Ten feet small

You know when you pick up the recycling bag and the bottom falls out of it halfway across the kitchen? Well that’s how my life used to feel every day. And I don’t mean one of those bags that are full of dry potato peelings and cores of apples, but the ones with the slops in, the ones that make you heave when you lift the lid. Now you might wonder why I never double-bagged, I mean what right-minded person wouldn’t…Well, let’s just say I was too busy throwing stuff inside it and scraping the contents off my floor to worry about any of those incidentals.

I remember a conversation once. Dad and I were down the garden; he was raking up leaves onto the bonfire and I was playing on the swing. I was trying to convince him that seeing into the future would be the best for everyone - putting the brakes on before the pedestrian crossed, that kind of thing. Of course, he was having none of it, and I just couldn’t entertain the thought that he could be right. I mean, what’s not to like about it? What with my idea being akin to a superpower, like seeing through walls and being invisible, and his being all grown up, based on thirty-five years of the school of hard knocks, we were never going to agree. As I sit here I’ve now reached the same age as dad was then, and you know, a part of me still believes I’m right.

               ***

Maggie was a great friend, the best in fact. Back when Coke or Pepsi? was the only question anyone wanted answering, she chose a seat next to me on a school trip when everyone else decided not to. And because of her, I tasted my first strawberry Bonbon, not only that but it was her last one - and we weren’t even supposed to have sweets on the journey. There I was, the no-mates geek, alongside a girl, breaking the first rule of all school coach journeys. I glided round that boring old museum for the rest of the afternoon.

Once she invited me round for sausage and chips. I remember how her parents made me giggle and her brother always smiled. I remember shaking the ketchup without the lid tight and creating a horrible mess, but all it did was make us laugh. After that she played the flute for me in her room with a wall-to-wall backdrop of the coolest Madonna and Bananarama posters you ever did see. I remember thinking: if I ever have the courage to invite her over to my house, the very least I need to do is remove the Wonder Woman and Starsky and Hutch pictures. She opened my eyes, and now was the time to be cool like Maggie Taylor.

I loved going round her place, it was such a breath of fresh air, almost made me feel normal again. Dad never asked where I was anyway, even more so now mum had gone.

Once she managed to keep her new pet dog a secret from me throughout the entire school day. Not until her front door opened did I have any idea and was met with the cutest dog you ever did see. You’d have never known it was a rescue dog, mistreated, Maggie said. How could they? When we were kissing on the bed, it sat watching us, eyes blinking. I couldn’t help but watch it, its head tilting to one side, its ears twitching up and down. I wasn’t sure if it was trying to tell me something.

So, word had got out pretty quickly that Maggie and I were an item, and my street cred was sky high. Dave Chandler even spoke to me; before that the closest I had got to him was when he was flicking bogeys at me during maths. Then there was Marty. The month before he had pushed me over in the playground because he said I was in his way (for the record, lunch break had just started and we were the only ones there). This time he invited me to a party over at Ted’s place – his parents were away for a ‘dirty weekend’. He said that I could bring Maggie too and any of her fit mates. He mentioned that Ted had a Walkman and if I wanted to have a listen I needed to be there or be square.

One evening, looking back at myself in the bathroom mirror, I was amazed to see the same hazel-brown eyes, pale complexion, button nose, and fair hair (which was now swept back at the sides with new Shockwaves gel. I saw it once in one of my mum’s fashion catalogues and now everyone was doing it). Yes that was definitely me reflecting back there, the same fifteen-year old boy I saw two months ago, apart from the white-headed zit which was a week old now and driving me absolutely bonkers. But surely I was also taller since Mags came along? Walking taller for the last eight weeks and two days surely was enough to lengthen anyone’s frame.

Mags and I would meet outside the Wimpy. We would get the number 59 bus to Levistock road, walk hand in hand two streets further and arrive at Ted’s house for 7pm. We would mix, giggle and listen to chart hits on the Walkman, after that we would have a couple of drinks, a puff on a cigarette, and her dad would pick us up on the corner of the same street. On dropping me off at my house, she would kiss me on the lips, get back in the car, and we’d arrange to hook up the following day for ‘Back to the Future’ at the Odeon. This was how it was supposed to be.

                                                                   ***

Superpowers are great. They defy reality and that’s no bad thing because it’s overrated anyway. Mags could’ve done with it, and if I’d had one I’d have gladly given it to her, one born out from dad’s garden, giving her the chance to see ahead. I’m not talking about the whole future, I’m talking the next thirty seconds of it, just enough to notice a dog pulling her into the road on a busy Friday night, her dog, and just enough to escape the front bumper of a Ford Cortina with broken headlights. Yeah, just enough for that.

It’s hard to imagine now but before the age of mobile phones waiting for someone to turn up and not knowing why was the norm. Attempting to locate a phone box meant missing the potential arrival of that person, so this kept you waiting longer, and longer… I stood outside the Wimpy café for at least an hour. Then I headed in the direction of her house. I expected to meet her around every corner, mistaking her for every wavy haired teenage girl in the neighbourhood. For the last ten minutes of the journey I just sprinted until tears made it hard to see anymore.

***

I turned and looked at the woman across the room, the one with mother’s eyes. She was silent, like she always was, and I wondered what the hell I was paying her for. She nodded, uncrossed her legs and crossed them again. She told me to carry on, explain further, told me that I was doing well, pushed a box of tissues in my direction, said next session I should talk more about the slop-covered floors of my kitchen, and about how the smell always made me wretch