To see other chapters click here<\/a><\/p>\n .<\/span><\/p>\n \n 2007 Late summer<\/b><\/p>\n \n I\u2019m lying on the beach, just opposite where I live. A mermaid is sitting next to me, she looks over her shoulder and stares into my eyes.<\/p>\n \u201cCome down here and cuddle up to me,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n She smiles, laughs a little and says, \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n \u2018Typical mermaid behaviour,\u2019 I think.<\/p>\n I can\u2019t stop myself from saying, \u201cThere\u2019s going to be something big between us.\u201d<\/p>\n She smiles again, and whispers, \u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n She pushes herself back into the sea and disappears for a week, but I know she\u2019ll be back.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n 2007 \u2013 Theo<\/b><\/p>\n \n Theo is sitting in his flat on Roundshaw watching the Sopranos. The draw of the mob is strong. He\u2019s been playing his part too, dealing drugs and trying to get people to work for him. One of his \u201cworkers\u201d, a friend, has betrayed him.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n 2007 – The Wrong Impression<\/b><\/p>\n \n After I uploaded that last chapter I got quite a few concerned friends, worried that I might be giving the wrong impression. Jackie a friend since 1989 said, \u201cYou come over as really aggressive in the book, but in real life, you have a calming effect.\u201d So, to prove her wrong I went round and beat her up. Okay, okay, I didn\u2019t! Another person thought I came over as arrogant, so maybe the book isn\u2019t so inaccurate after all.<\/p>\n I think the point I was trying to make in the last chapter was that my innate aggressive tendencies, coupled with my experiences of hostile environments, has resulted in me carrying a dangerous ability to escalate situations. But I also have a conscience which is what some of this this chapter is about.<\/p>\n The incidents I\u2019d used as examples in the last chapter happened over a long period but placed together within a couple of pages probably intensifies the impression. As with most people, as I\u2019ve got older, I rarely get into dangerous situations anymore, but, still, those dynamics are never that far from the surface. So, what does all this have to do with my \u201cfall\u201d? I\u2019ve been thinking about this chapter for months and thought it was important to define what I mean by a fall. For instance, it doesn\u2019t end up with me lying in a gutter, well not so far anyway. In a way, it doesn\u2019t end up anywhere, because it happens slowly over time and continually reverberates within me. The fall isn\u2019t so much about incidents that happen, but a shift in my perception of the world and my reaction to it.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n The Glass Child<\/b><\/p>\n \n When a child is young its perception of the world is a magical one, where for example, invisibility can be attained simply by covering up one\u2019s eyes. To all those observing the child, the truth is clear to see. The child does not become invisible, and any attempts to lie are easily seen for what they are. They are so transparent,\u00a0 <\/span>it\u2019s as if they are made of glass.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n The First Casualty – <\/b>1972 <\/span>A<\/b>ged <\/span>Seven<\/b><\/p>\n \n \u201cWatch this.\u201d I say.<\/p>\n Michael, a school friend, and I are standing near the playground in Roundshaw Junior School.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat?\u201d he says.<\/p>\n \u201cJust watch!\u201d I laugh.<\/p>\n Two of the playground assistants are walking across the playground towards us. I run towards them, they look at me, I smile at them, they smile at me. I run past, then double back, pull up the prettier one\u2019s skirt and shout out \u201cooooohhhh\u201d then run back toward Michael who\u2019s now got a shocked look on his face. He can see what I can\u2019t. The pretty woman is running after me and catches up with me just as I get back to Michael.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat do you think you\u2019re doing Simon?\u201d She yells at me.<\/p>\n I point at Michael and almost crying say, \u201cHe made me do it.\u201d<\/p>\n Michael\u2019s look of shock morphs into one of someone who\u2019s just realised they\u2019re being murdered by a friend.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n Five Years later I sunbathed, next to the woman whose dress I pulled, up at Purley Way Lido, an outdoor pool, and thought she was beautiful. At one point I swam between her legs underwater. She didn\u2019t tell me off the first time but maybe she did when I tried it again.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n Magic<\/b><\/p>\n \n Many adults yearn for magic in their lives, be it a spiritual connection, a magical panacea, or just romance. And even though I should know better, as much as I try to be as logical as possible, I can\u2019t stop my desire for magic to conjure up connections whenever it can in my thoughts.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n Ticker Tape Vision<\/b><\/p>\n \n One day I was driving to my Father\u2019s place. He was living in Notting Hill Gate, and I was in Fulham, a few miles away. Just as I was going to set off to drive, I started to see ticker tape numbers flowing in front of my eyes. I knew immediately that they were to do with the Lottery and my father, so, I wrote them down on a small piece of pink notepaper and headed off.<\/p>\n When I walked into his flat, he was sitting at a table with three friends. \u201cSimon come and put a number on this ticket we\u2019re doing.\u201d He shouted. I walked over, looked at the ticket and there in front of me were five of the numbers I\u2019d just written down. Well actually four of them were the same, but the fifth one was slightly different. On their ticket, it was the number 23, whereas I\u2019d seen what I thought was 25. I immediately told them what had happened and took two of them (Doris and Ivan Kurland) down to the car to verify what I\u2019d written.<\/p>\n By the way, our numbers resulted in a win, but sadly it was for only \u00a310.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n 1972 – Lies<\/b><\/p>\n \n It\u2019s hard to know when the lies and blame start but one day, in a frenzy of naughtiness, I launched my bike down a staircase much to the pleasure of my friends; of course, being their host, their pleasure was mine too. By the time I got to my babysitter\u2019s place, my bike was a wreck. To tuts of disgust, I told them how some boys had smashed it up. But what I didn\u2019t realise was, the more I lied, the more isolated I became.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n 2007 – Mermaid Tears<\/b><\/p>\n \n The next time we met, the mermaid sat right next to me; she pushed herself close to me. I leant across and we kissed.<\/p>\n As a child I had looked longingly at the pictures of mermaids in books, their half-revealed breasts enraptured me, and now I was laying with my bare chest against hers. The books didn\u2019t reveal their beautiful song, but as she hummed, I looked deep into her eyes and as I stared, her eyes welled up. She touched one of the tears and put it to my lips. I closed my eyes and tasted the sadness of the sea.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n 2007 – Theo<\/b><\/p>\n \n Theo looked at Chris, his partner in crime. \u201cOkay, so if they don\u2019t want so much this week, they\u2019ll be back for more the next, it ain\u2019t a problem. Here\u2019s a bit extra for your personal use.\u201d<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n 1972 – Aged Seven – Sally<\/b><\/p>\n \n About ten children have encircled me. It\u2019s just like in a film, rage seems to have muffled the sound and the image is broken. Dislocated faces come toward me, then I feel lumps of earth and grass being thrown at me. The kids are spitting, pushing and laughing.<\/p>\n Standing on a staircase nearby I noticed Sally, who was laughing and pointing. Sally was one of the nice girls in my class. The thought that even she was laughing at me was unbearable. It was as if the deepest betrayal had been hurled upon me. So, I decided I would retaliate with a far worse one.<\/p>\n I ran through the blockade and up the stairs. Sally thought I would probably run past, but I didn\u2019t. Instead, I looked at her and pulled my arm back to strike her. She screamed as I thrust my arm towards her stomach, but the disdain in my gut for what I was doing exploded throughout my whole body. I felt a sharp pain at the end of my arm as I missed Sally and hit the concrete wall instead. I was thankful. She put her hands to her face and cried, \u201cI\u2019m sorry\u201d and in that moment I learnt the value of forgiveness. I looked at the end of my arm and it was covered in blood.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n 1975 \u2013 Roehampton Hospital<\/b><\/p>\n \n One day on the ward in Roehampton hospital a boy grabbed a cane and struck it hard across my back. I lost my temper and went for the boy who pulled the cane back to strike me again. I backed off for a second and noticed another boy who was laughing. He was standing in a special brace which held him in an upward position because he was in a plaster cast from his waist down to his feet. I ran up to him and kicked his legs until he started to scream and one of the adults, probably my mum, pulled me off.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n 1973 – Roundshaw<\/b><\/p>\n \n Even in the realms of fighting at the age of eight, unwritten rules existed.<\/p>\n A boy called Jason and I got into a fight. First, we rolled around on the ground and didn\u2019t get anywhere, then we decided we\u2019d copy a film and trade punches in the stomach, and then I tried kicking him in the face when no one was looking, which didn\u2019t help matters. Finally, it ended when Stephen Kirby\u2019s mum intervened, at which point I burst into tears, which apparently meant I\u2019d lost.<\/p>\n The old clich\u00e9 of, \u201cIf you can\u2019t beat them join them,\u201d may well be the basis of gang culture. Stephen Kirby\u2019s mum was a force to be reckoned with and certainly wasn\u2019t foolish enough to let her son roam the streets. But for the rest of us, left to our own devices, the only way forward was to become part of the group. Possibly because I was an outsider, both in terms of only recently arriving on the estate and looking different, resulted in me feeling a lot of pressure to conform. Especially when it came to entering the realms of delinquency.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n My friends are all crouched behind a wall which is at the end of a row of doors. They\u2019ve sent me to knock on one of the doors and then run back to where they are. It\u2019s an old game known as, \u201cKnock down Ginger.\u201d<\/p>\n I ring the bell and run back to my friends.<\/p>\n Nothing happens.<\/p>\n \u201cGo on have another go,\u201d one of the boys shouts in a whisper.<\/p>\n I look around, \u201cShall I?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes, go on, go on!\u201d<\/p>\n I\u2019m laughing. It\u2019s got the same tension as an army operation. We\u2019re all pumped up with adrenalin. I creep back, as my friends\u2019 heads pop up from behind the wall. I push the bell and run back again.<\/p>\n Just as before, nothing happens.<\/p>\n \u201cShe can\u2019t be in,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n \u201cYes she is, I saw her go in.\u201d One of the others reassures me.<\/p>\n \u201cOkay, I\u2019ll do it one more time.\u201d<\/p>\n Like some pantomime actor, I step slowly towards her door. I reach for the bell, but as I do the door flies open, an arm reaches out, grabs my hair and lifts me off the ground. The woman who\u2019s attached to the arm puts her face to mine and screams, \u201cWhat do you think you\u2019re playing at?\u201d<\/p>\n My friends stand up to watch. Meanwhile, I\u2019m being lifted by my hair and dangled in mid-air. A bit shocked, I burst into tears.<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t give me that!\u201d She says, loudly.<\/p>\n \u201cThey made me do it\u201d I plead.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd if they told you to jump under a bus, would you?\u201d<\/p>\n I think about the philosophical implications of this question. \u201cErm\u2026 No\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell then!\u201d She cracks her palm across my head and drops me to the ground. As I lay there, she wags her finger at me and adds, \u201cIf I ever catch you doing this again I\u2019ll give you what for.\u201d \u2013 Listen I didn\u2019t write the script, that\u2019s what she said -.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m sorry\u201d \u2013 and I was, for years I was scared of her and didn\u2019t ever go back for a retry.<\/p>\n Needless to say, I did gain a bit of honour amongst my peers.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n Gang Welfare<\/b><\/p>\n \n Death before dishonour is probably just as much the motto of the mob as it is with any other army. The mafia based its structure on the Roman army and in Roman times, if a unit didn\u2019t fight properly, it would be decimated which meant every tenth man in a line would have to step forward and be executed by his fellow soldiers. If you can\u2019t rule by winning hearts and minds, then fear is a pretty effective alternative.<\/p>\n There isn\u2019t much love between members of a gang; love is for families and most gang members are not part of a close family. However, the gang provides a kind of protective shell, which in its way is a surrogate family. Still, though, it isn\u2019t going to nurture its members as a family should. Instead, if members step out of line, they\u2019ll be met with force rather than understanding.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n 2007 – Theo – The Cross<\/b><\/p>\n \n Sometimes you know something\u2019s wrong, you don\u2019t want to accept it, but it just won\u2019t go away, it nags at you, until finally, the truth finds a way of making itself known.<\/p>\n Theo watched Chris, his so-called business partner, double-cross him, openly stealing his clients and undercutting him. Theo felt a pain in his kidneys, he couldn\u2019t breathe, he leaned against the wall and wept.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n 1972 – Gangland<\/b><\/p>\n \n School was another world. There were many friendly kind children, but the gang resided there too. School was like a prison, and the guards were a gang that tried to control the gangs in their care.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n 1973 – The Bat Kite<\/b><\/p>\n \n My mum bought me a large kite which was shaped like a bat. Sevin and I tried to get it to fly but it wouldn\u2019t. So, we took a lift to the top of one of the blocks of flats nearby known as Shaw Way and launched it from the upper walkway. It still wasn\u2019t up for going up and sullenly swooped downwards and came to rest against one of the windows. When we heard the screams from below, we burst out laughing and dragged it along the full length of the building, then before getting lynched we pulled it up and made our getaway.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n Beggars\u2019 Belief<\/b><\/p>\n \n The last time I saw Sevin was when we were both 19. He was working in a hi-fi shop. Within weeks of knowing me, he\u2019d spotted my potential and had me begging for money in the shopping precinct and when he came to my grandmother\u2019s with me on one occasion, he got me to ask Uncle Bertie if he could \u201clend\u201d me some money. Uncle Bertie told me he wasn\u2019t impressed with my newfound friend. I wanted to tell him how much money we\u2019d already made but didn\u2019t think it would go down well. Being able to go into a toy shop and buy a model aircraft with our hard begged for cash, ironically, filled us with pride. It wasn\u2019t \u2018til Mr Garriock, our headmaster, called me into his office to discuss the reports he\u2019d received of me begging, that it ever occurred to me that I was doing anything wrong. At first, I was tempted to debate the finer points of being compensated for society\u2019s oppression of disabled people, but the threat of punishment seemed to instantly override any logical arguments I had on the tip of my tongue and so it was, my begging days came to an end.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n 1973 – Andy<\/b><\/p>\n \n Just as Sevin had developed a relationship with me that had echoed that of Colonel Tom Parker and Elvis Presley\u2019s, I developed one with a boy called Andy which had similar undertones to Lennie and George\u2019s friendship in the book, \u201cOf Mice and Men\u201d. Andy was both tall and strong for his age and came over as an archetypal gentle giant. Sometimes we\u2019d walk miles together including the journey from West Park Hospital, where my mother worked, to Chessington Zoo, through snow-covered fields. By the time we got there, pretty much everything had been closed down due to the weather. Back then it was a much smaller affair compared to the multi-million theme park it has become and the proprietors felt sorry for us and opened a ride just for us. It was a rocket-shaped vehicle you sat in that would go around in a circle as well as going up and down. The problem was I wasn\u2019t held in properly and had to stop myself from falling out by grabbing the handrail with both my paws. They thought we deserved a long go and given the screams to stop, that we were enjoying every moment. Fortunately, I didn\u2019t fall out and at least I can say it was a memorable experience.<\/p>\n Andy seemed to become my sherpa, often carrying items for me from Wallington High Street back to my home and at one point even giving me a piggyback through a muddy field when my shoe got stuck in the mud. On another far sunnier day his duties extended to helping me capture girls when playing kiss chase in the lunch break.<\/p>\n For quite a while I saw myself as the brains and him as the brawn of the collaboration. However, one day we thought throwing very small bits of gravel from a bridge at cars passing below was a great idea, that was until a man came up behind us and told us he was a policeman. I believed him and gave him my real name and address whereas Andy offered false information. When the \u2018policeman\u2019 had gone Andy looked at me incredulously.<\/p>\n I did learn from this experience because a short while later I managed to set a whole field on fire with a single match we\u2019d found. The field backed onto the park and a block of flats. Within minutes the firefighters turned up and put it out. I casually walked up to one of them and told him I\u2019d seen some kids do it. We ended up agreeing with each other about how awful some kids can be. For months afterwards, though, I felt a sense of pride every time I saw the scorched grass there.<\/p>\n I\u2019m not sure if I just lacked any imagination or compassion for the risks I created for others, or if I did it deliberately to hurt people, but this lack of empathy became a lot more dangerous later on. Even at eight years old I would say to other kids, \u201cDoes this hurt?\u201d and though they\u2019d plead with me to leave them alone, I\u2019d try out some martial arts move on them and feel very pleased with myself when I saw them writhing around on the floor in agony.<\/p>\n It wasn\u2019t as if I didn\u2019t ever hear people talk about the danger of what I was up to or how badly I was behaving. One day, as I walked back from school, a girl called Julie asked if I wanted to be her boyfriend. I wasn\u2019t too interested but said yes anyway. During the short journey, I found a match and started trying to get it to light. She looked at me and gave me an ultimatum to stop doing that or she\u2019d no longer be my girlfriend. That was probably one of the shortest relationships ever.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n 2007 \u2013 Theo<\/b><\/p>\n \n Theo and Chris would go out together late at night which cut Mira, Theo\u2019s girlfriend, to the core. When he walked into the night darkness, enveloped him. The claustrophobia that drove him out of the family home, even for just a few hours, in turn, left her surrounded by too much space. As she floated, waiting for his return she felt unanchored, and fear overwhelmed her. For Theo going out with Chris wasn\u2019t so much about rejecting Mira, but an escape of the humdrum of normality. He wanted to feel special, and being special in another person\u2019s heart wasn\u2019t enough, or maybe it was too much. Maybe the real adventure of loving another human being, of getting to know them in-depth, of putting their needs aside of his own, of fighting his more baser tendencies was an adventure too full of hardship. For him, the shallower relationships of being part of a gang, or hooking up with other like-minded easy-rider adventurers were far more inviting.<\/p>\n \u201cIf you go out tonight, I won\u2019t be here when you come back,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n He looked at her, shrugged and walked out.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n 2007 – Beyond Belief<\/b><\/p>\n \n I came to the beach and met the mermaid every week, and one day as we kissed, I said, \u201cI am yours, are you mine?\u201d She said \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n But the next week she didn\u2019t turn up, and the week after there was still no sign of her. So, when, in the third week, she reappeared, I wanted to know if she truly loved me. She looked hurt that I\u2019d even question our love, and then as she went to go, I held on to her tightly. Again, she looked hurt, but this time she looked scared as well. I could feel a distance open up between us, so slowly let go. But it was too late, she swam away, and my body filled with fear.<\/p>\n For months I\u2019d go back to the place on the beach where we first kissed and wait for her. I swore I could feel I was still in her mind and felt she\u2019d be watching me from out there somewhere. But in time, I came to accept we must allow those we love to no longer feel the same way. To be as concerned with her happiness as I was with mine. Deep down, though, I knew I didn\u2019t.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n My friends waved their self-help books at me saying, \u201cYou should never lose yourself to someone else.\u201d In a way, they were right, but I also knew we should put our loved ones first. Still, finding that balance and getting beyond the virtuous words and ideals I believed in, was beyond me.<\/p>\n My fall, or falls, didn\u2019t just happen when I was a child but continued to have consequences for the rest of my life including causing further falls in others, and myself.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n 1973 – Diverging Paths<\/b><\/p>\n \n The journey that leads us to truly love someone else often starts from the other end of the spectrum, a position of self-centred self-love. Perhaps being cuddled up to my mother and other carers as a child allowed me at least some sense of being at one with another. But a child doesn\u2019t look after the needs of their carers, well not normally in any significant way.<\/p>\n And then maybe at five years old, or younger, there was a desire to feel the warmth of another person against me, and the stirrings of sexual desire. By eight though, the connection between being comforted and sexual stimulation was already muddled. Where essentially, I wanted to be hugged and understood, I now started to be thrilled by looking at women in flats nearby getting undressed and would hang out my window until late at night to do so.<\/p>\n On top of this, I discovered my erect penis was of some interest to some girls and combined with my ridiculous hole in my trousers for helping me go to the loo, I realised that I could oblige any willing spectators. Even at the school dinner table, I called across to Stella, \u201cDo you want to see my willy?\u201d<\/p>\n She laughed and said, \u201cGo on then.\u201d<\/p>\n I reached into my trousers to push it through the hole but just as I did, I felt a tap on my shoulder.<\/p>\n \u201cStop playing Simon and eat up.\u201d<\/p>\n It was the dinner lady, Mrs Phillips.<\/p>\n She looked at Stella, \u201cWhat are you doing looking under the table, have you lost something?\u201d<\/p>\n Stella slowly repositioned herself, \u201cSorry miss I was looking for my pen. I thought I\u2019d dropped it.\u201d<\/p>\n Alas, Stella never got to see my penis and from then on, our lives took very different paths.<\/p>\n Suffice to say, my sexuality was already taking a path that wasn\u2019t concerned about mutual love and care, but excitement and using others for my own gratification.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n 1973 – Hard<\/b><\/p>\n \n With every fight I had, a notch-by-notch change took place in me. A slow breaking of my spirit that would lead, in time, to a typical hardening of the outside while my inner world remained precariously fragile.<\/p>\n The kick-in-the-eye fight had put me on the map and in the running as a contender in the local fighting league and given I was already a target for kids calling me names, I would always have been destined to be involved in fights. Well, at least until I\u2019d realised there were other ways to deal with bullies. But Roundshaw was a landscape of violence for me. There was my mother and her psychotic boyfriend Michael, the neighbours fighting with each other, and all the other kids on the estate who were vying for the reputation of being the hardest kid in their year, in their street, on the estate, in the world and so on. The estate was symbolically coated in hard concrete and everyone who lived there had to follow suit.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n 2007 \u2013 Theo – Oblivion Calls<\/b><\/p>\n \n Mira left, just as she said and, on the phone, later, when Theo begged her to come back, she reminded him of her ultimatum. Unable to bear the thought of being controlled by her though, it was he who put the phone down first. He then called Chris and suggested they go out in search of oblivion.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n 1973 Aged Eight – First Blood<\/b><\/p>\n \n Paul was a kid who, had he lived in the countryside, would have been promoted to \u201cvillage idiot\u201d at some point. God knows why, but I lost my temper with him and launched a full-scale attack. I was on top of him, kicking him, and could feel I was winning but when we both stood up at the end of the fight, someone pointed at the blood on my lip and declared him the winner.<\/p>\n The affront to my pride of losing to such a low-level contender filled me with shame and the importance of status within the local fighters\u2019 loser board started to concern me, while the stupidity of it all, seemed to simply evade me.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n 2007 \u2013 Theo<\/b><\/p>\n \n Chris was from one of the rough families on Roundshaw, but Theo wasn\u2019t from the estate and carried with him the notion of being hard because of his foreign roots. He didn\u2019t involve himself with local league tables; instead, his hardness was a matter of national pride. So much so that one day when he was convinced that Chris had betrayed him, he asked him what was going on and shoved a knife through his heart. Chris looked at him, the way a friend does when they\u2019re being killed.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n 1973 – A Kick in the Ear<\/b><\/p>\n \n The main reason for fighting was just to see who was the hardest, nothing else normally. Sure, somewhere in a conversation, the ball would start rolling and within minutes either an appointment for a fight was made or the battle would commence there and then. And so, with a, \u201cYou reckon you\u2019re hard, do you?\u201d from either me or Colin, the boy who sat behind me in class when I was ten, we marched out to the playground. The chants of \u201cfight, fight, fight,\u201d committed us to action. We eyed each other up, ran towards each other and within seconds were on the ground wrestling. We broke away and both made our way back up to our feet, but someone in the crowd pushed me over so, as I went to stand up again, Colin ran towards me and kicked me hard in my ear. The fight was over, and I lay in agony crying.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n 1973\/4<\/b><\/p>\n \n Near to where this fight took place, I\u2019d watched my friend Andrew Wilson collapse two years beforehand. (He\u2019s not the Andy who walked miles in the snow with me, he\u2019s the one I\u2019d play with in the library during games.) One minute we were standing chatting, the next Stella cried out, \u201cAndrew\u2019s having a fit.\u201d I looked down to see Andrew shaking on the floor; his lips were purple and his skin was ashen. We were used to him having fits occasionally but the teacher, Mrs Gee, picked him up by his legs and ran him into the medical room with an urgency we hadn\u2019t seen before.<\/p>\n Later on, rumours started going around that Andrew had died, and a bit later on Mrs Gee, crying, told us it was true. Maybe because Andrew was ill, he wasn\u2019t able to show an aggressive part of himself, so the Andrew we all knew was very gentle and friendly. When Andrew died most of the school felt a sense of loss, even though he didn\u2019t appear anywhere on the hardest kid scoreboard. As much as many of us were bothered about being tough, Andrew revealed to us we held other qualities in high regard as well.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n 2007 \u2013 Theo<\/b><\/p>\n \n I don\u2019t know what went on in Theo\u2019s mind as he plunged the knife into Chris, but I do know he\u2019d lost his sense of who he was. After he\u2019d killed him, he chopped Chris up into small packages and put them into bin liners. He then left them in his bath while he worked out what to do next, and there they remained for several weeks. During this time Theo visited my mum, drank tea with her and behaved as if nothing had happened. Then something strange happened.<\/p>\n He turned up on Mum\u2019s doorstep and gave her an envelope. He then asked her to deliver the letter to a man in London. Mum didn\u2019t open the letter but obligingly drove to the address and rang the doorbell. A man in a dressing gown answered the door, took the letter, thanked her then closed the door. Later that day, Theo phoned Mira and told her he was going to jump off a building. He said he was sorry, and cried goodbye to her as he disconnected the call.<\/p>\n He stood up, walked to the window, opened it and climbed onto the ledge. His apartment was on the second floor. Without hesitating he jumped but when he hit the ground he landed on his shoulder. Initially, he tried to get up, but couldn\u2019t and died a few minutes later.<\/p>\n After the police arrived, they went into his house and soon found the bins full of meat, but it didn\u2019t take them long to realise what it really was.<\/p>\n He did leave a few letters, one was to my mother thanking her for being so kind, but none shed light on why he killed himself. My mother, Mira, and a policewoman were the only \u201cmourners\u201d at his funeral.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n 1975\/6 – Rescue Call<\/b><\/p>\n \n There was a new boy called Dale who came into our school when I was ten. During his first few days, he told me he didn\u2019t like my \u201cstyle\u201d. I wasn\u2019t quite sure what he meant but I knew it wasn\u2019t a compliment. He seemed set to make his mark and wanted to be the toughest kid in our school.<\/p>\n As we stepped out of class one day, he pushed me, and I retaliated. The next minute we were grappling on the floor. He sat on me and tried to punch me but I blocked his punches. I then went for my normal trick of bringing my leg up to kick him in the face, but he managed to stop it. Left with no more resources to defend myself I gave in. I either let him, or he found a way to punch me in the face. I screamed out, not so much in agony, (well okay, I imagine pain played a part) but in exasperation. It was the madness of this world I\u2019d come to live in. I was screaming for help and wanted to be rescued. I didn\u2019t want to have to fight anymore. From that beating, I not only realised my limitations but also a desire to find another way.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n 2007 – Tattoo<\/b><\/p>\n \n I waited many years for the return of the mermaid, but she didn\u2019t come back, so I found a way to become a merman and went into the sea to search for her. When I found her, she saw what I\u2019d gone through, and she came back to me. We sat on some rocks and looked into each other\u2019s eyes, and it was at this point that Ms Lovelight drew us.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n 1976 – Bad Shot<\/b><\/p>\n \n At 11 years old I pointed an air pistol at a woman pushing a baby in a buggy walking past our flat. My school friend next to me implored me not to do it, but I ignored him and pulled the trigger then moved back inside the room. That night the lady came around and showed my mother the bruise on her back and asked me what I thought would have happened if the pellet had hit her child.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n 1975 – Limits<\/b><\/p>\n \n I had bought a blowpipe with darts that had suction pads on, but we found that sticking needles and pins through the suction pads allowed us to make real darts. My friend blew one into his sister\u2019s back which even I thought was going too far.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n 2007 Ms Lovelight\u2019s Drawing<\/b><\/p>\n \n As I lay cuddled up to Ms Lovelight, I asked her about the tattoo on her shoulder. She said, \u201cThat\u2019s the man I\u2019m gonna marry.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt looks like me,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019ll see.\u201d She laughed.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ve got a painting I did about 20 years ago in which I look exactly like the merman, it\u2019s even called, Over Her Shoulder.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell,\u201d she said, \u201cthe thing is my original version of the picture didn\u2019t have them touching which means they might not ever get together, you see, the tattoo isn\u2019t exactly as I drew it.\u201d<\/p>\n Not wanting to listen, but instead persuade, I argued, \u201cYes but isn\u2019t what\u2019s on your shoulder what\u2019s real, they do get it together.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d she said, \u201cthe original picture\u2019s what\u2019s real,\u201d<\/p>\n Still unwilling to accept her way of seeing things I added, \u201cI feel like we\u2019re going to marry.\u201d<\/p>\n She smiled, \u201cWe\u2019ll see.\u201d<\/p>\n \n 2007 – What I Mean By My Fall<\/b><\/p>\n If you want to know what I mean by \u201cmy fall\u201d and consequently what this whole chapter is about, it\u2019s this. My ability to keep grounded, to know who I am, to know what I truly need, to have a sense of reality. All of those things were nearly non-existent by the age of 11. I was psychopathic at times, psychotic, delinquent, sexually detached and heading towards a difficult life.<\/p>\n Theo\u2019s fate may have been mine.<\/p>\n I yearn for the romanticism and magic of the mermaid story, and as for Ms Lovelight\u2019s tattoo, is it me, or is it just a coincidence? Time would be the revelator.<\/p>\n * * *<\/p>\n 2007 – In the End<\/b><\/p>\n I sat at my window with Ms Lovelight for hours. She lay against me and both of us said how content we felt. But when she was gone I missed her, and one day, just sitting in the same place without her made my whole body ache. In time I realised she couldn\u2019t save me from this feeling and it was the passing of things, it\u2019s that in which my greatest pain lies.<\/p>\n Just like her mermaid and merman tattoo, sometimes I feel like I\u2019d like to be held in an everlasting embrace of pure love. Such a thought though, reminds me of the feelings people describe when they go through a Near Death Experience. Does that mean then that when we desire to be held in the light of everlasting love it\u2019s a version of death, maybe a heavenly one, we yearn for, or is heaven merely a manifestation of our deepest desires?<\/p>\n * * *<\/p>\n End of Chapter 14<\/p>\n.<\/span><\/h1>\n
Beyond Belief<\/b><\/h2>\n
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