Greetings, bonjour, what’s happeing?
This is the September instalment of Lager Time, which features a short story called Pegasus. It’s voiced in the character of Reece who, if you’ve listened for a while, may remember from a series of stories I showed last year, called Young UnProfessional. This story sees him back school, and his failed attempts at trying to be a hard kid.
Hope you enjoy, below are some links to some bits mentioned in the introduction. Until next time.
Keep it Lager Than Life.
Peas and taters
Paul
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LINKS
Beats & Elements 10 year birtthday - 24.10.24
https://cptheatre.co.uk/whatson/Beats-and-Elements-ten-year-birthday-Kinda-Not-really-Things-can-only-get-better
BUY-ME-A-LAGER
THE SUBURBAN BOOK
My 1st book collection of stories and poems
Beats & Elements: A Hip Hop Theatre Trilogy
2 plays I co-wrote plus Denmarked by Conrad Murray
https://paulcree.co.uk/shop/beats-and-elements-a-hip-hop-theatre-trilogy
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Pegasis
Prior to being punched in the face and falling backwards over that shitty, shin-high-hobbit fence and landing in the overgrown grass and mud, outside the school hall; where I now find myself, arse over face, I’d told Sam Hodges; this melt from the year below, that his old dear was a fat slag. To be fair to Sam, apart from wearing the same pair of Nike Air Pegasus as Big Dell, he hadn’t really done anything to deserve it and nor had his Mum; she once let me off 10p to go on the bouncy castle at the school fate and I don’t remember her being a fat slag either, I feel bad about saying that. Thing is, Gary had told me earlier that week that I needed to step up if I wanted to roll with him at lunchtimes and Sam Hodges’s trainer violation seemed like a good opportunity to show that I had the minerals, he wasn’t supposed to chin me though, prick.
Legs twisted over my head, as if I was in some sort of advanced yoga position, feeling pretty dazed, I open my eyes. The world looks very odd upside down, almost refreshing for a brief few seconds and I contemplate a new direction in my life, one of creativity, expression and inner exploration, until a little woodlouse drops out from my hair and lands on the grass, looking like a hair brush, uncurling itself, it stops, straightens up then turns its body in my direction, right by my forehead;
‘You deserved that you prick.’
Head on the grass and looking sideways, I focus my blurry eyes onto this tiny, silver comb-like insect, feeling pissed off and noting the beginnings of a splitting pain on the side of my face;
‘What?!’ I reply
‘You got banged out mate, you tried it and got slapped, you mug.’
‘Shutup mate, I’m not getting mouthed off by some little woodlouse’
‘You’re a pussy bruv, pusssssssssssssssssyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy’
Its annoying voice echoes off into the distance as I flick the wriggling little-silver prick towards the school hall and slowly climb to my feet, trying to present the image that I’m not in any sort of pain, shock or suffering from humiliation, though I can feel my bottom lip trembling, and my eyes are like those stressed dams on the brink of collapse in one of them Holywood disaster films. I look up, about to engage in speech and laugh it all off, badly, but instead, I see Sam looking desperately at the floor, as Gary squares up to him, forehead resting on Sam’s mousey brown hair, Gary’s arms outstretched like that massive Jesus statue on top of that mountain in Brazil; though I don’t think Gary is spreading the good news somehow.
In a split-second Gary’s punched Sam in the stomach and he’s immediately bent forward with a gasp, Gary’s then caught him, sharp, in the eye with a left hook and kicked him over the shitty knee-high Hobbit fence, landing next to me on the grass. He’s got some red curly key chain, with all these manga-type figurines attached to it, it’s now all twisted up by his head, I saw it fly out when Gary kicked him over the fence. Just to compound Sam’s misery, Del’s then hopped over the fence and booted him full pelt in the shins.
‘Don’t wear my trainers again, wanker!’
That Sam kids now crying, lying there with his geeky key chain hanging out of his trousers, school bag still attached to his back. Gary and Del are laughing and a dinner lady is coming over to the scene of the crime, alerted by the shrieks, flanked by a group of girls from my year, which includes Joanne, who I really fancy. Look, that Sam kid shouldn’t have worn the same trainers as Del, you just don’t do that, do you, another geezer’s trainers, even if there’s only two shops in town, but I feel like shit. Gary hit him pretty hard, I heard it slap his face and I winced, like I felt it to, that Sam is harmless, one of the geeky kids, into Warhammer and that, that little crew all have them red curly key chains with the figurines. Del and Gary slowly walk off nonchalantly, I catch the tail end of Del’s conversation;
‘My dad’s getting me a new pair tomorrow, Jordan’s, mate.’
‘Sick.’
The dinner lady’s helping Sam to his feet, who’s inconsolable. I start to walk off with the intention of catching up Gary and Del and hoping no one notices, I hear the dinner lady ask Sam what happened. In my peripheral vision I see a sobbing Sam raise his arm and point at me, red curly key chain still dangling and twisted;
‘REECE SHAUASSEY, COME HERE, NOW!’
I’m sat in the headteacher, Mr Malik’s office now, he’s giving me the hairdryer, the water-table is peaking and there’s cracks in the dam.
‘VIOLENCE IS NOT TOLLERATED IN THIS SCHOOL!’
I’m looking at the goldfish in his aquarium by the window, I like goldfish, I figure that If I can concentrate on the fish, and how cool they are, then I won’t cry, I keep hearing that sharp hitting sound, when Gary punched him followed by an image of Sam on the floor, balling his eyes out with that twisted up key chain, just concentrate on the fish Reece! One of the fish stops, it’s big bulbous eye looking right at me, opening its mouth as bubbles float to the top it tank ‘pussy.’
‘LOOK AT ME BOY! … YOU THINK IT’S ACCETABLE TO PICK ON YOUNGER BOYS?! DO YOU?!’
There are quite a few white hairs in amongst the black hairs on Mr Malik’s beard, I figure if I count the hairs, this will distract me from the tears.
‘LOOK ME IN THE EYES BOY! IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT REECE?! TO BE KNOWN AS A THUG?!’
Just as the flood gates are about to open, a light goes PING in the fog of my mind. Malik actually thinks that I bashed him up! Me! Done the damage on Sam, done him over, he’s saying I’ll get a reputation as a thug, aka a tough kid, yes Malik, this is what I do want, I want that reputation. Alright, I feel shit about Sam, he didn’t do anything wrong, other than chinning me and wearing the same trainers as Big Del, but if I walk away from this with a rep as a hard kid, I’ll take that, sorry Sam, but you did wear the same trainers as Del. Yea, Reece Shaunassey, he’s hard mate.
‘YOU’LL BE ON REPORT FOR THE REST OF THE WEEK…’
Yea I’ll take that, Malik, thank you. I’ll be that hard kid that’s alright though, cool with everyone, not a bully but can totally handle himself, no mug, but if you cross me then BOSH mate, you’ll get banged out, like Sam Hodges.
‘AND A LETTER WILL BE GOING HOME TO YOUR PARENTS…’
Like a stormy sky slowly giving way to that mystical weather-bridge of a rainbow, with clearer skies and sun closing in, all the guilt, shame and embarrassment is slowly giving way to excitement, I can almost feel my shoulders moving into position, preparing myself for a new found confidence, for when I next bowl out onto the playground, knowing that I’ve got a bit and these dick heads are gonna’ think twice about stepping up to Reece.
‘NOW GET OUT!’
I bowl out his office and see Sam sitting in the chair outside, mud all up his trouser leg, holding an ice-pack against the side of his face, which immediately pisses on my firework, shoulders back to their familiar slouch and I feel like shit all over again.
‘Sorry mate.’
The words mumble feebly out of my mouth, like a drunk person passed out on a train, spilling bits of donna-keebab.
‘Piss off Reece, you dick. I didn’t do anything to you.’
He’s got a point there. The ache in my face perks up, as if it’s nudging me.
‘Well… you did wear those trainers Sam.’
‘What?! How am I supposed to know he’s got those trainers, and who cares?! I’ve had these for ages, my mum bought them for me! I don’t even care what trainers I’ve got on or who else is wearing them’
‘Yea but… yea, sorry Sam, sorry.’
‘Leave me alone Reece, you sad case.’
He’s called me a sad-case. In the conventional playground-understanding of a sad-case, it would be him that’s the sad case, with his Warhammer toys and geeky key chain, but he called me a sad case. Me! When an actual sad case calls you a sad case, I don’t think you can be anymore of a sad case, it’s like the highest ranking, officer class of sad case. Shit. Mr Malik calls him into his office and I slink off back towards class. That little conversations pissed me off a bit and my face still hurts from where he hit me, Malik didn’t say nothing about that though did he?! Prick. As bad as I feel, I decide to continue on with this narrative of me being a hard-man and beating up Sam. Though she would never admit it, Joanne would be way more likely to fancy me if I was hard, she went out with Gary when we were in year eight, she must have a thing for bad boys.
I’m sat in my seat, next to my mate Stuart Simmons, who’s a bit of a nob, but alright, Joanne is sitting near-by, gong about her work, I’m speaking just loud enough so she can hear.
‘Yea he got lippy so I banged him out mate, you know me Stu, I wouldn’t just do that to anyone, I don’t like violence, bit if I have to, then I will.’
‘So what did he say he say then?’
‘What?’
‘Sam, what he did say to you?’
‘What, yea you know, just like, getting lippy and that.’
‘No I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking’
‘He erm … said that like, my mum was a fat slag.’
‘What a prick! Mate, I would’ve chinned him as well.’
‘Yea, you know me though, I wouldn’t just do that.’
‘Yea… so did he hit you then?’
‘No! Course not mate, didn’t have a chance.’
‘So how come you’ve got a massive red mark on the side of your face?’
‘YEA REECE, HOW COME YOU’VE GOT A MASSIVE RED MARK ON THE SIDE OF YOUR FACE.’
Shit, Joanne has stopped writing and turned towards me, shit does she know? Fuck, think quick.
‘Oh what, this, na, it’s just an erm, like skin allergy.’
‘Skin allergy?’ Stu is laughing
‘YEA REECE, SKIN ALLERGY TO WHAT?’ Shit, where’s she going with this.
‘Yea, skin allergy to like, Woodlouse.’
‘Woodlouse?’ Simon and her say in unison.
‘Yea, like, it’s a thing I’ve had since I was a kid.’
‘OH FUNNY THAT REECE, BECAUSE, I JUST THOUGHT, YOU KNOW, THAT THE REASON THERE’S A RED MARK ON YOUR FACE, IS BECAUSE, YOU, FOR NO REASON, PICKED ON SAM HODGES, WHO’D DONE NOTHING TO YOU, AND YOU CALLED HIS MUM A FAT SLAG BUT, HE THEN, AND RIGHTLY SO, PUNCHED YOU IN YOUR PATHETIC FACE, YES REECE, I WAS THERE, AND THE FACT THAT YOUR’RE TRYING TO MAKE OUT YOU BEAT HIM UP, ON TOP OF WHAT YOU’VE ALREADY DONE MAKES YOU EVEN MORE PATHETIC, IN FACT, WORSE THAN PATHETIC, YOU’RE A TOTAL SAD CASE, REECE.’
I think that’s the most that Joanne has talked to me in the last academic year, so the one little plus I’m taking from all of this, is that she at least knows I exist. I feel worse than shit though and just can’t wait for this day to end. Stu then pipes up in that delayed, loud, annoying radio voice he’s got that he seems so unaware of.’
‘Wait a minute, you got beaten up by Sam Hodges? That’s hilarious.’
And soon enough everyone is saying it, to complete the misery Big Del comes up to me on the playground as I’m leaving, with Gary and punches me in the stomach.
‘For being a melt, you melt.’
With school done, I now have to face my parents when that letter arrives and the fact that I’m on report, again. I’m not even that naughty. I’m slumped down at the bustop, letting my head fall into my chest. I see Sam Hodges in a car, driven by his mum, pull out the school and drive past me, he gives me the middle finger out of the window. His mum just looks like a nice person, picking up her nice son, I could see the shiner on Sam’s face as the car drove passed and I’m imagining the conversation they’re probably having, about how much of a prick I am. As I’m sat, a little woodlouse crawls out from under my feet, without even stopping, I hear it mouth;
‘pussy.’
Even the woodlouse won’t give me the time of day anymore and I just stare at the concrete, wishing that I could be anywhere other than this.
‘Yea, Reece likes Woodlouse, don’t you Reece, don’t you?’
Stuart is signalling over to me, raising his eyebrows and grinning like a nob, speaking in that irritating loud voice he has, leaning over this big, knackered wooden table, looking like it’s been taken straight from a school DT room, in fact, it probably has, knowing these sorts of places, they call it ’kitch’ or some shit like that. The bar is noisy and packed and everyone in here seems to look like some sort of shit Where’s Wally impersonator, with stripy tops, glasses and those silly beanie hats, drinking craft ale, like, what happened to normal lager? It’s Stuarts birthday and we’re in some poncy pub in Hackney, he lives up here now, I feel very out of place. A few minutes ago, one of his new mates walked in wearing an eighties looking grey jumper, with a big picture of a woodlouse on it, he’s also got one of those silly beanie hats on, completed with these ankle swinging trousers and a pair of Nike Air Pegasus. I look at Stuart and give him that ‘fuck off’ nod, which his new metly friends probably won’t understand. I turn and look at his mate in the Woodlouse jumper, there’ve already reverted back to ignoring me and are all talking about some shit sounding synth band, who are playing some wharehouse gig in Hackney Dows later that night. I look at the Woodlouse on his mate’s jumper, the little silver prick winks, then all its comb-like legs form fingers and make co-ordinated wanker signs at me.
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