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| The happiness of beards | |
| By eudimonia | ||||||||
| 09 January 2008 | ||||||||
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This is my first posting, not just on this site, but on the inter-net! I wrote this piece for a creative writing class. .I'd really appreciate any feedback. Cheers, Linda. Blood splattered the foaming water. Matt watched as it dispersed into the froth of bubbles in the sink before him. He looked at his chin in the mirror, his stupid, cleft, bum chin. He dabbed at a cut with a tissue. ''Matty, man, are you getting dressed?'' His brother Toby shouted from downstairs. Matt hated shaving. He wondered why he couldn't just grow a beard, a big beard like a Mormon elder. ''Matt, come on man, the car'll be here soon.''Toby sounded nervous. Sticking a dab of tissue on the cut, Matt walked out onto the landing. Perching awkwardly on a Ghanaian footstool he reached for his shiny, new shoes. As he laced a shoe he looked up at a sepia photo of Great, Great,Uncle Hector. He had monstrous whiskers covering most of his face, but it didn't look like they made him happy. He had eyes like squashed flies. The Victorian patriarch hung amongst a scattering of tastefully eclectic photos and pictures. Next to Hector a photo showed Matt and Genni on a beach in Goa. They were both grinning as if their lives depended on showing what a fantastic time they were having. Matt remembered strolling hand-in-hand at sunset, he'd felt like he was in a scene from a made-for-TV romantic movie. Still, the sex had been great, really sorted out his insomnia. In his mums bedroom Matts' new black suit was laid out on the bed. More family members stared at him from the walls. One photo that Matt particularly disliked showed his mum in 70's floaty tie-dye and jackboots, brandishing a placard. That photo always reminded him of the night his cat, Spot, died, when Matt was seven. He'd found him stretched out in the back hall beneath a framed sampler proclaiming ''The meek shall inherit the earth'' He'd asked her, hopefully, if Spot was a meek, she'dlaughed ''Don't be silly darling, he was a cat." Then flounced off to save the world. Matt hated his mother. ''Matt, come on mate.'' Tobys' voice had the soft exasperation common to all Matts' family when speaking to him. Matt had heard that supressed annoyance in Gennis' voice recently, punctuated by foul language. Matt hated swearing. His mum used to rain verbal abuse down on him, until it flooded his brain. He would lay on his bed for hours staring at the ceiling his head bloated "Hey, come on Matt I've got your tie." Toby bobbed into the room. Toby, his jovial younger brother still cherubic at 26. Matt walked past Toby, down the stairs and out the front door. Standing amongst the dirty shrubs in the front garden he lit a cigarette. Across the dual carriageway the old council estate was being demolished. Big toothed diggers bit into crumbling concrete. Like old women caught in their graying underclothes, bits of walls huddled amongst the debris. A splash of purple wallpaper clung to all that remained of Bobbys' house. Matt wondered where Bobby and the rest of the smelly O'Shaughnessy clan were now. He'd loved hanging out at Bobbys house, just another kid, watching "The Price is Right' squeezed on the sofa, eating beans on toast. ''Feeling a bit of the old nerves, eh?" Toby stood on the doorstep, holding out Matts' tie hopefully. Matt pushed past Toby, grabbing his tie, he stood in front of the full-length mirror. To the left of the mirror hung a framed cartoon. Matts' father had captured the teenage Matt as a ragged black crow. Matt suddenly felt light-headed. God he wished his dad was here. Matts' dad had been the only person who'd realised that the monosyllabic teenager was genuinely miserable and not just a Cure fan. Tubby Toby stood looking admiringly at his tall, moodily handsome brother. He prattled on about how good Matt was looking and what a lucky girl Gennni was. Matt didn't mind, he liked people who talked a lot, saved him having to make conversation. He lit another cigarette. A big black Daimler drew up outside the house. A scrawny man in a grey chauffers outfit straight out of an episode of Inspector Poirrot, jumped out. Toby opened the front door with a mock bow. "After you sir your lovely bride-to-be awaits." ''Sorry mate, terrible traffic, can't stop, dual carriageway, no parking, no fags in the car." The driver opened a heavy black door, standing to attention as Matt crushed his cigarette. Matt noticed the man had a beard, but it didn't look like it made him happy.
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