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Great Writing - Home > For Kids > Mocking Bird Nights Part Two
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For Children
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| Mocking Bird Nights Part Two | |
| By TomtomKent | ||||
| 03 April 2007 | ||||
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The first part of the first short story. It follows almost directly from the prelude posted earlier. One: New Homes. The two boys in letterman jackets, with their chunky class rings and over priced clothes pushed me out of the party and into the rain. I staggered back and landed in a sprawled heap on the gravel drive. I lay back in the puddle, and let the ape like figures stand over me. Even with the thick double glazed door of the Lake House slammed closed I could hear the party. Lots of drunken whooping and cheering, lots of music that was very new, very fashionable, and not very good. The party was being thrown for the Football team, the beautiful people of a high school, where kids truly believed all that rubbish on TV about having to fit into a clique. As far as the knuckle heads who were about to kick me were concerned you had to wear a uniform to school. If you were good looking you did sports, if you were rich you were a prep, if you did maths you were a geek, and by god you better buy yourself a pocket protector. Unfortunately for them I came from Planet Earth. I might be a dab hand at quadratic equations, I might be able to string three words together in reasonably neat hand writing, and I might have played an Elvin ranger once or twice, but there was no way I was going to start speaking Latin, or order a pair of dental braces. I don’t like those sorts of cliques, they are the Racism for people who couldn’t find a proper race to hate. Oh yeah, second in my class for maths, third in my class for physics. Local light weight champion for boxing. “Welcome to the US of A!” One of them hollered as he swung his boot at my chest. My ribs burnt with a white hot pain as the kick connected. I rolled away. His best friend took a step towards me. “What would you do if I told you my Grandpa was Irish you pig?” He sneered in a voice he was trying to copy from some macho fantasy. I laughed at him. “Was he from Northern Ireland or the Republic?” I asked, a sweet smile on my lips. He can’t have been sure, as he answered with another kick. I spat out a mouthful of blood that tasted of burnt metal and toothpaste. “As I have to say, it’s a bit of an over simplification of a long and complex history to assume that in general an Englishman is automatically racist towards...” I cut off by another kick. My stomach churned, bruises scorched my skin and my head was spinning. I crawled up onto my knees. “So did I mention I was invited to this party anyway?” From the expression on their faces they didn’t believe me. Twiddle Dumb lifted his booted foot, and made ready to stamp down on my ribs. Twiddle Unbelievably-Dumb knelt down to trap my shoulders. “You do not mess with the Cipher High Enigmas.” Twiddle Dumb hissed, as his foot smacked down on stomach. I heaved with pain and had to swallow down some bile. “Not on Game Week Baby!” He was actually enjoying this. “Any last words?” He sneered. His pal whooped in encouragement. “Yeah.” I hissed. My voice changing to match his own accent. More nasal, more gruff, a hint of well chugged beer. “My half sister is going to cave your head in.” He stopped, and guffawed with laughter. “Your what?” Then Cherry’s tennis shoes connected with the small of his back as she leapt off the roof of a chunky Four by Four. There were a lot of cars parked in the front yard of the Lake House, most of them cost more than any teenager had a right to drive. All metallic paint and expensive toys that made their insurance premiums sky rocket. The sort of cars that you could only afford if you didn’t care about insurance costs. Twiddle Dumb gulped for air, he must have been part goldfish. When he didn’t fall down Cherry let out another roundhouse kick that did it’s best to eject his kidneys through his nostrils. He dropped to the floor and whimpered. I tried to give her a disapproving scowl. The walking testosterone factory that still had me pinned down loosened his grip. “That’s your sister?” He asked in awe. “Half sister.” I corrected, pulling free of his grip. “But she’s... You know?” “Foxy? A free runner? Beating your mate?” I offered. He nodded to each of them. “But she’s...” His voice trailed off again. “Oh yeah. African American. She gets that from her Dad.” I forced myself to smile at him. “Get over it.” He nodded, stared at his now sobbing, broken, friend. And he ran. Cherry leant down and pulled me up. “One joke about the difference between our football and soccer-football and you go back in the puddle.” She warned me, though her eyes were burning with adrenaline and her smile was lighting the world around me. “Are you ok?” “I’ll be fine.” I assured her. “Though I didn’t see where my spleen landed.” She giggled and took my arm. Since the crash I have learnt to limp with some speed. I’m not going to start sprinting any time soon, but I can walk with the best for them. Not that I didn’t appreciate the help. We looked down at the sprawled quarterback, who was still blubbing for his mummy. I rolled him over with my foot. “Did you try and kill him?” I asked, a little sickened by the ferocity of her attack. “Nah, just love taps. Just put him off balance.” She looked over her shoulder conspiratorially. “So how do we find Joe?” I knelt next to the footballer. “Alright big man?” I asked. “Need some ice? Bet those are going to be bad bruises.” A thought occurred to me. “Are you going to need an ambulance?” “What do you want?” He hissed. “Joe Soul. One of the starting line up of the Point Hollow Cougars. Your rivals. Do you know him?” “Of course I know him.” “Good. Your team mates bundled him into a car earlier today. Where is he?” “How should I know?” “Well, because your entire team is at this party. Because no one does a crazy stunt like that and doesn’t brag about it. Because I’m asking you nicely. Because if you don’t I’m letting his girlfriend ask you.” “That would be me.” Cherry said. “Hi.” “Trust me, those last two kicks were her being restrained. She did them to stop you hurting me, and she doesn’t like me.” “That is true.” Cherry nodded enthusiastically. For a few seconds a terrible silence hung in the air. I hate the silence. The silence is when I think of you, of Dad too. Cherry broke it, she grabbed his hair, and gave a wild cat howl. “Where is my boyfriend?” She screamed. He raised one of his huge hands and pointed towards the boathouse down the shore of the lake. We approached from the woods. I didn’t waste time, or effort, on stealth. A good shoulder barge popped the lock from the flimsy panel board door and sent the door flying open. The boat house was a cathedral of wood planking and bright light, with an alter made from spare furniture stacked against one wall. There was a boat too, a swish little sporting number, with a ramp to launch it down into the lake, life boat style. A big boys toy. Joe was laying in the middle of the floor, bound and gagged by duct tape, a pillow case tied around the top of his head. A circle of over excited teen aged jocks had surrounded him. A heart beat ago they had been showering him blows from wooden paddles, a grotesque pantomime of a hazing ceremony. Now they were frozen, looking at us. My mouth was dry, bile threatening to fill it as I felt their gaze on me. I could feel my heartbeat pulsing through me. Joe’s leg was laying to one side of him, like a rag dolls. The angle was unnatural and sickening. One of the party monsters was holding a bloodied baseball bat. Cherry snarled. I gripped her arm. It was all I could do. “Please.” I forced my voice to be high, jovial and full of banter. I tossed in a hint of Windsor, a touch of Wessex and a dash of Swashbuckling. “I would love one of you gents to explain what you are doing here in a way that does not sound sick or wrong.” Some where in the distance a clock chimed midnight, and my first week in America ended in style as a wooden paddle smacked me on my left temple. Well, I suppose every detective has to fall backwards into a whirling pool of unconsciousness at some point. Who was I to argue with cliché and tradition, not to mention blunt trauma. The lights went out and I felt varnished red wood floorboards welcome me to the floor. Just before I lost all sense of time and place I heard Cherry screaming bloody murder. Then reality fell away, and was replaced by John Barry music, stars exploding behind my eyes, and the empty void of dreamless sleep. A few months earlier my life had been a mess. I had given up on every one. I had given up on you. In the days between the crash and Dads funeral I was a very bad person to know. I was angry, and could not control it. Nadia and Rhonda took me in, and I stayed at their house for weeks. They were very much in love, and shouldn’t have been killing the atmosphere around them by giving me a place to live, but they did. And all I could do was bark off the most terrible words that I can not believe I meant to say, and will never be able to forgive myself for. The funeral was held on a day that had no business being that bright, or fresh, or beautiful. The preacher was a master of his art, and although I found myself lost in remembrance I could not bring myself to cry. I excused myself from the wake, and spent it by your bedside. That was where mum found me. I don’t know if you will remember what she said. She told me she would be bringing you here, and that when I had finished my GCSEs I would be brought over to live with her. I didn’t care much for exams at that moment, and I didn’t think I would care much for America. Despite the words that flew from my mouth, she smiled, tussled my hair, and did her best to be there for us. I found my soul again in the gym. I could no longer box competitively, my mangled leg and misshapen footsteps put that out of the question, but I took to the punch bags without mercy. I started to attend classes in self defence and judo, though I spent a lot more time nursing bruises than declaring victory. The flames of anger in my chest were exhausted. I could not quash their embers, but I learnt to tame them. To use them. I offered to take on work at Nadia and Rhonda’s practice, for free, as a dogsbody. I made coffee, photocopied, and became a master of their filing system. I was helped their receptionist and their secretary, and hopefully I made amends between us, or at the very least I made a good start. My exams passed in a haze, some I did well at, others I did less well at. Then one day my plane tickets, visa and travel itinerary turned up. Mum came back over from America twice before I went out to join you. Once to collect you and once to introduce me to our step-family. That was night I would not only ever relive in my worst nightmares. I met them at the station, and we went for a meal near the hotel they were staying at. Lawrence, our step father was six feet and seven inches tall, and a mixture of West Indian and African bloodlines, mixed and simmered through several generations of New Orleans Citizens. He was a school teacher with a loud laugh that echoed around like a thunderclap. My first impression of Cherry was the cuckoo in the nest. I was still young when Mum left. I had barely started school. The fact she then went and had kid by the man who stole her away was warped by my little brain into all kinds of wicked fairy tale images. Cherry should have been the root of all evil. But she wasn’t, not in that moment. For a start she was funny, and smart, and always smiling. For a second she got all the best features from both her parents. Mums eyes and hair, her dads tall athletic build, and the disarming smile that took no effort. It would not have been long after your twenty sixth birthday, but being with Cherry and Lawrence made mum look so much younger than she had at the funeral. Maybe she had topped up on Botox, maybe she lucked out in the gene pool. I couldn’t tell. The bad news was that it made a mockery of a lot of assumptions that Dad had let us make for a long time. Maybe he told the truth, maybe he didn’t, but for me it all went crashing down around me the moment they stepped off the train. Like the idea that Cherry was born after the divorce was finalised. I’m not smart, but I’m not blind either. “Hi Mum. Hi new Dad. Hi new found baby sister who is not four years younger than me.” I grinned at Mum. “I’m two years younger than you.” Cherry rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly. “Well, I think I know how dad worked out Mum was having an affair.” I muttered. Mum opened her mouth to say something, but didn’t get the chance. Lawrence was almost crying with laughter and slapping me on the shoulder. “I like that!” He beamed, his eyes sparkling with humour. God I hated that man for being so easy to like. He scooped up a suitcase sized hold all by one hand. “I’m hungry. Are you hungry boy? I’m going to book into our suite and find some food. Cherry, you ask the boy where is good to eat around here. And don’t listen to a word your mom says. I’m not eating tofu again. Ever. Period. “ The human whirlwind passed me by, and I was left facing a slim girl with mocha skin and angelic eyes, wearing denim. “Hi.” She said again. “What... What just happened?” I asked slowly. “That was Dad. He is... Excitable.” She rubbed the back of her neck again. “This is weird. I always assumed I’d hate you.” She grinned. “So... Where do we eat?” “I don’t know.” Another little chunk of my life fell apart. “So what do you do for fun?” “I can’t tell you now, but... Hey, how about I show you tonight when we ditch the ‘rents?” “Please god don’t let that be a euphemism.” “Trust me.” She said, then she took my hand, and somehow I was in a family. Kind of. When Cherry said she wanted to show me her hobby I had assumed she had meant clubbing or shopping, or video games. I wasn’t expecting her to try and kill me. We walked into the centre of town after dinner, and as we passed a wheelchair ramp for the council office Cherry suddenly vaulted up onto it, and dived down onto a bus shelter, landing with a graceful roll. She jumped again, and hauled herself up onto the billboard, swinging her legs like pendulums as she sat there laughing down at me. “It’s called free-running!” She called down. “It’s a sport.” “It’s French.” I called back. “Though around here the police call it trespassing!” “I can see the peer!” She called again. “Come on up.” “I can’t. I don’t run. Or jump. Or anything.” She dropped from the billboard, flipping onto her feet in a poetic flick of her body. “Come on, I’ll teach you. See those benches? We’ll use those.” So she showed me how to jump, and land, and run, with the smallest possible chance of maiming yourself or losing your balance. And I tried my best to jump from bench to bollard to bench, to street lamp, and I bruised my shins and twisted my ankles. And I’ ashamed to report that I had fun. Then I watched her dance break a lot of laws by climbing the fire escape to the old printers, and dance her way across the rooftops of the high street, all the way down to the super market, skidding back down to the ground from the domed roof of the bus station. As I hobbled down the road to join her she gave me the most dangerous smile I had ever seen. “I have been arrested for doing that three times. We race back home. I can almost fly from one side of the mall to the other.” She sucked in a lung full of air. “It’s amazing. Dad keeps making me promise to quit, but I can’t. It’s my vice.” “Our secret?” I offered. “Our Secret.” She agreed. “So, going to take me to meet your girl?” “I don’t have one.” “No? So, I’ll take you to meet some girls.” She grinned. “Come on, curfew isn’t for an hour or two.” Maybe America would be tolerable. I still refused to enjoy it, but perhaps I would tolerate it.
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