Autumn

15/11/18 – 40 minutes

The Autumn had arrived. By the thickness of the leaf-mulch that had collected in the ley of his doorstep, he could tell that the early winter winds had started to blow. Instantly after opening the door, he squinted his eyes at the harsh, dry wind that ploughed into him like a wall. It hadn’t rained in almost a month. Not since the worst day of his life.

Black, cosy, his North Face jacket enveloped him in a superficial blanket, reassuring him as he stepped out of his front garden and proceeded stiffly along the pavement. He sniffed harshly, spat rather disgustingly and swung round a corner into a the alley, the ground strewn with fallen leaves. The ground had taken on a curious look after the new falling of leaves. The cold tarmac had never really looked clean, so long as he could remember it, it had been a mottled complexion of green moss and algae punctuated by the stark grey of faded, crusted chewing gum, littered carelessly by the youth of MacNawton Secondary just up the road. Despite the ugliness hiding beneath the surface, the sight of the freshly fallen leaves, vibrant shades of reds, coppers, browns, yellows and everything in between, made his stone-wall face crack into the tiniest beginnings of a smile. Not for long. He sighed and dug out his packet of tobacco before checking that no neighbours were around to see him. Yes, young boys smoking in the alley was far from a rare sight, and yet, he knew the backlash he would receive from Dan should he find out.

Dan. His step-dad. Dan the saviour, the hero, such a benevolent man, had worked so hard for them all, struggled so much after what happened, was doing so well to support him, had it hard enough as it was. Dan deserved all the sympathy Dan could get. The ridiculous lack of vision of all his relatives and those who had been family friends before it had happened was not lost on his young years. Having finished rolling, he slipped the pouch back into a pocket and, slipping a lighter out, flicked up his hood and continued to walk down to the end of the alley.

His hunched shoulders and slight bow-leggedness gave his gait the look of a slight swagger, although any arrogance he may have displayed, particularly in front of the other boys, was only skin deep. As he tried to light his rolly, impatiently shaking the cracked lighter which always seemed to be low on gas, a leaf drifted serenely out of the heavens and brushed his cheek. He flinched and stood still. The wind whispered slowly, telling its secrets to the trees, whose leaves drifted incessantly downwards into the earth. The word paranoia flashed into his mind, before he shook his head, took the first puff on his rolly and, Air Maxes leaving perfect wet footprints on the road from the leaf mulch, crossed the high street and headed for the skatepark.

When he arrived, they were already there. He forced a crooked grin which served neither to cheer himself up, nor to express his true feelings. But this was quickly wiped off his face when, shuddering slightly, his steps losing their relaxed confidence, he saw him. Bo. The year above, already worshipped by everyone for the way puberty had blessed him with a good few inches of height over his peers and a stocky, broad-shouldered stature that made him seem almost muscular in build. Bo was the kingpin. The big dog. He hated Bo. He wanted to leave. He wanted to turn around. Run away. Leave to somewhere else, anywhere. He did not care where, he just knew that people could not help him at the moment.

He nearly froze and turned, but they had already seen him. Worse still, Bo had seen him. And he could tell from the laughter and body language that Bo had already begun yet another of his spiels which proved to be so popular. He gritted his teeth as he saw the others laughing. Laughing at Bo. As he mimed two shaky hands on a steering wheel, squinting his eyes to seem like he couldn’t see, and slumping and swaying to and fro.

And he was back in the car. This time sitting in the passenger seat. His heart racing, he turned slowly, knowing already what he would see, he had seen it perhaps every night for the past few weeks. His mother. Julia. Julia, the woman who had, once upon a time, he guessed, been in love with Dan. One hand on the wheel. One hand struggling with the lid of yet another bottle. Eyes, bloodshot and piercing, fixed not on the road but on the bottle itself. Around her inflamed nostrils, the tell-tale white particles. He winced as he watched her take both her hands off the wheel and grapple with the bottle. The cap finally came loose, and she let out a yelp of joy, her eyes finally lifting and gazing deep into his. He stared at her. For a split-second, things seemed peaceful. The hazel irises reminded him of the dead leaves strewn on the ground that morning. But then it was all gone, as a wave of crashing noise enveloped them both and Julia disappeared in a ball of burning fury.

Bo and the others were staring down at him, their heads framing a peaceful grey sky with leaves drifting in and out of vision. Bo began to laugh, and, slowly, so did the others. He shook himself out of his daze, and, feeling the bump on his head where he had fallen, sprung up and stormed out of the ring. Leaving the echoing calls, jeers and laughter behind him, eyes watering, he fled for home and his darkened, isolated bedroom. And finally, the drops began to fall.