Novel Treatments / Separation (Analysis)
Pavement Dancing
Sleepy head eyes stutter open and get accustomed to a new day. Only it’s not a new day, is it Dan, it’s 6 p.m of the same day. Everything’s topsy-turvy, snotty morning gunk in my eyes while the sun goes down. It was about 6 a.m when I finally got to sleep, so that’s twelve hours kip, which ain’t bad, despite the undeniably bizarre feeling of waking up just as the day has finished.
Better phone Chris before I do anything. Ah, look at that, yawning! But I’m not goin’ back to bed, got a big night ahead. Topsy-turvy, this is mental! Where’d I leave my mobile?? Oh yeah, of course, down the side of my bed. Shouldn’t dwell on how it got there.
“Hi Chris, it’s Dan.”
“Hi mate, how you doin’?” He seems alive, just a normal day for him. Wonder if he can tell I’ve just woke up?
“Yeah, OK thanks. I was just, um, wonderin’ what time you were plannin’ on going out?”
“Um, not sure. Tell you what, prob’ly easier if you just come over here first.”
“OK, no probs.”
“Cool. You know where I live don’t’ya?”
“Um, yep, Stimpson Avenue, number…?”
“8.”
“Right, OK then.”
“Cool. I’ll see you in a bit then. Come over about eightish if
you want.”
“Yep, I’ll be there. Cheers Chris.”
“No prob’s mate.”
Ah, interaction with another human being. It’s important I
guess, every now an’ then. Right, just got two hours to kill now. Need a shave, then to the offy. My stubble’s starting to get a bit overgrown and itchy around the neck, which I can’t condone. Where’s my electric…? Oh yeah, still unpacked in the suitcase.
Big blue sky with fluffy clouds scattered here and there. Slight, pleasant breeze about as evening settles, forcing the gentlest ruffle of leaves from occasional neighbouring trees. The opening at the end of the road way up ahead is a speck to my vision, as is the traffic, left and right, flashing past in a frequent dark blur.
With each new step the speck grows. Midway down and I can see the shop signs facing me through the gap. Cars become more distinguishable in their colour, shape and noise. Traffic beeps and buzzes dominate this approaching horizon. Should’ve bought my iPod.
At the junction I wait for a space in the usual traffic assault, which takes a good minute with frequent head-turns left to right to left to right again before eventually zipping across to the newsagents-stroke-offy.
No other customers in at the moment, just the assistant behind the till to my immediate left, and another sorting out magazines almost immediately in front of me, in this tight-packed little shop. On entrance I turn to shut the rattling, screechy door behind me. It’s one of those doors that has a bell jingle attached. Unfortunately, on activating this on opening, the traffic out-volumed it too much for me to be able to whistle the jingle back to myself in faithful copy.
Walk in further, along the path between the two magazine stands, weaving around the assistant as he kindly moves inwards to the rack he is currently stacking. Choose a microwavable burger and a small ‘luxury’ trifle from the open fridge unit at the back of the shop – quality meal – then a six-pack of lager for a fiver.
Put the cans in the fridge, nuke the burger, teaspoon for my trifle. Whoa, they’ll make a Jamie Oliver outta you yet! Right, upstairs, loud music on, gotta get myself in the mood for getting the hell outta here and into the social world.
I could not live without music – this is an inescapable fact. Three CD’s in their three revolving circles and hit the random button. One’s hiphop, another metal, another indie, I’m so eclectic. Right, some new clothes… suitcase again. Ahhhh, the burger! Those things only take a minute.
Oh, not too bad, albeit singed around the edges. Haha, this is pitiful man, get it down ya. Hiphop bellows through the ceiling, the drumbeat pounding in faithful rhythm. Makes the house feel alive for once, lived in. Should’ve got some chips to go with this, ah well, I think there’s some in the fridge but can’t be arsed to wait twenty minutes. I want my food now, before it’s out the wrapper. I want my McDonald’s to be fired at me from behind the counter like one of those tennis ball machines. Now that would be fast-food.
Out the shower clean an’ sparkly. Half-seven and I’m ready to go, break off a can from the six-pack and chill for a bit in the living room. Ah, one of my favourite tracks. Love the chorus, the build up to it, gives me goose bumps. Miming the words in front of the mirror, putting on my lead singer stance, imagining what fame would feel like in front of my reflection. If anyone were to walk in on me, the embarrassment doesn’t bare thinkin’ about.
So you’re goin’ out, with Chris an’ his mates. Really glad I met up with him yesterday, just after arriving here, otherwise it’d ‘a been a pretty loner situation, just work-home-bed – even though getting away from home and spending time on my own up here before term starts was kinda the whole point. Be good to have a bit of a social life, go out get drunk, take my mind off things. Like meeting up with dad tomorrow for the first time in God knows how long. But forget about that now. Now’s about you havin’ a good night. Lets get outta here.
Trainers on, music off, cans out the fridge. Door shut behind me an’ it’s a warm, calm night. Light blue is dimming as twilight chases its tail. But with the dimming comes the stunning. As I squint out over the roof tops and shop fronts along the horizon, a liquid golden-orange sunset melts the sky into a vision of supreme splendour.
Bit nerve-racking, going to Chris’s and seeing new people, I mean no doubt there’ll be some faces I vaguely know, from last year, but – oh chill man, you’ll be fine! Turning left at my junction, along for a bit then up again to Chris’s house a little way up Stimpson Avenue, I can hear bass-booms and smell the weed a good five or six houses away. They must be havin’ a bit of a house party. To cement it, on the wall coming up to his house, there sits a solitary can of Kronenberg – I’m home, back in student town!
A friend of Chris’s answers the door. He’s wearing a T-shirt that says 100% Unemployable on it. A hazy expression fixes his broad features, his cheeks noticeably flushed, his eyes glazed with a cheerful drunkenness.
“How you don’ mate?”
“Yeah, good.”
“You Chris’s friend?”
“Yeah – Dan, nice to meet you.”
“Paul. You too, come on through.”
His flushed cheeks make him look slightly comical, especially with his shaven head. As he stands aside to let me through, it’s so abundantly clear that his heightened, mellow friendliness is spurred on by the big spliff attached.
The long, dark hallway winds around the stairs on its left, leading on to the kitchen, a faint white glow shining through the half-closed door. Smoke faintly spread below the stairway light as I entered the house soon spreads thicker, as Paul leads us on through.
The kitchen’s twice the size of my box of a one. Long side-units to my left and right are leaned against and sat on by twenty or so people, none of whom I recognise, as Paul directs me to the fridge to dispose of my cans.
All are busy in their huddles, chatting, drinking, smoking, some nodding, bopping their heads to the drum ‘n’ bass. It’s a nice atmosphere, and people! Before disposing of the cans I break two off for Paul and me. The atmosphere’s relaxed but I feel isolated, as I bend down to the fridge and make room for my cans amongst packs of others. On the one hand, it’s relieving that all who I have seen so far are chilled and occupied. On the other, I fear they may get to single me out more as an unoccupied observer, taking paranoid sips on my can from afar. So where the hell’s Chris?
Loiter for a while Dan, keep your cool you paranoid freak! Paul is joking around with someone back down the hall. I kind of expected him to inform Chris of my arrival, I don’t know why. He thanked me for the beer and went.
A stranger behind to my left, sitting on the unit, gives me a gentle nudge on the shoulder. I switch my vacant gaze around and gratefully take a toke on the joint offered me.
As I pass it back, there is a reassuring tap on my shoulder from behind.
“How you doin’ man, glad you could make it.” His sharp, almost rodent-like face that could look threatening is softened by the wide smile and friendly spark in his eyes.
“Good, yeah.” Our hands grip for the second time in as many days. The lonely paranoia has gone.
“My flatmates invited a few friends round, so it’s turned into a bit of a mash up!”
“Yeah… I saw Paul at the door.”
“Stoned!” Chris grins to himself.
“He did seem a bit over-cheerful when he answered the door.”
“Come in the lounge, say ‘allo to Kat.”
The light is dimmer, the smoke cloud just as thick, as we enter the lounge, which opens out from behind a half-wall partition separating it from the kitchen. Chris’s girlfriend is sat back, along with two other girls and a bloke, looking comfy on their long sofa, student-like in its loose, ill-defined shape and faded brownish colour.
Along the back wall of the room stands a large and expensive looking sound system, complete with massive speakers, its black finish silhouetted against the lively LCD display, luminous greens and reds pulsing up and down with the music.
Chris reacquaints me with his girlfriend, of whom I’ve only said Hi to a couple of times before. Upon shaking hands, she smiles and looks at me in such a way that I can instantly tell she knows of my mother’s death. It has that benign, motherly aspect to it, that only a female could pull off. But she says nothing of it, and I can forgive Chris for telling her I guess, long as she holds it in confidence.
Nodding more smiles to the others with her on the sofa, and a few gathered around on the floor, passing round a spliff, I decide to ask Chris about the sound system, as it’s feeling a little uncomfortable now, in this imposing position standing over everyone sitting down. But just as I turn to enquire, after first chucking my empty can in the bin in the corner of the room, Kat offers if I’d like another drink.
“Oh, it’s cool, I’ll get…” Too late, as she’s already up and on her way to the kitchen. I follow her through as someone has caught Chris’s ear, and she passes me one of my cans from the fridge. Funny moment, but I keep it to myself.
“So Chris said you’re working over here for the summer.”
“Yeah, that’s right. Need the cash.”
“Cool. Well it’s great you two met up.”
“Yeah, it is. Very random, just bumped into each other in the street!”
“Hah, yeah, he told me.” Her big brown eyes smile and it does wonders for my ego, showing me attention in a room full of strangers.
We walk back into the lounge and I instantly clock Chris standing with his friend. He flashes me a reassuring smile, as Kat moves up to him and plants a couple of kisses. He links his hands loosely around her waist as hers move up to his shoulders.
He then comes over to me, mindful not to neglect, and says that him, Kat and a few mates are gonna head off now. I nod okay and we make our way on through the kitchen, where Chris shakes a few hands and says his Byes and Might catch yer laters to other friends.
The house-cum-shop signs glower all the way down Wellingborough Road as we make our way to The Lounge. Squint and it’s a neon haze. A young couple have just exited the chippy ahead. They cross the road, walking back up my street several yards in front.
Between them and us is a couple out for a night on the town. He’s spruced up like a proper townie, shiny shoes, smart trousers, untucked designer shirt parallel at the collar with line of shaved hair. And her, with her high heels clacking, skimpy top laced up criss-cross fashion, revealing the essence of her back all the way down to butt-hugging leggings. Arm in arm, they huddle into the upcoming pub together.
Across the road out the corner of my eye a tramp sits on a much-vandalised bench missing some panels. He’s holding a can of Tennants Extra up to his mouth, which is hidden under his straggly beard, from the six-pack in the white carrier bag beside him.
“Nice night man, we’ve been ‘avin some wicked weather.” Chris brings me back.
“Defint’ly.”
Kat wraps her arms around Chris and he tipsily dances with her along the edge of the pavement. A car zooms past and neither so much as flinches.
But now she’s miss-timed her footing and he embraces her as she stumbles onto the road, swinging her with him back around, both laughing and smiling at each other.
Kat’s about 5”10’ to Chris’s 6”, with olive skin and high cheekbones, both curvy and trim in her wide-flared jeans and tight T-shirt. Her dark brown hair is cropped at the back with a lengthy fringe, one side of which hangs down to her nose, veiling her eyes to sexy effect, as she frequently combed it aside whilst talking to me in the kitchen.
Chris unwraps from her and greets me with a face clearly relaxed and fulfilled, as she joins some of their mates in front.
“Um, Dan, I uh, I did tell Kat about your bereavement. Sorry, I hope you don’t mind – she won’t tell anyone.” I appreciate his confidential tone, but it’s comical how he suddenly went from one extreme to the other.
“Yeah, I thought you might of – don’t worry about it.”
We cross the zebra crossing at the junction and enter the town centre, starting down the wide unravelling stretch of Abington Street, with shops, bars and banks on either side. I take thirty quid out from the cash-machine as the others make for The Lounge.
Coming up to 11p.m, a handful of people trail out in front at the end of The Lounge queue, which continues on up the alley opening to the right. Wonder if I’ll see Ryan out tonight. Could well do, as he obviously has plenty of business where students are concerned. Be good to catch up with him, despite our changing paths.
As I join the others at the end, I look up the rest of the line, no more than about twenty-people long. It won’t take much more than fifteen minutes queuing time I’d say, omitting the usual hold-ups with dodgy ID cards, those clearly underage, and those too pissed to pass.
Look up the line again as we wait patiently. Snatches of faces in close proximity, some chatting intimately, others louder, much more animated. Smell of alcohol and fag smoke blows out of many mouths in the still night air.
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This story reads more like a diary, or a journal entry than a story. I think the stuff you have here is useable in the context of a story, though. It reads much as one’s thoughts might unravel to oneself under similar circumstances. The story comes alive suddenly half way through page six with the mention of the main character’s mothers death. Maybe you could try pruning back the description that fills pages 1 through 5 a bit so you can introduce the mothers death much much earlier. Cheers and good luck.
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It really documented the events of this man’s evening. I would have liked to have been drawn into the story by some intresting event that captured my attention. There is a some quality about this essay that would make it a good screen play because of it’s descriptive nature. But as far as a novel maybe get into more detail about the mother’s passing to connect with a readers emotions possibly?
i liked it a lot you made every scene really easy to picture. reminds me of the trainspotting book a bit when you mention the town and house. you also made the way the storyteller is feeling like an outsider quite clear i liked that too. keep it up its very good.
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