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Grant spat out the remaining toothpaste, cupped some water in his hand and ran it round the sink. He wiped his mouth with the towel and checked the warm water tap was turned off… that was the last thing his mother had said before leaving for work that morning as she was fed up of him leaving it on.
He jogged down the stairs… picked up some loose change and put it in his pocket… picked what music he would listen to that day… turned of the TV… closed the dining room doors… put the mail on the table… put on his faithful jacket and shoes and stepped out the door into a cold wind and locked the door in his stride.
His morning was a system as was everyone else’s in the world. Some people leave for their work at 08:23am everyday… listening to the same radio station… buying a paper and cigarettes of the same woman. Others awake telling themselves that today will be better… others wishing they had a breakfast to look forward to… others full of hate/love/anger/excitement.
Grant decided to walk again to school, he never used too. Always the 8:20 bus in his first years of secondary… then it became the 8:35… and over time it became the 8:50. This change was not because he wanted more time to sleep but the people he encountered every morning at the bus stop and on the bus. It was crowded… packet like sardines in an old, cold, wet and creaking box. His stop was always the last… for which the bus would allow people on. He would either be standing at the front being bumped around by everyone going on and off… or he ran the gauntlet of sitting upstairs. It wasn’t the clouds of smoke and cheap aftershave that bothered him, but the fact that when he went down the stairs he would be greeted with a waterfall of salvia.
The 8:50 bus allowed him to get to registration just in time but he would get into trouble about being late some mornings… which annoyed him as he woke up at 7:30 every morning, part of his routine. This was partly the reason for him deciding to walk the mile to school every morning. The other was to do with a female that also got that bus… he would pass and look at her every morning and she would do the same. There was some weak connection between them but neither ever said anything to one another. She was in group A and he in group C. Group A being the white tracksuits… denim jackets… dyed golden hair… constantly chewing gum, neds as they are called. Group B being the ‘grunge’… black Slipknot hoodies… dyed purple hair… Cobain on the bags. He however, was neither… Group C. The small collection of people that didn’t really want to be individuals but were… didn’t tie in with any dress code… language… etc. They were the minority… not the gangs of grunge that wanted to be… but however are not, as they are alike as the neds.
This didn’t bother Grant. He had grown up, actually quite popular… good at football, made people laugh and the like. However, he never felt comfortable… he would wear addidas just to shut people up about his ‘no-logo’ clothes… at secondary he ‘left’ his former friends and was alone for a while… and became who he is now. He met his new friends and was content with life.
He didn’t like these groups… he knew A and B could be converted to C… as that is who they really are. They put on a mask though… and he knew the girl on the bus was a fine example… she didn’t belong as an A… when he looked in her eyes he could see the real her… and her natural beauty was being destroyed by this artificial face. This was not the only case… he had/was close with the daughter of family friends for many years… yet she too was an A… and he could tell she was uncomfortable being there. It angered him that this was happening… he wanted to open their eyes as he had done… but he saw the only way for that to happen was for them to help themselves and he hoped someday they would.
So that was the reason he had ventured outside. He was half way down the street and started to regret the decision. His bag began to hurt his back and there was an almighty pain in his ankle, he had no idea what had caused it… fine when he left the house and now in agony. It irritated him for a while until a gust of wind blew it from his memory.
His next-door neighbour passed him in her car… he remembered how two years before how her son had died. Just before Christmas… a year older than he was at present… drank too much… fell in a river and drowned. He has grew up with him… he could be a git at times but was still a nice bloke… when he heard the news he didn’t know how to react… so didn’t. He wanted to say something to his neighbour but his parents did… then he had the urge to stop the car and say something… but the thought disappeared with the next gust of wind.
He turned at the bottom of the street and down another path… where he had played in his childhood. The memories came flooding back… warm summers with water guns… cycling down the hill… making a den in the corner where there was a space in the trees. He glanced at the ground and noticed ‘something’ stuck in the tar of the pavement… he wondered what the hell it was… just some piece of metal probably, then he remembered how he had thought the same thing years ago… he then smiled and walked onto the next part of his route.
Grant thought about what he would do when he reached school… meet with his friend in registration. He would then change completely… his thoughts would change… he would brighten up and make jokes and probably get his report card. Well, it wasn’t really a report… more of a guess by his teachers what grades he would get for his exams… he knew what he was getting so it didn’t bother him. He has never been grouped as intelligent at primary… just a pleasure to teach apparently. At secondary he had nothing else to do but work… he was in the ‘worst class I have ever taught’ quoted from his 1st year Math’s teacher. He was still taught by that teacher, five years later and she liked him. He got nine merits out eleven classes in first year… a shock to him and his parents… he was labelled intelligent all of a sudden. Through the following years these marks decreased yet he became wiser. His last set of exams he still passed easy… he didn’t study. He wanted to understand things not be told to remember them… this became more the case this year. He failed his mocks and it actually did frighten him a bit as this was his future apparently. So, last week he studied for his upcoming unit tests… maths, geography and physics. He got his results back… 97%, 93% and 100%. His friends looked in amazement and his teachers more… he felt pleased with himself but also saddened, not sure why but he was. He remembered the feeling of getting best marks in the class and of the somewhat envious eyes staring at him and also the look on the teachers face… it was similar during his mocks when he got the hardest questions correct and the easiest one wrong… they just seemed confused. He walked out of the sheltered part of the street and was greeted by another gust of wind.
He was getting bored of looking at the ground and brought his head up. Walking towards him was a small boy… they made eye contact but both tried to pretend they didn’t… the boy started to move out of the way for him… he hated it… he felt guilty. The child was probably terrified of him as he had been when he was his age… he remembered exactly how he felt in those positions and didn’t want him to cause that same anguish. So he began to move out the way as well and they were both walking on the mud.
The boy had passed him and he seemed somewhat pleased with his small good deed. The from behind him he felt the pain of a scream with his free ear… the other having his favourite band playing. He quickly turned around and hurt his neck… the boy must have fallen and hit the ground quite bad. He could hear him crying but trying to cover up the fact he was. He approached him and was about to ask if he was alright when he saw the blood splattered all over his face. He wasn’t sure what to say or do and hesitated for a second before helping the boy to his feet. He quickly examined the face and saw the nose was bleeding… he searched for a tissue and released he never carried tissues, ever. The boy pulled one out his pocket and pressed it on his nose. Grant wanted to say something to break the tension… so he asked what his name was… “Matthew” replied the boy sniffling. “ Right… okay… where do you live Matthew?” said Grant… thinking how stupid that must sound to the boy. “ Errr just there “ to a house. “ Ah good… we’ll go there and your mum can help you “ said Grant… still hating his own words. “ She left for work” sighed the boy. Grant sweared in his head… he was already running a bit late for school but he thought fu.k it and continued his interrogation. “ Okay that’s not a problem” lied Grant. “ Okay… how about we take you to school? I’m guessing you go to Thorntonhall?” this reminded Grant of his days at the school. “ Uh-huh” replied Matthew. “ Ah good… right come I’ll take you there and they’ll help you “. “ Okay “ said the boy who trying to stop the bloody dripping on his jacket.
They travelled the short journey without much conversation… Grant kept thinking how annoyed his registration teacher would be, and then it clicked he had an assembly… he swore in his head again. Grant opened the door to the main entrance for the boy and walked in with him… he rang the bell and explained to the woman in the office what had happened. He recognised her… but she didn’t recognise him… she took the boy under the wing of her arm and acknowledged what Grant had done but never said much. He was alone… in the office of his old school… and late for an important assembly in his present school… because he helped a young boy who was in need… and wasn’t thanked… which annoyed him.
He returned on his journey to the school… knowing he would be late but didn’t care… he wondered if they boy was thankful for what he did or didn’t really know what happened… but he thought he might see him tomorrow morning and he would move out the way first… and the boy would make eye contact with him and thank him through that… and he was pleased that he had helped the boy in some way.
Grant reached the school at 9:20… it was quite… the first lesson had started. He passed his English teacher and said hi… he couldn’t be bothered but thought it would be easier to say that than try and pretend he didn’t see her. He walked up to the office… got a look of disgust from the head teacher… picked up the pen for the late book… glanced at the small box titled “REASON FOR BEING LATE”… sighed and wrote “Slept in”… and walked off to his first class.
He jogged down the stairs… picked up some loose change and put it in his pocket… picked what music he would listen to that day… turned of the TV… closed the dining room doors… put the mail on the table… put on his faithful jacket and shoes and stepped out the door into a cold wind and locked the door in his stride.
His morning was a system as was everyone else’s in the world. Some people leave for their work at 08:23am everyday… listening to the same radio station… buying a paper and cigarettes of the same woman. Others awake telling themselves that today will be better… others wishing they had a breakfast to look forward to… others full of hate/love/anger/excitement.
Grant decided to walk again to school, he never used too. Always the 8:20 bus in his first years of secondary… then it became the 8:35… and over time it became the 8:50. This change was not because he wanted more time to sleep but the people he encountered every morning at the bus stop and on the bus. It was crowded… packet like sardines in an old, cold, wet and creaking box. His stop was always the last… for which the bus would allow people on. He would either be standing at the front being bumped around by everyone going on and off… or he ran the gauntlet of sitting upstairs. It wasn’t the clouds of smoke and cheap aftershave that bothered him, but the fact that when he went down the stairs he would be greeted with a waterfall of salvia.
The 8:50 bus allowed him to get to registration just in time but he would get into trouble about being late some mornings… which annoyed him as he woke up at 7:30 every morning, part of his routine. This was partly the reason for him deciding to walk the mile to school every morning. The other was to do with a female that also got that bus… he would pass and look at her every morning and she would do the same. There was some weak connection between them but neither ever said anything to one another. She was in group A and he in group C. Group A being the white tracksuits… denim jackets… dyed golden hair… constantly chewing gum, neds as they are called. Group B being the ‘grunge’… black Slipknot hoodies… dyed purple hair… Cobain on the bags. He however, was neither… Group C. The small collection of people that didn’t really want to be individuals but were… didn’t tie in with any dress code… language… etc. They were the minority… not the gangs of grunge that wanted to be… but however are not, as they are alike as the neds.
This didn’t bother Grant. He had grown up, actually quite popular… good at football, made people laugh and the like. However, he never felt comfortable… he would wear addidas just to shut people up about his ‘no-logo’ clothes… at secondary he ‘left’ his former friends and was alone for a while… and became who he is now. He met his new friends and was content with life.
He didn’t like these groups… he knew A and B could be converted to C… as that is who they really are. They put on a mask though… and he knew the girl on the bus was a fine example… she didn’t belong as an A… when he looked in her eyes he could see the real her… and her natural beauty was being destroyed by this artificial face. This was not the only case… he had/was close with the daughter of family friends for many years… yet she too was an A… and he could tell she was uncomfortable being there. It angered him that this was happening… he wanted to open their eyes as he had done… but he saw the only way for that to happen was for them to help themselves and he hoped someday they would.
So that was the reason he had ventured outside. He was half way down the street and started to regret the decision. His bag began to hurt his back and there was an almighty pain in his ankle, he had no idea what had caused it… fine when he left the house and now in agony. It irritated him for a while until a gust of wind blew it from his memory.
His next-door neighbour passed him in her car… he remembered how two years before how her son had died. Just before Christmas… a year older than he was at present… drank too much… fell in a river and drowned. He has grew up with him… he could be a git at times but was still a nice bloke… when he heard the news he didn’t know how to react… so didn’t. He wanted to say something to his neighbour but his parents did… then he had the urge to stop the car and say something… but the thought disappeared with the next gust of wind.
He turned at the bottom of the street and down another path… where he had played in his childhood. The memories came flooding back… warm summers with water guns… cycling down the hill… making a den in the corner where there was a space in the trees. He glanced at the ground and noticed ‘something’ stuck in the tar of the pavement… he wondered what the hell it was… just some piece of metal probably, then he remembered how he had thought the same thing years ago… he then smiled and walked onto the next part of his route.
Grant thought about what he would do when he reached school… meet with his friend in registration. He would then change completely… his thoughts would change… he would brighten up and make jokes and probably get his report card. Well, it wasn’t really a report… more of a guess by his teachers what grades he would get for his exams… he knew what he was getting so it didn’t bother him. He has never been grouped as intelligent at primary… just a pleasure to teach apparently. At secondary he had nothing else to do but work… he was in the ‘worst class I have ever taught’ quoted from his 1st year Math’s teacher. He was still taught by that teacher, five years later and she liked him. He got nine merits out eleven classes in first year… a shock to him and his parents… he was labelled intelligent all of a sudden. Through the following years these marks decreased yet he became wiser. His last set of exams he still passed easy… he didn’t study. He wanted to understand things not be told to remember them… this became more the case this year. He failed his mocks and it actually did frighten him a bit as this was his future apparently. So, last week he studied for his upcoming unit tests… maths, geography and physics. He got his results back… 97%, 93% and 100%. His friends looked in amazement and his teachers more… he felt pleased with himself but also saddened, not sure why but he was. He remembered the feeling of getting best marks in the class and of the somewhat envious eyes staring at him and also the look on the teachers face… it was similar during his mocks when he got the hardest questions correct and the easiest one wrong… they just seemed confused. He walked out of the sheltered part of the street and was greeted by another gust of wind.
He was getting bored of looking at the ground and brought his head up. Walking towards him was a small boy… they made eye contact but both tried to pretend they didn’t… the boy started to move out of the way for him… he hated it… he felt guilty. The child was probably terrified of him as he had been when he was his age… he remembered exactly how he felt in those positions and didn’t want him to cause that same anguish. So he began to move out the way as well and they were both walking on the mud.
The boy had passed him and he seemed somewhat pleased with his small good deed. The from behind him he felt the pain of a scream with his free ear… the other having his favourite band playing. He quickly turned around and hurt his neck… the boy must have fallen and hit the ground quite bad. He could hear him crying but trying to cover up the fact he was. He approached him and was about to ask if he was alright when he saw the blood splattered all over his face. He wasn’t sure what to say or do and hesitated for a second before helping the boy to his feet. He quickly examined the face and saw the nose was bleeding… he searched for a tissue and released he never carried tissues, ever. The boy pulled one out his pocket and pressed it on his nose. Grant wanted to say something to break the tension… so he asked what his name was… “Matthew” replied the boy sniffling. “ Right… okay… where do you live Matthew?” said Grant… thinking how stupid that must sound to the boy. “ Errr just there “ to a house. “ Ah good… we’ll go there and your mum can help you “ said Grant… still hating his own words. “ She left for work” sighed the boy. Grant sweared in his head… he was already running a bit late for school but he thought fu.k it and continued his interrogation. “ Okay that’s not a problem” lied Grant. “ Okay… how about we take you to school? I’m guessing you go to Thorntonhall?” this reminded Grant of his days at the school. “ Uh-huh” replied Matthew. “ Ah good… right come I’ll take you there and they’ll help you “. “ Okay “ said the boy who trying to stop the bloody dripping on his jacket.
They travelled the short journey without much conversation… Grant kept thinking how annoyed his registration teacher would be, and then it clicked he had an assembly… he swore in his head again. Grant opened the door to the main entrance for the boy and walked in with him… he rang the bell and explained to the woman in the office what had happened. He recognised her… but she didn’t recognise him… she took the boy under the wing of her arm and acknowledged what Grant had done but never said much. He was alone… in the office of his old school… and late for an important assembly in his present school… because he helped a young boy who was in need… and wasn’t thanked… which annoyed him.
He returned on his journey to the school… knowing he would be late but didn’t care… he wondered if they boy was thankful for what he did or didn’t really know what happened… but he thought he might see him tomorrow morning and he would move out the way first… and the boy would make eye contact with him and thank him through that… and he was pleased that he had helped the boy in some way.
Grant reached the school at 9:20… it was quite… the first lesson had started. He passed his English teacher and said hi… he couldn’t be bothered but thought it would be easier to say that than try and pretend he didn’t see her. He walked up to the office… got a look of disgust from the head teacher… picked up the pen for the late book… glanced at the small box titled “REASON FOR BEING LATE”… sighed and wrote “Slept in”… and walked off to his first class.
Err thanks :)
Excellent. Connected to a lot of that.
I'll pull up my favourite lines.
"The small collection of people that didn’t really want to be individuals but were…"
"when he looked in her eyes he could see the real her… and her natural beauty was being destroyed by this artificial face."
"glanced at the small box titled “REASON FOR BEING LATE”… sighed and wrote “Slept in”… and walked off to his first class."
That last line's good because I've done that myself, when it's just a lie...
"The greatest of people never tell you their good deeds towards you." Something like that.
I'll pull up my favourite lines.
"The small collection of people that didn’t really want to be individuals but were…"
"when he looked in her eyes he could see the real her… and her natural beauty was being destroyed by this artificial face."
"glanced at the small box titled “REASON FOR BEING LATE”… sighed and wrote “Slept in”… and walked off to his first class."
That last line's good because I've done that myself, when it's just a lie...
"The greatest of people never tell you their good deeds towards you." Something like that.
Grant spat out the remaining toothpaste, cupped some water in his hand and ran it round the sink. He wiped his mouth with the towel and checked the warm water tap was turned off… that was the last thing his mother had said before leaving for work that morning as she was fed up of him leaving it on.
He jogged down the stairs… picked up some loose change and put it in his pocket… picked what music he would listen to that day… turned of the TV… closed the dining room doors… put the mail on the table… put on his faithful jacket and shoes and stepped out the door into a cold wind and locked the door in his stride.
His morning was a system as was everyone else’s in the world. Some people leave for their work at 08:23am everyday… listening to the same radio station… buying a paper and cigarettes of the same woman. Others awake telling themselves that today will be better… others wishing they had a breakfast to look forward to… others full of hate/love/anger/excitement.
Grant decided to walk again to school, he never used too. Always the 8:20 bus in his first years of secondary… then it became the 8:35… and over time it became the 8:50. This change was not because he wanted more time to sleep but the people he encountered every morning at the bus stop and on the bus. It was crowded… packet like sardines in an old, cold, wet and creaking box. His stop was always the last… for which the bus would allow people on. He would either be standing at the front being bumped around by everyone going on and off… or he ran the gauntlet of sitting upstairs. It wasn’t the clouds of smoke and cheap aftershave that bothered him, but the fact that when he went down the stairs he would be greeted with a waterfall of salvia.
The 8:50 bus allowed him to get to registration just in time but he would get into trouble about being late some mornings… which annoyed him as he woke up at 7:30 every morning, part of his routine. This was partly the reason for him deciding to walk the mile to school every morning. The other was to do with a female that also got that bus… he would pass and look at her every morning and she would do the same. There was some weak connection between them but neither ever said anything to one another. She was in group A and he in group C. Group A being the white tracksuits… denim jackets… dyed golden hair… constantly chewing gum, neds as they are called. Group B being the ‘grunge’… black Slipknot hoodies… dyed purple hair… Cobain on the bags. He however, was neither… Group C. The small collection of people that didn’t really want to be individuals but were… didn’t tie in with any dress code… language… etc. They were the minority… not the gangs of grunge that wanted to be… but however are not, as they are alike as the neds.
This didn’t bother Grant. He had grown up, actually quite popular… good at football, made people laugh and the like. However, he never felt comfortable… he would wear addidas just to shut people up about his ‘no-logo’ clothes… at secondary he ‘left’ his former friends and was alone for a while… and became who he is now. He met his new friends and was content with life.
He didn’t like these groups… he knew A and B could be converted to C… as that is who they really are. They put on a mask though… and he knew the girl on the bus was a fine example… she didn’t belong as an A… when he looked in her eyes he could see the real her… and her natural beauty was being destroyed by this artificial face. This was not the only case… he had/was close with the daughter of family friends for many years… yet she too was an A… and he could tell she was uncomfortable being there. It angered him that this was happening… he wanted to open their eyes as he had done… but he saw the only way for that to happen was for them to help themselves and he hoped someday they would.
So that was the reason he had ventured outside. He was half way down the street and started to regret the decision. His bag began to hurt his back and there was an almighty pain in his ankle, he had no idea what had caused it… fine when he left the house and now in agony. It irritated him for a while until a gust of wind blew it from his memory.
His next-door neighbour passed him in her car… he remembered how two years before how her son had died. Just before Christmas… a year older than he was at present… drank too much… fell in a river and drowned. He has grew up with him… he could be a git at times but was still a nice bloke… when he heard the news he didn’t know how to react… so didn’t. He wanted to say something to his neighbour but his parents did… then he had the urge to stop the car and say something… but the thought disappeared with the next gust of wind.
He turned at the bottom of the street and down another path… where he had played in his childhood. The memories came flooding back… warm summers with water guns… cycling down the hill… making a den in the corner where there was a space in the trees. He glanced at the ground and noticed ‘something’ stuck in the tar of the pavement… he wondered what the hell it was… just some piece of metal probably, then he remembered how he had thought the same thing years ago… he then smiled and walked onto the next part of his route.
Grant thought about what he would do when he reached school… meet with his friend in registration. He would then change completely… his thoughts would change… he would brighten up and make jokes and probably get his report card. Well, it wasn’t really a report… more of a guess by his teachers what grades he would get for his exams… he knew what he was getting so it didn’t bother him. He has never been grouped as intelligent at primary… just a pleasure to teach apparently. At secondary he had nothing else to do but work… he was in the ‘worst class I have ever taught’ quoted from his 1st year Math’s teacher. He was still taught by that teacher, five years later and she liked him. He got nine merits out eleven classes in first year… a shock to him and his parents… he was labelled intelligent all of a sudden. Through the following years these marks decreased yet he became wiser. His last set of exams he still passed easy… he didn’t study. He wanted to understand things not be told to remember them… this became more the case this year. He failed his mocks and it actually did frighten him a bit as this was his future apparently. So, last week he studied for his upcoming unit tests… maths, geography and physics. He got his results back… 97%, 93% and 100%. His friends looked in amazement and his teachers more… he felt pleased with himself but also saddened, not sure why but he was. He remembered the feeling of getting best marks in the class and of the somewhat envious eyes staring at him and also the look on the teachers face… it was similar during his mocks when he got the hardest questions correct and the easiest one wrong… they just seemed confused. He walked out of the sheltered part of the street and was greeted by another gust of wind.
He was getting bored of looking at the ground and brought his head up. Walking towards him was a small boy… they made eye contact but both tried to pretend they didn’t… the boy started to move out of the way for him… he hated it… he felt guilty. The child was probably terrified of him as he had been when he was his age… he remembered exactly how he felt in those positions and didn’t want him to cause that same anguish. So he began to move out the way as well and they were both walking on the mud.
The boy had passed him and he seemed somewhat pleased with his small good deed. The from behind him he felt the pain of a scream with his free ear… the other having his favourite band playing. He quickly turned around and hurt his neck… the boy must have fallen and hit the ground quite bad. He could hear him crying but trying to cover up the fact he was. He approached him and was about to ask if he was alright when he saw the blood splattered all over his face. He wasn’t sure what to say or do and hesitated for a second before helping the boy to his feet. He quickly examined the face and saw the nose was bleeding… he searched for a tissue and released he never carried tissues, ever. The boy pulled one out his pocket and pressed it on his nose. Grant wanted to say something to break the tension… so he asked what his name was… “Matthew” replied the boy sniffling. “ Right… okay… where do you live Matthew?” said Grant… thinking how stupid that must sound to the boy. “ Errr just there “ to a house. “ Ah good… we’ll go there and your mum can help you “ said Grant… still hating his own words. “ She left for work” sighed the boy. Grant sweared in his head… he was already running a bit late for school but he thought fu.k it and continued his interrogation. “ Okay that’s not a problem” lied Grant. “ Okay… how about we take you to school? I’m guessing you go to Thorntonhall?” this reminded Grant of his days at the school. “ Uh-huh” replied Matthew. “ Ah good… right come I’ll take you there and they’ll help you “. “ Okay “ said the boy who trying to stop the bloody dripping on his jacket.
They travelled the short journey without much conversation… Grant kept thinking how annoyed his registration teacher would be, and then it clicked he had an assembly… he swore in his head again. Grant opened the door to the main entrance for the boy and walked in with him… he rang the bell and explained to the woman in the office what had happened. He recognised her… but she didn’t recognise him… she took the boy under the wing of her arm and acknowledged what Grant had done but never said much. He was alone… in the office of his old school… and late for an important assembly in his present school… because he helped a young boy who was in need… and wasn’t thanked… which annoyed him.
He returned on his journey to the school… knowing he would be late but didn’t care… he wondered if they boy was thankful for what he did or didn’t really know what happened… but he thought he might see him tomorrow morning and he would move out the way first… and the boy would make eye contact with him and thank him through that… and he was pleased that he had helped the boy in some way.
Grant reached the school at 9:20… it was quite… the first lesson had started. He passed his English teacher and said hi… he couldn’t be bothered but thought it would be easier to say that than try and pretend he didn’t see her. He walked up to the office… got a look of disgust from the head teacher… picked up the pen for the late book… glanced at the small box titled “REASON FOR BEING LATE”… sighed and wrote “Slept in”… and walked off to his first class.
He jogged down the stairs… picked up some loose change and put it in his pocket… picked what music he would listen to that day… turned of the TV… closed the dining room doors… put the mail on the table… put on his faithful jacket and shoes and stepped out the door into a cold wind and locked the door in his stride.
His morning was a system as was everyone else’s in the world. Some people leave for their work at 08:23am everyday… listening to the same radio station… buying a paper and cigarettes of the same woman. Others awake telling themselves that today will be better… others wishing they had a breakfast to look forward to… others full of hate/love/anger/excitement.
Grant decided to walk again to school, he never used too. Always the 8:20 bus in his first years of secondary… then it became the 8:35… and over time it became the 8:50. This change was not because he wanted more time to sleep but the people he encountered every morning at the bus stop and on the bus. It was crowded… packet like sardines in an old, cold, wet and creaking box. His stop was always the last… for which the bus would allow people on. He would either be standing at the front being bumped around by everyone going on and off… or he ran the gauntlet of sitting upstairs. It wasn’t the clouds of smoke and cheap aftershave that bothered him, but the fact that when he went down the stairs he would be greeted with a waterfall of salvia.
The 8:50 bus allowed him to get to registration just in time but he would get into trouble about being late some mornings… which annoyed him as he woke up at 7:30 every morning, part of his routine. This was partly the reason for him deciding to walk the mile to school every morning. The other was to do with a female that also got that bus… he would pass and look at her every morning and she would do the same. There was some weak connection between them but neither ever said anything to one another. She was in group A and he in group C. Group A being the white tracksuits… denim jackets… dyed golden hair… constantly chewing gum, neds as they are called. Group B being the ‘grunge’… black Slipknot hoodies… dyed purple hair… Cobain on the bags. He however, was neither… Group C. The small collection of people that didn’t really want to be individuals but were… didn’t tie in with any dress code… language… etc. They were the minority… not the gangs of grunge that wanted to be… but however are not, as they are alike as the neds.
This didn’t bother Grant. He had grown up, actually quite popular… good at football, made people laugh and the like. However, he never felt comfortable… he would wear addidas just to shut people up about his ‘no-logo’ clothes… at secondary he ‘left’ his former friends and was alone for a while… and became who he is now. He met his new friends and was content with life.
He didn’t like these groups… he knew A and B could be converted to C… as that is who they really are. They put on a mask though… and he knew the girl on the bus was a fine example… she didn’t belong as an A… when he looked in her eyes he could see the real her… and her natural beauty was being destroyed by this artificial face. This was not the only case… he had/was close with the daughter of family friends for many years… yet she too was an A… and he could tell she was uncomfortable being there. It angered him that this was happening… he wanted to open their eyes as he had done… but he saw the only way for that to happen was for them to help themselves and he hoped someday they would.
So that was the reason he had ventured outside. He was half way down the street and started to regret the decision. His bag began to hurt his back and there was an almighty pain in his ankle, he had no idea what had caused it… fine when he left the house and now in agony. It irritated him for a while until a gust of wind blew it from his memory.
His next-door neighbour passed him in her car… he remembered how two years before how her son had died. Just before Christmas… a year older than he was at present… drank too much… fell in a river and drowned. He has grew up with him… he could be a git at times but was still a nice bloke… when he heard the news he didn’t know how to react… so didn’t. He wanted to say something to his neighbour but his parents did… then he had the urge to stop the car and say something… but the thought disappeared with the next gust of wind.
He turned at the bottom of the street and down another path… where he had played in his childhood. The memories came flooding back… warm summers with water guns… cycling down the hill… making a den in the corner where there was a space in the trees. He glanced at the ground and noticed ‘something’ stuck in the tar of the pavement… he wondered what the hell it was… just some piece of metal probably, then he remembered how he had thought the same thing years ago… he then smiled and walked onto the next part of his route.
Grant thought about what he would do when he reached school… meet with his friend in registration. He would then change completely… his thoughts would change… he would brighten up and make jokes and probably get his report card. Well, it wasn’t really a report… more of a guess by his teachers what grades he would get for his exams… he knew what he was getting so it didn’t bother him. He has never been grouped as intelligent at primary… just a pleasure to teach apparently. At secondary he had nothing else to do but work… he was in the ‘worst class I have ever taught’ quoted from his 1st year Math’s teacher. He was still taught by that teacher, five years later and she liked him. He got nine merits out eleven classes in first year… a shock to him and his parents… he was labelled intelligent all of a sudden. Through the following years these marks decreased yet he became wiser. His last set of exams he still passed easy… he didn’t study. He wanted to understand things not be told to remember them… this became more the case this year. He failed his mocks and it actually did frighten him a bit as this was his future apparently. So, last week he studied for his upcoming unit tests… maths, geography and physics. He got his results back… 97%, 93% and 100%. His friends looked in amazement and his teachers more… he felt pleased with himself but also saddened, not sure why but he was. He remembered the feeling of getting best marks in the class and of the somewhat envious eyes staring at him and also the look on the teachers face… it was similar during his mocks when he got the hardest questions correct and the easiest one wrong… they just seemed confused. He walked out of the sheltered part of the street and was greeted by another gust of wind.
He was getting bored of looking at the ground and brought his head up. Walking towards him was a small boy… they made eye contact but both tried to pretend they didn’t… the boy started to move out of the way for him… he hated it… he felt guilty. The child was probably terrified of him as he had been when he was his age… he remembered exactly how he felt in those positions and didn’t want him to cause that same anguish. So he began to move out the way as well and they were both walking on the mud.
The boy had passed him and he seemed somewhat pleased with his small good deed. The from behind him he felt the pain of a scream with his free ear… the other having his favourite band playing. He quickly turned around and hurt his neck… the boy must have fallen and hit the ground quite bad. He could hear him crying but trying to cover up the fact he was. He approached him and was about to ask if he was alright when he saw the blood splattered all over his face. He wasn’t sure what to say or do and hesitated for a second before helping the boy to his feet. He quickly examined the face and saw the nose was bleeding… he searched for a tissue and released he never carried tissues, ever. The boy pulled one out his pocket and pressed it on his nose. Grant wanted to say something to break the tension… so he asked what his name was… “Matthew” replied the boy sniffling. “ Right… okay… where do you live Matthew?” said Grant… thinking how stupid that must sound to the boy. “ Errr just there “ to a house. “ Ah good… we’ll go there and your mum can help you “ said Grant… still hating his own words. “ She left for work” sighed the boy. Grant sweared in his head… he was already running a bit late for school but he thought fu.k it and continued his interrogation. “ Okay that’s not a problem” lied Grant. “ Okay… how about we take you to school? I’m guessing you go to Thorntonhall?” this reminded Grant of his days at the school. “ Uh-huh” replied Matthew. “ Ah good… right come I’ll take you there and they’ll help you “. “ Okay “ said the boy who trying to stop the bloody dripping on his jacket.
They travelled the short journey without much conversation… Grant kept thinking how annoyed his registration teacher would be, and then it clicked he had an assembly… he swore in his head again. Grant opened the door to the main entrance for the boy and walked in with him… he rang the bell and explained to the woman in the office what had happened. He recognised her… but she didn’t recognise him… she took the boy under the wing of her arm and acknowledged what Grant had done but never said much. He was alone… in the office of his old school… and late for an important assembly in his present school… because he helped a young boy who was in need… and wasn’t thanked… which annoyed him.
He returned on his journey to the school… knowing he would be late but didn’t care… he wondered if they boy was thankful for what he did or didn’t really know what happened… but he thought he might see him tomorrow morning and he would move out the way first… and the boy would make eye contact with him and thank him through that… and he was pleased that he had helped the boy in some way.
Grant reached the school at 9:20… it was quite… the first lesson had started. He passed his English teacher and said hi… he couldn’t be bothered but thought it would be easier to say that than try and pretend he didn’t see her. He walked up to the office… got a look of disgust from the head teacher… picked up the pen for the late book… glanced at the small box titled “REASON FOR BEING LATE”… sighed and wrote “Slept in”… and walked off to his first class.