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Great Writing - Home > Extended > English Slacker chapter thirty
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Extended Work
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| English Slacker chapter thirty | |
| By chrismorton | ||||
| 09 July 2008 | ||||
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Pretty soon I was feeling a bit sick. There’d been no tobacco in the joint at all, and also the front room was tiny and by then full of smoke and I had to get out so I said, “Bye,” to Tim and the girl (who said her name was Jessica) and then bundled myself out of the door. Everything was well bright when I got outside. It was like, blinding, and I was finding it hard to focus on anything. I remember the street as just shapes of houses but sort of abstract shapes, like an abstract picture: A roof here, a wall there, a hedge there; all a bit of a mess. And then, as I turned on my walkman Nictane suddenly blasted into my ears, scaring the shit out of me, and I said, “Fucking hell!” like really loud – yeah and I remember ripping the ear phones from my ears and reaching for the volume button, and fumbling around for it. And my heart was then beating really fast. I stumbled up the road, rolling a cigarette as I went. As I drew on it my mouth felt dry and it tasted dry and weird but it was kinda comforting too. I got to the top and went through the alleyway and then I was at the bus stop. Once there I looked at the bus times for the next one to Bracksea and it was a thirty minute wait so… actually not the sort of thing I usually would’ve done but, yeah at the time for some reason the fact that I’d obviously just missed the bus really pissed me off (like: really) and I shouted, “FUCKING BOLLOCKS!” and hit the timetable and the whole bus shelter rattled. I then looked around, wondering what to do, like whether to wait or not. Then I thought (and said), “Fuck it,” and started walking. So yeah, anyway, I’d been walking for ages when I found myself heading towards the beach, and it was like as this realisation hit me I decided to go back to Bracksea that way. My walkman was playing and the sun was shining and I had my tobacco and the bag of weed was in my pocket and it was a good excuse for a walk I felt. I was a bit hungry though so I stopped off at a garage and got some crisps, a chocolate bar and a pastie (Hoola-Hoops, an Aero, and Ginsters chicken and mushroom). I remember taking ages with my money and the guy behind the counter being really patient actually and as I left I said, “Cheers for being nice to me,” or something like that and then I was wishing I’d just kept my mouth shut, and then I was thinking that actually what I’d said wasn’t that bad and at least I’d been polite and shown my appreciation for good service. So the beach at Skipton is a bit of a shit-hole but you can walk to Bracksea along the shore and it gets better as you go (kinda less gravely, more beach-like) and I used to do that walk quite often with my parents when I was a kid actually; but then it was easier to do, and actually that’s not important: Although the fact that this route was familiar to me is probably the reason why I’d found myself like subconsciously heading down there in the first place. The houses dwindled away and fishing boats appeared and I cut across the train line and then the sea was right in front of me. I could see Bracksea in the distance along the shore line. It wasn’t dark yet – the last time I’d seen this view it’d been the, “Lights of Bracksea,” town (as my dad used to say) but this time… well, what stood out most was the Bracksea school buildings, with the golf course behind and the cliffs further on. Once at the beach I stopped and stood there looking at the view, thinking about Bracksea and how small it was and about how there was a big world out there but I’d spent most of my life on that tiny patch of land… and yeah, I then started thinking about how cool it’d be to be able to fly there: Like, fly out to sea and over to Bracksea: To be able to float about like a seagull, letting the breeze carry me, wherever I wanted to go, not to have to worry about money or getting a job or finding some fucking purpose to life. Just float about doing whatever. I lit up a fresh cigarette and started along the gravely path.
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