Breakfast
Morning worshippers fill the aisles. Fluorescent candles, holy sparkling water, stained glass stain remover. Little wire baskets which symbolise the suffering of the saints. This is our globalised religion. All the faithful must be departed by ten pm, eight on Sundays, because Sundays are more holy than other days.
There is an ache inside of me. A longing. All the life and activity of the city has been condensed into this place and this moment. I am hungry; I am in a supermarket. The world does not get any more primal than this. Time expands and contracts mystically.
I am approaching the dairy section. It's colder there, like in space. My eyes can already feel the chill. If I buy a bagel I will want soft cheese, but if I pick up the soft cheese now and there aren't any bagels left, I will have to walk all the way back here and return the soft cheese to the shelf. My dilemma threatens to freeze me in an endless logic loop, like in a 1980s computer programming language.
10 If breakfast = bagel THEN goto 20
20 buy softcheese
30 If bagel = soldout THEN goto 40
40 return softcheese
50 goto 10
RUN
RUNTIME ERROR!
I decide to risk it, and if they don't have bagels in stock, I'll take the soft cheese home now and I'll come back later for the bagel.
But now that the soft cheese is in my hand, I realise that I must have a bagel. Leaving the supermarket without a bagel would be the worst thing I could possibly do in the next ten minutes. The city must provide a bagel. That's what cities are for. I put up with their shit because I know there will be a bagel for me when I need one. And boy, do I need one now. Picking up the soft cheese got my brain pumping chemicals faster than being in love, or scoring a goal. I'm almost frantic in anticipation of the bagel - cut in half, lightly heated in the microwave, smeared with soft cheese, washed down with a healthy swallow of Earl Grey.
I walk with head bowed in the direction of the bread products section of the church. It smells like hot fresh bread and sweet sacred incense. It fills up my senses. My tongue licks the edges of my lips. My throat feels warm already. The mantra-prayer brings some relief:
I must have bagel. Bagel is the wheat-giver. Bagel is the little snack which brings total satisfaction. I will eat my bagel.
And behold! The city has provided a multitute of bagel! A legion of bagel! A tower of bagel! And although within a few hours I'll hate the city more than ever, it will be a regretful hate, for the city has given me what I wanted. It always gives me what I want, though never what I need.
I pay at the altar, and tap my stomach. This is my body.
.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Sunday, November 11, 2007
French Horoscope
(Translated from Friday's Le Monde International Edition)
March 21 - April 19
Gateaux
Word of the day: Moisture
Just as red sea crabs fight epic underwater battles against blue crabs, so you must battle - against your own complacency.
April 20 - May 20
Flambee
Soup of the day: Disguised Onion
A talentless pretentious obnoxious so-called film so-called director will sit at a table near you trying to flirt with a Japanese woman in bad English. A cute guy on the table next to you will flirt with the waitress you like and she will smile at him. The gay waiter will be the only one who smiles at you. Do you still want to go to the restaurant?
May 21 - May 25
Boutonnière
Match of the day: Harlequins vs Wirral
The out of work actor is lying to you. He is paid handsomely to appear in sauce commercials. If you had a TV you'd know that.
May 26 - July 18
Martinet
Your gemstone: Charcoal
Today is an auspicious day to read the book you bought when it was raining and you'd spent so long in the bookshop you felt you had to buy something. Start on page 8 and you'll enjoy it more.
July 19 - September 31
Décolletage
Your lucky cellphone: Nokia 3310
Don't try to commit suicide using electricity. Voltage is not fatal to you today.
October 1 - October 8
Au Gratin
Your lucky crab: Red
Confucious said, 'The child is the father of the man.' So don't call the police when you see an 8 year old spanking a 40-year old.
October 9
Gourmand
Your lucky number: Slevin
You will make a discovery. Not, like, gravity, or America. Something like 'your grandfather met Hitler' or 'red wine doesn't clean white wine.'
October 10 - December 31
Nouveau Gauche
Your lucky dead language: Latin
You are spending too much mental energy blaming your parents. Sure, you wanted to become a supermarket manager, but your parents were right to send you to mime school. It's time to pull on your tight black and white-striped sweater and pretend to be in a box.
January 1 - March 21
Corsage
Your lucky ancient civilisation: Mayan
Plants can't grow without attention. Have you watered your relationships recently? Do it in the shower so your partner can rinse off.
March 22 - April 22
Fête Noire
Your lucky day: Yes
Finally, you will meet the man who has been writing about you. He's nice.
.
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
English Rose vs French Femme Fatale
Part two of an extensive investigation into English attitudes towards France and the French.
My research into the differences between English and French women took to me Hleb Industrial Park in Devon, home of the National Stereotypes Union. "Tell me what to think," I said to a deskwoman. She picked up a leaflet, licked it erotically, and handed it to me.
It was a simple questionnaire, which I reprint here in part.
Anglo-Frenchal Female Characteristics Binary, version 2
1)
You are hungry. There is an orange. How do you eat it?
a) Peel it first.
b) Leave the peel on and eat it like an apple.
2)
Complete the sentence. "You can never have too many..."
a) condiments.
b) boyfriends.
3)
wipe; stress; montage; blasphemy; pompous
Which word is the odd one out?
a) pompous
b) stress
4)
Carrying your cat to the park is
a) vaguely sociopathic.
b) probably something the cat would enjoy.
5)
Does the word 'artichoke' make you think about sex?
a) Yes.
b) No.
6)
"Men seldom make passes..."
a) at girls who wear glasses.
b) at girls with fat asses.
7)
When you were a girl, you wanted to be...
a) the Queen of France.
b) the Queen of England.
The test continues for three pages, and ends with:
If you chose mostly (a) you are English.
If you chose mostly (b) you are French.
If you chose an (a) and (b) equally, you are bad at maths. There are 31 questions. Think about it.
My research into the differences between English and French women took to me Hleb Industrial Park in Devon, home of the National Stereotypes Union. "Tell me what to think," I said to a deskwoman. She picked up a leaflet, licked it erotically, and handed it to me.
It was a simple questionnaire, which I reprint here in part.
Anglo-Frenchal Female Characteristics Binary, version 2
1)
You are hungry. There is an orange. How do you eat it?
a) Peel it first.
b) Leave the peel on and eat it like an apple.
2)
Complete the sentence. "You can never have too many..."
a) condiments.
b) boyfriends.
3)
wipe; stress; montage; blasphemy; pompous
Which word is the odd one out?
a) pompous
b) stress
4)
Carrying your cat to the park is
a) vaguely sociopathic.
b) probably something the cat would enjoy.
5)
Does the word 'artichoke' make you think about sex?
a) Yes.
b) No.
6)
"Men seldom make passes..."
a) at girls who wear glasses.
b) at girls with fat asses.
7)
When you were a girl, you wanted to be...
a) the Queen of France.
b) the Queen of England.
The test continues for three pages, and ends with:
If you chose mostly (a) you are English.
If you chose mostly (b) you are French.
If you chose an (a) and (b) equally, you are bad at maths. There are 31 questions. Think about it.
Friday, August 10, 2007
York 2007: Make Them Scream
The Ghost Tour
1. The Concept
C: "So the idea is: We wait till its dark, turn all the lights off, take them round the school and scare them."
K: "And at the end, we throw water bombs on them."
C: "They hate that."
R: "But how do you scare a child?"
C: "Children are scared of the dark. That's the main thing. And we hide and make scary noises and someone tells them ghost stories."
R: "Who's going to do that?"
K: "I think Andrew would be good at that."
C: "It has to be Andrew. The shit he comes up with is priceless. I don't know where it comes from."
R: "So I still don't quite get it. We get the kids - in groups? Yes? - and take them around the school. Andrew makes up stories. We throw water at them. The end."
C: "Yep. But they really do get scared."
A: "Okay listen. If you seriously want me to do this, then we have to do it properly."
C: "What do you mean?"
A: "I mean that if I'm bringing them round the school I want to scare them to death. I mean that my goal, literally, will be to scare the students so much that at least one student actually dies from the terror. I want creative control or I'm not doing it."
2. Brainstorming
A: "Right. So after the White Lady and the Zombie Room, I want to calm it down a bit."
K: "Take them into the grotto."
A: "Grotto? You mean the games room?"
K: "I call it the grotto because it's underground."
A: "What can we use in there?"
R: "The lockers! Get one of the kids to open a locker. Then when they are about to open it, just scream at them!"
A: "Can I get a foghorn? Maybe? And then we need a big finish."
K: "What about another White Lady?"
A: "What would be great is if we could get a big piece of meat shaped like an arm. And we could chain someone to a radiator and give him a saw and when the kids arrive he starts to saw his arm off."
K: "The meat would go bad."
A: "Think of the smell though. That'd be perfect."
K: "No-one wants to carry a rancid piece of meat about all day."
A: "Fine. I've got a better idea anyway. Have you noticed how Sasha's hair is sort of Japanese?"
3. Practice
A: "And then when we get up here I'll tell them about the girl who was trapped in the school waiting for a phone call, and we can make the phone ring and scare them."
J: "That's strange..."
A: "What?"
J: "Someone left the light on in that classroom. I'd better go check it out."
(When Jason and Lucy go into the classroom, I hide in the darkness.)
L: "Maybe it was me actually. That's my room."
J: "Where's Andrew?"
L: "Oh, no."
J: "He was just here."
L: "I don't like it."
J: "Andrew?"
L: "Jesus, Andrew, this isn't funny."
J: "Andrew! Where the hell did he go? He was just here."
L: "Andrew I'm going to kill you! Come out, now. Jason... What...?"
J: "This is really creeping me out!"
L: "I'm going."
(I hear them run away. I follow them down the corridor and use my key to unlock the library, which is never used. I wait. A few minutes later I hear Jason come back - with Keely.)
J: "He just disappeared. Seriously."
K: "This is so creepy..."
J: "I keep expecting him to jump out at me. He must be up there somewhere."
K: "Maybe he went-"
(I have crept up close behind them and suddenly shout 'JASON!' They freak out.)
4. Screams
The first group comes into the lobby. I ignore them. They are the youngest students, already worked into a frenzy after being forced to watch Scream. Some of them giggle at my bizarre makeup. Carolyn has painted my face white, with black Joker lips and an entire can of hairspray keeping my hair in a manic explosion. They stop giggling when I stare at them. Their apprehension is palpable.
"Before we begin," I whisper, "I must ask if any of you have weak hearts." Their eyes widen. "Are any of you taking medication? No?" I pause. Most of the students are already holding on to one another. "There has been a school here forever. Many students have come through those doors there... some have died. The Romans brought Death. The Vikings brought Death. The Plague brought Death. The War brought Death. This is a school," I tell them, "of Death."
We walk along a black corridor. I don't mention the White Lady. The students notice her walking through the door. Then Sabrina throws loads of spoons down the stairs and the noise is tremendous. The kids recoil but I force them up the stairs, where Sabrina - made up like a zombie - chases them down the corridor. The kids have been startled into a state of hyper-awareness.
"Come in here. Come in. Don't worry. Nothing bad ever happened in here." I think about what I have said. "Nothing... except for the zombies." I have turned the torch off so there is no light at all in the room, but I can sense the students shiver. I give them a narrow beam of light and very slowly lead them around the room as I tell the story.
"In 1919, a local man named George Lazenby began using this room. He had lost both his sons in the Great War. He cursed God and vowed to learn the secret of eternal life. He began to perform strange experiments, taking arms and legs from dead people and giving them to sick people to make them live longer. The results were amazing... George Lazenby became an international celebrity.
"In France, they called him George Le Zombie...
"But George Lazenby went too far... He began using children in his experiments, and police came to arrest him.
"They never found him...
"But the people of York believe that if you say his name five times he will reappear..."
(Some students plead, 'Andrew, no, no, Andrew.')
"Le Zombie... Le Zombie... Le Zombie! Le Zombie!! Le ZomBIE!!!"
Jason, unrecognisable in zombie makeup, impossibly emerges from nowhere.
Pandemonium...
5. Tears and Betrayal
I take the kids into the 'grotto' and turn the light off. They have a bit of a panic while I take a breather. I take a short walk and find a girl on the stairs, crying. In my head, I punch the air. I have scared a child.
I sit next to the girl and give her a little hug, and promise that there is nothing else in the tour that is scary. She sniffles, and nods, and seems to think about standing up, but then she notices the foghorn in my back pocket, and she resumes crying.
"This way. Come on." The students follow me, looking everywhere, alert for the danger they know is there. They know something is going to happen because I promised them it wouldn't. There is a lot of whimpering. We arrive at the end of a corridor. We hear something strange. It is a tape of Keely singing 'Ring a ring o'roses.' It is really creepy. There's an invisible bubble around the door, it seems, as the students simply refuse to go through. I push some of them inside. The others follow.
I shine the light around the room. "Oh...," I say, "There's nothing here. Unless it is around this corner." I gather the students so they can see and wave the torch around. They are aware of a shape at the far end of the room. Slowly I move the beam closer to the shape, and we see a flash of white, and more white, and the students relax. It's only the White Lady again. That's not scary at all. But something is different. The figure has long straight hair which covers her face, and I shine the light on something - yes - a baby. The students gasp. I move the light up towards the face, but very slowly.
"Who are you? Are you all right?" I ask. Some students have edged forward to get a better look. At exactly the right moment, the light hits the face, and the eyes open, and the head jerks back as the mouth opens and screams, and the creature runs through the students, and the students have turned into jelly. Scrambled jelly.
We have scared the children. They will have bad dreams. Maybe they will have flashbacks. It is extremely satisfying.
1. The Concept
C: "So the idea is: We wait till its dark, turn all the lights off, take them round the school and scare them."
K: "And at the end, we throw water bombs on them."
C: "They hate that."
R: "But how do you scare a child?"
C: "Children are scared of the dark. That's the main thing. And we hide and make scary noises and someone tells them ghost stories."
R: "Who's going to do that?"
K: "I think Andrew would be good at that."
C: "It has to be Andrew. The shit he comes up with is priceless. I don't know where it comes from."
R: "So I still don't quite get it. We get the kids - in groups? Yes? - and take them around the school. Andrew makes up stories. We throw water at them. The end."
C: "Yep. But they really do get scared."
A: "Okay listen. If you seriously want me to do this, then we have to do it properly."
C: "What do you mean?"
A: "I mean that if I'm bringing them round the school I want to scare them to death. I mean that my goal, literally, will be to scare the students so much that at least one student actually dies from the terror. I want creative control or I'm not doing it."
2. Brainstorming
A: "Right. So after the White Lady and the Zombie Room, I want to calm it down a bit."
K: "Take them into the grotto."
A: "Grotto? You mean the games room?"
K: "I call it the grotto because it's underground."
A: "What can we use in there?"
R: "The lockers! Get one of the kids to open a locker. Then when they are about to open it, just scream at them!"
A: "Can I get a foghorn? Maybe? And then we need a big finish."
K: "What about another White Lady?"
A: "What would be great is if we could get a big piece of meat shaped like an arm. And we could chain someone to a radiator and give him a saw and when the kids arrive he starts to saw his arm off."
K: "The meat would go bad."
A: "Think of the smell though. That'd be perfect."
K: "No-one wants to carry a rancid piece of meat about all day."
A: "Fine. I've got a better idea anyway. Have you noticed how Sasha's hair is sort of Japanese?"
3. Practice
A: "And then when we get up here I'll tell them about the girl who was trapped in the school waiting for a phone call, and we can make the phone ring and scare them."
J: "That's strange..."
A: "What?"
J: "Someone left the light on in that classroom. I'd better go check it out."
(When Jason and Lucy go into the classroom, I hide in the darkness.)
L: "Maybe it was me actually. That's my room."
J: "Where's Andrew?"
L: "Oh, no."
J: "He was just here."
L: "I don't like it."
J: "Andrew?"
L: "Jesus, Andrew, this isn't funny."
J: "Andrew! Where the hell did he go? He was just here."
L: "Andrew I'm going to kill you! Come out, now. Jason... What...?"
J: "This is really creeping me out!"
L: "I'm going."
(I hear them run away. I follow them down the corridor and use my key to unlock the library, which is never used. I wait. A few minutes later I hear Jason come back - with Keely.)
J: "He just disappeared. Seriously."
K: "This is so creepy..."
J: "I keep expecting him to jump out at me. He must be up there somewhere."
K: "Maybe he went-"
(I have crept up close behind them and suddenly shout 'JASON!' They freak out.)
4. Screams
The first group comes into the lobby. I ignore them. They are the youngest students, already worked into a frenzy after being forced to watch Scream. Some of them giggle at my bizarre makeup. Carolyn has painted my face white, with black Joker lips and an entire can of hairspray keeping my hair in a manic explosion. They stop giggling when I stare at them. Their apprehension is palpable.
"Before we begin," I whisper, "I must ask if any of you have weak hearts." Their eyes widen. "Are any of you taking medication? No?" I pause. Most of the students are already holding on to one another. "There has been a school here forever. Many students have come through those doors there... some have died. The Romans brought Death. The Vikings brought Death. The Plague brought Death. The War brought Death. This is a school," I tell them, "of Death."
We walk along a black corridor. I don't mention the White Lady. The students notice her walking through the door. Then Sabrina throws loads of spoons down the stairs and the noise is tremendous. The kids recoil but I force them up the stairs, where Sabrina - made up like a zombie - chases them down the corridor. The kids have been startled into a state of hyper-awareness.
"Come in here. Come in. Don't worry. Nothing bad ever happened in here." I think about what I have said. "Nothing... except for the zombies." I have turned the torch off so there is no light at all in the room, but I can sense the students shiver. I give them a narrow beam of light and very slowly lead them around the room as I tell the story.
"In 1919, a local man named George Lazenby began using this room. He had lost both his sons in the Great War. He cursed God and vowed to learn the secret of eternal life. He began to perform strange experiments, taking arms and legs from dead people and giving them to sick people to make them live longer. The results were amazing... George Lazenby became an international celebrity.
"In France, they called him George Le Zombie...
"But George Lazenby went too far... He began using children in his experiments, and police came to arrest him.
"They never found him...
"But the people of York believe that if you say his name five times he will reappear..."
(Some students plead, 'Andrew, no, no, Andrew.')
"Le Zombie... Le Zombie... Le Zombie! Le Zombie!! Le ZomBIE!!!"
Jason, unrecognisable in zombie makeup, impossibly emerges from nowhere.
Pandemonium...
5. Tears and Betrayal
I take the kids into the 'grotto' and turn the light off. They have a bit of a panic while I take a breather. I take a short walk and find a girl on the stairs, crying. In my head, I punch the air. I have scared a child.
I sit next to the girl and give her a little hug, and promise that there is nothing else in the tour that is scary. She sniffles, and nods, and seems to think about standing up, but then she notices the foghorn in my back pocket, and she resumes crying.
"This way. Come on." The students follow me, looking everywhere, alert for the danger they know is there. They know something is going to happen because I promised them it wouldn't. There is a lot of whimpering. We arrive at the end of a corridor. We hear something strange. It is a tape of Keely singing 'Ring a ring o'roses.' It is really creepy. There's an invisible bubble around the door, it seems, as the students simply refuse to go through. I push some of them inside. The others follow.
I shine the light around the room. "Oh...," I say, "There's nothing here. Unless it is around this corner." I gather the students so they can see and wave the torch around. They are aware of a shape at the far end of the room. Slowly I move the beam closer to the shape, and we see a flash of white, and more white, and the students relax. It's only the White Lady again. That's not scary at all. But something is different. The figure has long straight hair which covers her face, and I shine the light on something - yes - a baby. The students gasp. I move the light up towards the face, but very slowly.
"Who are you? Are you all right?" I ask. Some students have edged forward to get a better look. At exactly the right moment, the light hits the face, and the eyes open, and the head jerks back as the mouth opens and screams, and the creature runs through the students, and the students have turned into jelly. Scrambled jelly.
We have scared the children. They will have bad dreams. Maybe they will have flashbacks. It is extremely satisfying.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Moss Side Stories
1.
York, Summer 2006
The kids stood on the roadside; Italians to depart, French to say goodbye. After 10 minutes of this, they progressed to the hugging and last minute exchange of emails. A mere ten minutes later they were told for the final time that this final time was really the final final time and if they didn't get on the coach they would have to walk back to Rome.
They wailed, they gnashed teeth, they got on the bus. As a final symbolic act, the most uncool Italian kid, the geeky twelve year-old with the bottlebottom specs, the one voted 'Most Likely to Be Bullied Forever', the only kid in the entire school uncool enough to actually want to learn English, wept bitter tears into the arms of the genetically cool 17-year old French heartbreakers, and their hugs were not sarcastic or forced, they were, to my astonishment, genuine and full of affection.
I stared ahead with my eyelids half closed. "Time for class," I said.
2.
North Manchester, January 2007
"Andrew, it's Emma's leaving party this Friday. We'll go have some drinks, maybe some food. Are you coming?"
I stared ahead with my eyelids half open. "I'll go," I said.
3.
York
The worst lesson I ever taught. The remainder of the group were French, all with tears in their eyes, wounds fresh and raw. The Italians had gone. Their friends had gone. Their reasons for living had gone. Nothing could console them. I stared out the window.
One French boy, a good kid in a group of good kids, his eyes red and his lips awobble, asked me if I wanted him to do any work. I showed him my journal, full of seemingly random words and dates and little pictures. A bed, a car, a matchstick Zidane. I gently explained how each picture reminded me of something that had happened. I began telling the stories behind each picture, and slowly more of the class listened to me, until they all together heard the story of the Big Hangover, the mystery of Junction 45, and why the word 'ashtray' reminds me of the World Cup final. I encouraged them to make their own diary, with cute little pictures, if they wanted. And if they wanted to cry instead, I wouldn't shout at them.
Then I stared out the window again.
"Teacher," said a boy. I turned to look at him. It was Éugénéménté, an intelligent, wilful, sensitive lad, who probably carried a note from his mother exempting him from playing rugby, but who probably played anyway and was quite good at it. "Teacher," he said, his eyes big with tears, "Don't you feel sad?"
His words overwhelmed me. He was saying, 'Andrew, you're not sad, you DICK. Why not? I know you should be sad. You've lost people you were close to, too. They were your friends who left. Is that what life does to you? Does it make you so sad you can never feel sad again?' And in that moment I felt as wretched as any time in my entire life, and tears filled the backs of my eyes. I realised if I cried then I would never stop.
"Éugénéménté," I said, "I have been to many countries and left many countries and met many people and left many people."
He looked at me and nodded, and he understood, and that was the only thing I ever taught him.
4.
Manchester City Centre, January 2007
I looked at my mobile. Nearly midnight, and I had to go to Trafford. "I have to leave now," I told one of the ladies.
"Stay a bit," she said.
"No because there are no lights in my house and I have to go to my auntie's house in Trafford."
"What's wrong with the lights in your house?"
"They exploded."
"So? You can find your bed."
I motioned my hand forward, up, and backward, miming the route from my front door to the bed. "It's far," I moaned. I turned and looked at Emma for the final time. A vicious voice in my head said, 'You're a writer; write something to say to her.' Emma looked at me. "I have to go now, Emma." And having said that, I left.
5.
Town Centre
There were no buses to Trafford, so I took the 42 toward my house in Moss Side. The bus was half-full of people who had left parties early. I looked out the window.
6.
House
I felt my way into the bedroom and found a bag of fireplace candles. I lit one to
see the way, then blew it out in case it burned my house down during the night. My face was expressionless. I can't prove it, because I was alone and my lights had exploded. But if
there had been any lights, and if there had been someone watching my face for whatever reason, they wouldn't have seen an expression.
I got into bed and stared ahead with my eyelids half closed. 'Andrew', said a voice, 'aren't you sad?'
.
York, Summer 2006
The kids stood on the roadside; Italians to depart, French to say goodbye. After 10 minutes of this, they progressed to the hugging and last minute exchange of emails. A mere ten minutes later they were told for the final time that this final time was really the final final time and if they didn't get on the coach they would have to walk back to Rome.
They wailed, they gnashed teeth, they got on the bus. As a final symbolic act, the most uncool Italian kid, the geeky twelve year-old with the bottlebottom specs, the one voted 'Most Likely to Be Bullied Forever', the only kid in the entire school uncool enough to actually want to learn English, wept bitter tears into the arms of the genetically cool 17-year old French heartbreakers, and their hugs were not sarcastic or forced, they were, to my astonishment, genuine and full of affection.
I stared ahead with my eyelids half closed. "Time for class," I said.
2.
North Manchester, January 2007
"Andrew, it's Emma's leaving party this Friday. We'll go have some drinks, maybe some food. Are you coming?"
I stared ahead with my eyelids half open. "I'll go," I said.
3.
York
The worst lesson I ever taught. The remainder of the group were French, all with tears in their eyes, wounds fresh and raw. The Italians had gone. Their friends had gone. Their reasons for living had gone. Nothing could console them. I stared out the window.
One French boy, a good kid in a group of good kids, his eyes red and his lips awobble, asked me if I wanted him to do any work. I showed him my journal, full of seemingly random words and dates and little pictures. A bed, a car, a matchstick Zidane. I gently explained how each picture reminded me of something that had happened. I began telling the stories behind each picture, and slowly more of the class listened to me, until they all together heard the story of the Big Hangover, the mystery of Junction 45, and why the word 'ashtray' reminds me of the World Cup final. I encouraged them to make their own diary, with cute little pictures, if they wanted. And if they wanted to cry instead, I wouldn't shout at them.
Then I stared out the window again.
"Teacher," said a boy. I turned to look at him. It was Éugénéménté, an intelligent, wilful, sensitive lad, who probably carried a note from his mother exempting him from playing rugby, but who probably played anyway and was quite good at it. "Teacher," he said, his eyes big with tears, "Don't you feel sad?"
His words overwhelmed me. He was saying, 'Andrew, you're not sad, you DICK. Why not? I know you should be sad. You've lost people you were close to, too. They were your friends who left. Is that what life does to you? Does it make you so sad you can never feel sad again?' And in that moment I felt as wretched as any time in my entire life, and tears filled the backs of my eyes. I realised if I cried then I would never stop.
"Éugénéménté," I said, "I have been to many countries and left many countries and met many people and left many people."
He looked at me and nodded, and he understood, and that was the only thing I ever taught him.
4.
Manchester City Centre, January 2007
I looked at my mobile. Nearly midnight, and I had to go to Trafford. "I have to leave now," I told one of the ladies.
"Stay a bit," she said.
"No because there are no lights in my house and I have to go to my auntie's house in Trafford."
"What's wrong with the lights in your house?"
"They exploded."
"So? You can find your bed."
I motioned my hand forward, up, and backward, miming the route from my front door to the bed. "It's far," I moaned. I turned and looked at Emma for the final time. A vicious voice in my head said, 'You're a writer; write something to say to her.' Emma looked at me. "I have to go now, Emma." And having said that, I left.
5.
Town Centre
There were no buses to Trafford, so I took the 42 toward my house in Moss Side. The bus was half-full of people who had left parties early. I looked out the window.
6.
House
I felt my way into the bedroom and found a bag of fireplace candles. I lit one to
see the way, then blew it out in case it burned my house down during the night. My face was expressionless. I can't prove it, because I was alone and my lights had exploded. But if
there had been any lights, and if there had been someone watching my face for whatever reason, they wouldn't have seen an expression.
I got into bed and stared ahead with my eyelids half closed. 'Andrew', said a voice, 'aren't you sad?'
.
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