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Extended Work
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| Drifting - chapter nine | |
| By Jamie | ||
| 26 July 2008 | ||
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This is the nineth chapter in a long form story. My plan is publish all the chapters on here as I go along. I will present them as I choose, a few days interspersing the entries. All feedback, negative or positive gratefully received. I am proud of certain aspects, and ruefully aware of other areas of shortcomings and inadequacy. Rather like myself in fact. So constructive criticism or showers of stars - both interestedly received. Blunt, bored, disinterested views will be received likewise. As most of us are, who seemingly ' can't ' write with brevity, I am equally indisposed to attempt a synopsis. But... Girl has self, girl meets boy, girl loses self, girl loses boy, girl tries to find self. Girl finds a different kind of self. This would be fair, but woefully inadequate. More it is an outpouring of thoughts and words, many words along a collection of themes that had been going round and around in my head for a long time. And ultimately a traumatic time in my own life brought these feelings and thoughts rudely, and unbiddenly to the surface. So I wrote them down - a catharsis of sorts, and an interested exploration of the routine, process and 'expected' or 'required' structure of writing in long-form. Thanks for reading and your interest. I repay your time spent with gratitude and humilty.
chapter nine
Even though it was much later in the day, Lyndsey entered the squat in much the same dishevelled state and wanton appearance as that that she had worn on hurriedly entering the public toilet in the St Enoch Centre. Over an hour she had spent in that cubicle; so much courage had she had to muster to unlock the door and venture back outside. So many times had she tried, but failed. Other people coming in to the toilets, talking, singing, some even laughing. She felt naked, and so laid-open and transparent. All the last traces and vestiges of self-confidence had been drained away, the last few, final shards of ebullience and poise that had somehow defiantly remained after the night of the party had disappeared away with her watch.At first she was panting and gasping as she sought to re-gain her breath, then she held it hard, breathing only very shallowly and lightly in an attempt to disappear aurally from the world. Eventually with eyes firmly downcast, hat pulled down so low and with a quick frantic step, she exited the public toilets, fled the shopping centre and hurried back past the Trongate in the failing light and back to the squat. Alone again – and seemingly she was the only one home. She checked out all the rooms that she could enter without intruding on someone else’s private space: the front room, the kitchen, the bathroom, her old/new room, even Tom’s room – but no one was present. But right now she badly needed someone or somebodies to take an interest in her, throw sympathy at her, drape around her a cloak of consolation and deep, deep comfort. She was now left with her own self to help bring her back down and to put back together her shredded nerves and low self-esteem, but she found herself wanting in terms of the comfort she craved. She had spurned herself already as her guide and guardian, right now she wasn’t even interested in herself to be a friend and help to herself. Now she found herself wanting and needing others – at just this moment she desperately needed others. Alone she sat in the front room and for so long it seemed, as the day darkened and the afternoon quickly turned into evening. Lyndsey lit a few candles, but only to give the room a low gothic glow in an attempt to dress the room with the same mood as she was in, in her head. It was so cold too – sat here, still with her jacket and hat on; she could see her breath steam in clouds as she breathed out. Several times she tried to light a cigarette, but her hands were still shaking, her teeth biting and chattering down. Oh, where was someone when you needed them – and almost anyone too. Anyone at all, anyone, but especially… Lyndsey had become so accustomed to the quiet and the gloom, that she jumped violently when she heard people entering the flat. Then she was momentarily blinded as Helen, Ian and Santa entered and lit all the remaining candles and brought the room up to a usual level of brightness. "Hi." Lyndsey spoke quietly. Over her face she had had a pose of suffering and wreckage until she had heard their voices and quickly ascertained that the person from whom she wanted the sympathy that she reckoned she was due, was not there. Quickly from a chair near her she had picked up a book before they entered, so the others discovered her crouched down in the gloom apparently reading in the near darkness. "Hello – you okay?" Helen spoke kindly to her, it was the first time she had seen her since the party, but also she could read from Lyndsey’s face that all was far from well in her world. "Fine." Lyndsey spoke shortly and quietly. The two men merely nodded and continued talking to each other, apparently uninterested in the unhinged and unpredictable girl seated down in the dark and cold. Santa was in his late twenties; he had spent all of his life since his mid-teens either on the streets, on the road or holed up in some squat or other. He was hardened, worldly-wise and un-suffering of the many fools he saw regularly in his daily routine. Lyndsey was just another character that he had seen many times before, and he was sure that she would prove to be as transitory and as ephemeral as the rest – she wouldn’t be around for long, he was sure. Ian was in full conversational flow with an account of his latest episode of profligacy. With barely concealed glee he was rushing toward the crux of his tale of his recent salacious activities and he had barely noticed, much less considered Lyndsey, sitting disconsolately down in the gloom. Lyndsey remained quiet; Helen, unsure of what to say allowed her her peace, not wanting to question her in front of Santa and Ian. Lyndsey lingered for a while, apparently ensconced in the book she wasn’t reading, then she got up to wait in the kitchen. While making herself a drink she heard the front door again, then footsteps along the hallway. They sounded then stopped outside and entered where she knew Tom’s room was, next door. Immediately she was away from the sink and the room. She stopped outside his door and half-pushed it open, suddenly feeling embarrassed again. Through the gloom she could see Tom, alone and leaning over, emptying into a bag whatever it was that was in his jacket pocket. "Tom, hi…err I…" She was almost stammering as she sought her words and strained to see his face in the dark. "Hello Lyndsey." His tone was blank and expressionless; he had heard her footsteps and his door being pushed open, and had guessed it was she. He continued with his activity without looking up to where she was pensively stood.. "Tom, I…see – look at my wrist." She pulled back her sleeve to show him her grazed and wounded arm. "…I’ve been attacked and robbed." She spoke rather dramatically, and unfortunately, rather pathetically and needsomely. He looked up, surprised, from where he had been engrossed in his non-activity. "Let me see." Seeing little in the gloom, he led her into the brighter kitchen. He examined her scratches, but thankfully she wasn’t badly or graphically injured. On looking up into her eyes he saw much more pain and hurt there. "Where were you?" He spoke lamely, not sure of what she wanted or what her motive may be in seeking him out to show him her minor wound. "Just off the Broomielaw – near the Clyde." She was a little breathless, but she was managing to keep her emotions in check and the tears away, as she adopted her face of wounded neediness, of someone deserving of sympathy and affection. "What did he take?" The feeling and action from Tom was that of questioning her rather than emphathy, there was certainly something in his mood and attention towards her that was lacking or distant, so she decided to play up her pose. "My watch…and he tried to grope me and he… he…" She stopped speaking, attempting not to cry. The recent trauma of her encounter was still coursing through her and she could sense his relative indifference. She could see him standing almost impassively; he was obviously listening, but he was expressing little. She had been hoping he would interrupt her – or even better – take hold of her. But she was left to stumble through her words alone with her voice shaking. She choked back her rising, stifling emotions, and then she hurdled on with the account of her ordeal. "He… he pinned me against the bench and he tried to rape me. " Her words were a little loose with the truth and dramatic, but she wasn’t trying for reportage. But nor was she achieving that that she was striving for as he still stood away from her. Aloofly, almost impassively, and merely listening to her and watching her shake. "But… but did he try to… drag you anywhere?" Tom was concerned, but he also had a perception of her nakedly reaching out again for his attention. He was struggling here; naturally and normally he would have been acting and speaking much more sympathetically and affectionately now. But he could see the scene that she wanted and he was trying to shy away from that. Certainly he didn’t want to sound or seem cold and disinterested; he could see that some evil bastard had quite obscenely helped her to feel even lower and more alone than even she had been feeling previously, but he was trying too to steel himself against her rather obvious manipulations. Lyndsey spoke haltingly again. "No. I managed to break free – but he tried to grab me again and he pursued me and he… but I…" Against her will, she was once again in floods of tears. She was annoyed with herself for feeling the need to embellish her sorry tale. Stuck and stranded she was, unable to un-immerse herself from the miseries of her last few days and the throes of that traumatic afternoon. She so, so wanted him to step forward and to take hold of her, but she was left standing alone, shaking and tearfully giving account of herself. "You got away from him though?" "Yeah – I managed to get free. But… well, I couldn’t walk easily back after, not through all those crowds of people. And now I feel so frightened, so jumpy at every noise." She had now moved from eagerness to share her sorry tale, through attempted manipulation, and now she had arrived at naked pitying and pathos. But the desperation was quickly and relentlessly growing in her words as she could feel the moment slipping away from her. Tom was quiet for a moment watching her tears and her crying gently subside. He was straining to keep his hands down by his side and not to pour them around the body of this girl that he still felt affection and a stirring towards. He had to look away as he saw her cut and scratched wrist peep out of her cuff as she rubbed her running nose, and he swallowed. But whilst it may have felt better for both of them – and certainly for her, it wouldn’t feel good later if he were to give in to her wishes and cravings for affection. And the tears and yearnings would only continue… He chose his words and looked at her again. "You’re in the city Lyndsey, there’s noises and people everywhere. And far, far worse people around than that sick fucker who jumped you. You need to be ready and able to cope and deal with them all when you’re on your own." "I know all that – I come from a city." She was more than a little annoyed at his patronising and she spoke impulsively, but she was alarmedly begining to see the conversation and their exchanges slipping sideways now. "But you weren’t alone there – you had your parents, your home and your friends if you needed them or wanted them." He was feeling in a stronger position now, and was growing in confidence as he pushed on. But her head was down and shaking as the tears were forming and falling yet again. "Oh no – no, no. You’re not right. And I'm not alone – am I?" Waves of gloom were rising, darker and darker shadows and doubts growing. "I've told you Lyndsey. We've had that conversation" He spoke carefully and quietly. She had her hands up over her face and was crying more deeply and pitifully now. And yes, it did hurt him, but… "Lyndsey, stop. Look at me." For the first time he touched her as he stretched out a hand to clasp her upper arm. Startled, she looked up through misery-laden eyes. "Who is the most important person here now?" She looked down, not wanting to venture the first name that rose to her lips. "Its you Lyndsey – you. You’ve got to take a hold of, and control of yourself. Nobody should be of more importance to you than you – yourself. You need to – you have to start looking after yourself." "I'm trying to… But why are you so… so…" She was unwilling or unable to speak as bluntly as he, being so unpossessive of his confidence and calm. "What? Why am I so... what?" "You don’t care that I was attacked and robbed today. You’ll do little or nothing to help me or to make it not happen again. Can’t you see how low I am? But you’re not interested." Vainfully she had stabbed around, seeking his affection with increasing desperation. Now she stripped away any remaining subtlety as she pathetically craved and demonstrated her dependence to him. "What do you want me to do?" He pulled his arm away; again he felt annoyance and disgust at her for so openly and plainly appealing for his sympathy and at her appearing so pathetic and uncaring of how she sounded or acted. "What do you want me to do – I can’t carry you." "No, but I'm just asking for your help." She was on the ropes now, shaken and defeated, and past caring how she appealed for his affection. It didn’t matter – she was finding that whether obliquely appealing to him, or openly asking for his attention, her endeavours were coming to no avail. Tom walked over to the sink and filled the kettle for a drink he didn’t want. Suddenly he wanted to go back out again and find something a little stronger. After a long pause he turned to return to a conversation he also didn’t want. "I think you should start thinking about moving on, Lyndsey." He swallowed and looked away as suddenly she met his eyes with her totally shocked face. He was about to speak again, but she breathlessly burst in. "Moving on? I thought you said I could stay here as long as I needed or wanted to…" "So I did – and you can. But I think you’d start feeling better quicker if you were someplace else." "You fuckin' throwing me out then..? Utter dejection now, she was almost on the floor. She couldn’t believe the path this conversation had now taken. He could see her reeling and he didn’t want to heap hurt onto hurt, but he could see worse times ahead and difficulties, strains and more scenes like this if they continued sharing the same flat. And this was his patch. "No, I'm not throwing you out – I said you could stay here as long as you like, and I meant it. But I think you’d start feeling happier somewhere else – maybe back home in Manchester, back with your…" "Don’t you fuckin’ dare to tell me what is good for me. Don’t deign to think you know fuck-all about me and my parents." She was wild-eyed and livid now; her hollow lameness and naked out-reaching she resolutely ditched, as it was now horribly clear that she had failed to persuade or manipulate him into any sort of pity or affection for her. Clearly he felt little warmth toward her, no obligations and just annoyance at her continued presence now that he had dumped her. But now this impression that he had – that he somehow knew what was best for her… If she was inwardly honest, she knew that lately she had been far from her own best friend, and she was painfully aware of how quickly she had thrown down her mantle of self-reliance and cool aloofness. Standing and shaking here now in this cold kitchen, she felt so different to that girl who had boarded that train all those weeks ago. And she thought of how joyfully and quickly she had discarded her hard outer-shell to embrace and invite someone else inside her, to come inside and to suddenly share her thoughts and desires, and for her to begin expressing them loudly, unashamedly and intimately. But this was right wasn’t it? A kind of normality. Everyone – the ones who were someone and even those who weren’t - in her eyes, they all did this. The ordinaries and the straights, they all interacted with each other; just like those whom she saw as having a different agenda to their lives – the kind of people whom she had thought she had latterly joined. They all seemed to be open on the surface, and acted, thought and spoke, apparently with confidence and without suspicion or self-preservation foremost in their minds. But while this seemed to make sense to her, she could see that in her clumsy efforts and attempts to get from where she had been at to where she wished to be, she had somehow missed someplace somewhere. And big time. In a sense she was kind of on the right track, but away off it; her balance she had re-tuned from way one side to the other. Lyndsey glanced up angrily, after her outburst, at Tom’s surprised face. So this was it; a natural end to the conversation anyway. She turned and walked out of the kitchen; she refrained from banging the door behind her, but mentally she did so. Away she reeled to her room to cry again, and to be alone, alone again with her tumbling thoughts and her private tears. She tried to re-collect her head and to think positively on his words. "You are the most important person Lyndsey. You…" "So do you think I should leave then?" The question and its resolution were still going around in Lyndsey’s head, days later. And sat here now amongst the bare angular trees of Kelvingrove Park, she pondered and mused on another conversation she had had earlier that day. "So do you think I should leave then?" Pause and silence between them. "Why do you ask me?" Jon was surprised at the explicitness of her question, he was also bemused by the route of a conversation that he did not feel enough intimacy with Lyndsey to be having. He was also aware that this soul-searching and private thought sharing were of the variety that she would have previously talked and conducted with Tom. Lyndsey smiled back at him over the coffee table of the Princes Square café. "Because you are wiser than me, you’ve helped me before and the things you said then were right – not that I always listened carefully enough." Jon was muddled and taken by this strange, sometimes expansive, lost girl. Intimately with others, he had always been a loner – eternally backward at being forward, he had nearly always lost out to others in seeking the attentions of the girls he had felt something for. Someone else had moved faster, and the girl either totally unaware of his interest or bored at his stalling and hesitancy, had drifted on to someone else. And such had it been with Lyndsey, although from the start he had been deep in Tom’s shadow. Jon had been attracted to her too almost from the first moment he had spoken to her on that first afternoon and evening in the squat, and he had been concerned and interested in her character and personal make-up. But of course, someone else had got in before him and Lyndsey had, almost from the start been smitten by Tom. But now this – the increasing frequency of their personal discourses and dialogue. The meetings and conversations were substitutes for the kind of exchanges he had originally imagined when he had first seen and spoke with Lyndsey; but they gave him a chance to spend time with her. A chance to explore her fascinating troubled psyche, and an opportunity to work himself up to attempting to become even more intimate if he dared, with this girl. "And there’s a thousand things I wish I’d said and done- but the moments gone…" Music and words spinning around in his head as he watched her dark eyes flash, as she again out-poured her misery and longing. He saw the eternal tears well again as she looked downwards, trying to explain how Tom had told her to go, but he could barely hear her. He was rolling with feeling and affection for this girl, but no, he wouldn’t – he couldn’t express this to her, this he knew. He was making excuses for himself – true; but he could see how muddy and messy it would probably be if he tried to become involved with this girl now. He could show her he cared though, by listening to her and trying to help her, and it may only be a substitute for his real feelings and longings, but it would be a substitute through which he could partially express his true desires. So Lyndsey had sought his guidance and advice; and after she had left the café, she wandered keeping with the crowds, and aimlessly walked away down Sauciehall Street. Now sat within the criss-cross of the walkways cutting through the abundant green areas of Kelvingrove Park, she was in her usual poise – cigarette in hand, head away in the clouds and mulling over thoughts, faces and words. "You know, Tom’s right. You’re in such a state at the moment – rather an emotional mess. You really need to take a little time out to look after you." Lyndsey knew this; she could see the easy wisdom and common sense behind Jon’s words all too well. But how could she think of herself, when all day long she could only think of someone else? She was still living at the squat, but she only existed there. She didn’t participate with the others, she felt them to be more silent around her; but she didn’t blame them for their wariness. She had hardly been settled and collected lately, and certainly not good and easy company. And although she was embarrassed and shy when she met or ‘accidentally’ bumped into Tom, in or near to the squat, she still planned, as far as possible, her waking day around his movements. In her head burned questions of where he was now, what was he doing, and whom he was with. He wasn’t at all unpleasant when they met, merely polite and mute; but there were no more conversations – certainly no affection or attention. She was feeling more and more squeezed out, the more she sought him out, the more she followed around his trail and footsteps, the more she wondered about his whereabouts; then the more she felt herself to be peripheral and on the outside of his life, of the community in the squat and of life around her in general. Everything was going on somewhere, but she was only watching, and lamely, absently following. "If only he would give me another chance, if only he could forget one stupid jealous moment. But he doesn’t seem interested at all now." Jon looked back at her downbeat face, a face laden with misery and self-pity, totally uncomprehending and unwilling for respite. And the only words he could think of he knew would hurt her - the truth too often does. But he didn’t want to hurt her more, he wanted her to see and begin seeking sense and reason, maybe even find a road ahead. But he didn’t want her to cry again. "You’ve got to move on. You’re stuck, wallowing in your grief and misery – you’ve got to pull yourself out of this morass, and walk on from it. And if that means leaving Glasgow, then…" Jon stopped; he really didn’t want her to go. Mostly for his own private feelings and reasons, but he could only think that it was probably better and more helpful for her if she did so. "In a new town with different people around you, different faces and places to see and look at; you’ll have a fresh set of challenges and objectives to think about and concentrate on. The sun will still rise and set, the wind will still blow – the rain will always fall; the world goes on whether you want it to or not. But life isn’t something that merely exists around you – you’re a part of it." She breathed out a stream of smoke and watched a party of small school children make their way home. The flowers and the grass were rippling with the wind; the bare branches of the trees were waving. The rain wouldn’t be long, but it could fall – let it fall and do its worst. She would only get wet… She wished she could ‘opt-out’ for a while and get off this roundabout that had careered way, way out of her control. If only she could just drift through some dull routine somewhere, somewhere where she could just keep her head down and not feel so visible, so clumsy and awkward. Somewhere where she could feel smothered, sedated and encompassed; somewhere where she could be merely rolled along, taken away and where she would be able to rest and immerse her head in other thoughts and images other than him, him, him and his absence. "Do you think I should go home though? Tom does..." They had talked through positivity and accepting fate, Lyndsey could only agree with Jon’s point of view that there is no other point to everyday existence, other than striving to feel better about ones-self and moving on from those melee’s and situations that will only bring you down and prevent you from moving on. The failing was that Lyndsey just couldn’t do it yet, she hadn’t yet set herself up to seeking a brighter path; she was and had been, far too busy examining the ground beneath her heels and the muddied track behind. Behind was all. Now was total. Ahead was not relevant. But now latterly during their conversation, listening to Jon’s earnest advice, watching his nervous mannerisms and genuine eyes, she could feel herself turning towards a mood of acceptance and of moving on. Perhaps it was time to stop setting herself up to feel miserable and depressed. A time to end the soul-searching. "If home and your family may help you to feel better – and they just might - then you should do it. Grasp the straw Lyndsey, if it’s a route that will help you and will make you feel better, then you should take it." She looked down sulkily. "But I don’t, and can’t talk properly to my parents – you don’t know all my problems and the history that I'm talking about. And going back may only stir up more arguments and shit up here." She tapped the side of her head and looked back up at him glumly. "Well I can’t look inside and answer every question. And no, I don’t know all the story; but I'm just trying to get you to think of, and to look at ways of feeling better. You can be very supportive of yourself if you want and like yourself enough. Home may not be perfect or an easy destination, but you already know it doesn’t need to be a solution or an end in itself. You just need a place to touch down, come to a stop then harden yourself up and learn from your mistakes. Then get out there and move on again to wherever it is that you want or need to be." There had been a long pause; a silence and time for much thought from both of them. Lyndsey’s mind turning over and musing on his words, Jon’s mind and eyes turning her over again. Time was slipping away, if she was to leave Glasgow soon, he may not get a proper chance to speak to her again; but what did he have to say? She finished her coffee and quietly began making herself ready to go; he watched her, thinking furiously. The sweat was running on his palms, the blood was rushing in his ears... "If you go…Wherever you go; will you write to me and let me know where you are and how you are?" She looked back at him, surprised and jolted out of her thoughts. "Well, how would I do that? I mean, well hardly the squat… so where?" "Here," he wrote the address of his workplace on a scrap piece of paper. "You can always get me there." She looked down at the paper, then back at him, deeper and more wondering this time. "Why?" "Because I care enough about you to be interested in where you’re at. I like you enough to want to know if you are happy or still sad; and I'm interested enough to want to read your words telling me about these things." He was blushing and addressing the table now as he tried to express the words and emotions he so seldom did, and that he was so late in doing so now. "I like talking to you Lyndsey, and I don’t want this to be the last chance for us to…" He trailed off and mumbled into silence leaving his sentence unfinished. He was unwilling to place more of his affection on show, but he had shown enough. Soon after they left the café, both of them a little stiffly after his words, but Jon was sure he would speak to her properly again, and also she was sure there was more under his words – more he hadn’t or had been unable to express.
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