dads. He looks far older than twenty-nine, too, and drives slower than most seventy-year-olds.
GAVIN THE UMPIRE
Is studying for a doctorate in theology in Pietermaritzburg
Dreams of umpiring in a Test match
Speaks to Mermaid like she’s his daughter
Looks like the Mermaid’s father
Uses his turning indicators frequently
Is the youth leader at the Holy Water Ministry
Believes that too many batsmen use their pads instead of their bat
18:00 The Holy Water Ministry is a large dome-like structure that looks more like a coliseum than a church. Inside, the giant auditorium was abuzz with hundreds of teenagers drinking tea and coffee and chatting excitedly in large groups. Everybody charged up to us when we entered and Gavin the Umpire was besieged by beautiful girls lining up to kiss and hug him. He knew everyone by name and introduced well over a hundred people to me.
A cool hand grasped mine, and our fingers entwined. ‘The play’s about to start,’ said the Mermaid and led me to a bank of vacant chairs towards the back of the auditorium. She didn’t let go of my hand when we sat down. Instead she said, ‘Johnny, this place has done amazing things for me. Especially Gavin.’ There was a loud burst of static from the stage followed by laughter from the gathered crowd who were quickly making their way to their seats. A man with long hair stood up and promised that the play we were about to witness, would be life changing. He then hollered, ‘Let’s hear it for Heaven’s Gates, Hell’s Kitchen!’ The crowd roared their approval.
Then Mermaid turned to me and said, ‘I just want you to know that Gavin and I aren’t like …’ And then she abruptly stopped as the lights dimmed and the entire church fell into a respectful silence.
Any thoughts that the production of Heaven’s Gates, Hell’s Kitchen might be a thrilling theatrical experience were soon snuffed out when Gavin the Umpire appeared in a white wig and beard and announced that he was the Lord Almighty. Obviously most of the audience had fallen for his dodgy performance because they chanted, ‘Amen! Jesus be praised!’
All in all it was a worse God performance than Greg Anderson’s shocker in Noah’s Ark last year.
The less said about the script the better. The play amounted to a series of episodes of teenagers being confronted by the devil (played by a tall woman with a pig snout on her face). In the play, all the stupid teenagers fall for Pig Face’s temptation and end up drinking booze, smoking cigarettes, or lying to their parents. Then the auditorium lights would switch off and there would be the sound of a bus approaching, followed by a screech and a crash. Then the lights would come back up and the teenager would find him/herself at Heaven’s Gates. (Quite why everyone was run over by a bus was never explained.) God/Gavin the Umpire would then look through a list and tell the teenager that they weren’t allowed in because they hadn’t given their lives over to Jesus.
After four of these scenes I got the message, but clearly the playwright felt that he/she/them hadn’t driven the point home, because after interval another five sinning teenagers were flattened in the dark by the murderous bus. I began wondering if it was the same bus that killed everyone or whether Satan perhaps conducted his temptations in the fast lane of a busy freeway. Either way the bus driver ended up slaying ten teenagers and wasn’t once asked to account before God/Gavin the Umpire.
The play mercifully ended with the final bus victim accepting Jesus into her life just prior to being run over. Gavin the Umpire found her name on the list and led her backstage behind the dark curtain to an eternal life of paradise. There was wild cheering as the Holy Water Ministry head priest jumped onto the stage and called e
veryone up to accept Jesus into their life and be saved. As one, the throng stampeded forward, and the priest, snazzily dressed in an open necked shirt and flared pants, began laying his hands on people’s heads as absolute pandemonium broke out. Kids were screaming nonsensical things and shouting ‘Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!’
I slipped out the side door of the church and took refuge in the garden.
21:30 Mermaid gave me a lingering hug and told me not to worry if I was a little overwhelmed with everything because she had been her first time. We then had a definite moment of looking into each other’s eyes. It seemed like we were going to kiss but Mermaid broke away and said she had to find Gavin the Umpire and ran off.
Gavin the Umpire attempted to hoodwink me into going to church with them again tomorrow. I told him I already had plans but gave no details. It was a great relief to finally get home. Mermaid jumped out of the car and kissed me goodbye and made me promise not to ignore her again. I solemnly promised, but in the darkness she couldn’t see that my fingers were crossed.
Friday 17th April
Good Friday and three days until my sixteenth birthday. Sixteen sounds like a big step up in age. I’m practically a man in most areas.
Sunday 19th April
EASTER SUNDAY
Easter Church service, followed by a lunchtime braai with Wombat. Unfortunately, after a few too many gins and tonic, my grandmother became emotional and told us that she was on the verge of death and announced that this would be our final luncheon together. Mom told Wombat that she was talking nonsense and then promptly burst into tears. Dad raised his beer glass and shouted, ‘To new beginnings!’ Wombat shouted, ‘Cheers!’ and floored her entire G&T. Thereafter she became high-pitched and giggly and ate a surprising amount of food for somebody at death’s door.
Monday 20th April
SPUD’S 16 BIRTHDAY!
But not sweet …
BIRTHDAY EVALUATION
PRESENTS
U2’s Achtung Baby from Mom (My original got scratched after it mysteriously spent the night in Blacky’s kennel.)
Best of Lionel Ritchie from Dad, which he then played on the hi-fi all afternoon.
A 50p British stamp from Wombat
The Wisden Cricket Annual from Mermaid and Gavin the Umpire
A pack of Easter eggs from Blacky
OVERALL RATING (OUT OF TEN)
4
COMMENTS
Just like New Year’s Eve, birthdays are totally overrated.
16:00 Returned from a ride and Mom was waiting because Mermaid had called to wish me a happy birthday. She forced me to call her back before even having a shower. Turns out that Mermaid had just left with Gavin the Umpire, so I ended up having a toe-curling ten-minute conversation with Marge instead who wished me happy birthday on behalf of everyone.
Dad tried to get us out to dinner at Mike’s Kitchen but I opted for takeaway pizza and a video instead. (Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves. 7/10)
Tuesday 21st April
06:00 Some good news at last! Mad Dog called at the crack of dawn and said he was inviting the Crazy Eight to spend a week on his farm in the July holidays. I said yes without even asking for the folks’ permission and noted that I was hopping weirdly from foot to foot like an excited elf.
‘Buckle up, Spuddy,’ said Mad Dog in an ominous voice, ‘because it’s going to be the maddest week of your life!’
He then barked loudly down the phone and said he had to call Vern.
‘Good luck,’ I said.
He roared with laughter and hung up.
I can’t wait to see that crazy dog again.
I retired to my room and hatched a plan for extorting permission out of my parents. What with my mother still mentioning last year’s escapades I’m going to have to be as stealthy as a cat.
Called Fatty to let him know about the Mad Dog plan. Fatty, who sounded like he was crunching on concrete, said he had already heard about it. ‘How wicked is that?’ he said before swallowing whatever it was that he was chewing. Then I heard whispering and sniggering in the background. Suddenly a loud voice shouted down the phone, ‘Milton, you lesbian!’ Fatty hooted with laughter and admitted that Boggo was spending the last week of the holiday with him. The rest of the conversation involved Boggo shouting lame taunts in the background at which Fatty would laugh hysterically and then relay back to me as if expecting me to find them equally amusing.
I finally called it quits when Fatty tried to fart Die Stem into the telephone receiver.
Friday 24th April
9:15 Caught Dad talking to Amber over the fence. When he saw me he hurriedly said goodbye to our neighbour and raced back down the stepladder.
‘You won’t tell your mother, will you?’ he begged with a panicked look on his face. ‘She’s neurotic about Amber.’ He snapped the ladder closed.
‘I didn’t see anything,’ I replied and grinned at my father.
‘That’s my boy!’ roared Dad and punched me on the arm.
‘Dad,’ I said innocently, ‘Mad Dog has invited everyone to his farm for a week in the July holidays.’
Dad was so excited that he not only gave me permission on the spot, but then made me practise my rifle shooting technique, using a cricket bat as a dummy.
Once Dad was satisfied with my performance he announced, ‘I’ll be damned if my boy enters the wild without a sound knowledge of bush craft.’
He then demonstrated how to tie a reef knot on the hosepipe. I didn’t remind my father that I already know all about knots, and didn’t point out that my father’s reef knot was actually a granny knot.
I’m going to Mad Dog’s farm – it’s official. Now that’s what I call a birthday present.
Monday 27th April
I stole one final look at the photograph Mermaid sent me yesterday via Marge and Mom. It was taken in the garden of the Holy Water Ministry and it revealed a gorgeous blonde girl with wild green eyes laughing into the camera. On her arm is a recently turned sixteen-year-old with two large pink pimples on his forehead. He looks nervous and uncertain and his smile seems a little forced. I flipped the photograph over and written on the back in neat writing was the word:
Faith
HOLIDAY SCORECARD
RAMBO Travelled to the Seychelles with his dad and stepmom.
FATTY Videos, video games, Dungeons and Dragons.
GARLIC Lake Malawi – new windsurfer – enough said.
SIMON AWOL
VERN Reckons he ignited a massive cane fire that burned an entire valley and has brought a huge box of matches back to school. Let’s hope it was a planned burning and not a case of arson.
SPUD Narrowly avoided becoming a born-again Christian and may or may not have had a series of erotic dreams about his ex-girlfriend.
BOGGO Has written a manual on business and leadership called Scoring with Boggo: From Boardroom to Bedroom. The idiot reckons he’s going to make a fortune out of selling his genius and set the price at twenty bucks. He then produced a large pile of business cards wrapped in an elastic band and proudly passed them around.
The card read:
BOGGO GREENSTEIN
BUSINESS MAVERICK AND ORIGINAL CRAZY 8 MEMBER
Printed below were two phone numbers including the house telephone number (with international dialling codes), a fax number, and a mailing address. On the back of the card was a grainy black and white photograph of Boggo dressed in a tuxedo. Due to the obscure picture, Boggo looks fairly handsome and there’s no evidence of his widespread acne and his pale skin. There were loud hoots of laughter all round, but Boggo refused to back down and said that within a month we would all be making our own business/shagging cards and buying multiple copies of his manual.
But just when we thought he was done, Boggo triumphantly produced an electric hair shaver and declared, ‘Welcome to the new house hairdresser!’ He then licked his lips repetitively and said, ‘If there’s one thing a chick digs more than a business card, it’s cold hard cash.’ He t
hen reached into his tartan suitcase and pulled out a neatly written price list.
HAIR BY BOGGO!
PREFECTS/CRAZY 8
R10
NORMAL SEVEN
R15
FRAGILE FIVE
R20
ARSEHOLES/WANKERS
R25
Rambo said that it’s a known fact that all male hairdressers are homos. He then advised us all to sleep with a cork in our bums for safety. Boggo refused to be cowed by the continuous mockery and said, ‘When I’m rolling in cash and surrounded by more hot chicks than Hugh Hefner, don’t even think about begging for my soggy seconds.’
After Boggo’s revelations and demonstrations, the discussion returned to Simon, whose bed and locker lie empty. Rambo called Simon three times in the holiday and he never once returned his call. Not even Boggo had any gossip to add and said he doubted if Simon was coming back. Fatty was dead certain that Simon was displaying all the classic symptoms of a major nervous breakdown, but then declined to tell us what those symptoms were. Rambo reckons the Crazy Eight is a dying breed and soon there will be nobody left.
Boggo snorted loudly and said, ‘Oh, talking about dying breeds, Rambo, how’s that big Pike plan coming along?’
Rambo ignored him, but Boggo wasn’t letting go. ‘Because it’s now the second term,’ he said, ‘and he’s still a prefect and still pissing us around big time.’
Still Rambo didn’t reply, but Boggo kept goading him. ‘So what’s the grand masterplan, Rambo? You waiting for Pike to die of old age or what?’