Chapter 6

You know I didn’t always spend most of my time in front of the TV, watching every series,sitcom and sporting match going, eating, and hardly moving at all. Well except for changing positions, fluffing my pillow, and general comfort movement. Nope I did stuff. There was a time in the past, the dark days, when we never had satellite TV, when we only had four channels. Four channels, can you believe that? No wonder we did other things. Every Friday afternoon a bunch of us would walk down to the University fields and play soccer. Sometimes we’d only have enough for a four a side game, and sometimes more people would come down, people who’d been brought over by any member of the gang with the promise of a bit of fun, a run around, sometimes we’d join in with people who were already there, or anyone walking past would ask to join in, and we rarely ever said no. Rarely. There was this one guy who seemed a little to eager. He’d show up on his bike, take his shirt off and insist on being on the skins side, even though no one else was half naked. He’d go in for tackles too hard, with all his gear on, boots, pads, studs showing, with the rest of us kitted out in, well nothing in the way of proper kit. Barefoot versus studs and you know who’s coming out on top. Those were simpler times. Playing football on a Friday afternoon on a quarter of the university rugby fields. The rugby fields were also the cricket field and was generally much better looked after then the soccer field and so was generally very appreciated by our shoeless feet. How I used to dominate those sessions. Others would probably remember it differently, but in my mind its crystal clear. I remember this one guy, we’ll call him Jabs. He fancied himself quite a cultured footballer, often lamenting the fact that he was stuck playing with us when he belonged in the big leagues. Typical stuff you’d find from a Liverpool supporter, delusions of grandeur would best sum up the feelings here. He was a good player, but me, I was different class. Like I said I remember things a bit differently to how he, or others may. I remember this one afternoon, it was an unusually hot afternoon, those hot days when the humidity hangs thickly in the air, the sweat pours down your top with almost no excursion needed. The type of day that makes even women “glisten.” The grass was just cut, with the accompanying freshly cut grass smell that always seems to best fit any out side fantasies. We had a good turn out, i think about seven a side. I remember vividly running at Jabs all afternoon, dribbling, putting the ball past him, through his legs, every trick in the book, just running circles around him all game. There was one point where i remember him on his knees, after being left for dead yet again, looking up to the sky, tears of frustration and embarrassment flowing down his cheeks, begging God to “Please, please make him stop, he’s just too good, he’s just too good.” Come to think of it that was just a typical Friday afternoon. Firing in the goals, making grown men cry. Yup just a typical Friday afternoon.

Chapter 5

There’s another typical Steven story that usually gets lashed around whenever we have company, or are in general need of a laugh. This one, and there are many derivatives of it, involves Steven in his apartment, doing whatever it is he does when he’s locked away behind closed doors and out of the public eye, and his land lady and her daughter are banging away at his door screaming for the rent, threatening him with eviction and whatever else they can come up with in the usual end of month game that goes on here. These actions and threats are of course decoded as "I want to sleep with you" in the mind that is Steven. On the occasion that the daughter is rapping at the door, asking for their dues, it does of course translate as "is it okay if I go after mum?" It is for this very reason that we, and anyone else, have to take great care and caution as to what is said and done around him. The warped mind of his, due I’m sure to some terrible trauma he suffered as a kid that I’m equally sure that he has no idea was even a trauma, will turn anything said or done into whatever it is he wants, usually some sort of great affection for him. Perhaps it is easier to not worry about it at all as I’m quite certain that there is nothing that can be said or done that will not come out as he sees the world. So why bother? These were just a few of the thoughts that drifted through my uncluttered mind as the days news spewed out from my rather impressive television screen. Apparently someone has died doing something. The news is getting more and more general and vague these days as the world quickly becomes one. Apparently McDonalds being on every corner of every street in every country is the road map for a better future. I stopped eating McDonalds a while ago. I’ll show them. I’ll single handedly put a stop to their global reign of terror. I once ate 36 Big Mac Meals in 30 days. I was working at a supermarket and refused to eat the subsidized food they dished out at lunch. Mainly because I didn’t want to associate with the other supermarket workers. Inside their cafeteria I was just another supermarket worker, outside I was just a guy who liked Big Macs. Interestingly I didn’t put on any weight during that binge. Probably because I was working and actually doing something as apposed to the many who sit on their bums all day eating fast food crap and are surprised when they suddenly find themselves resembling fat, pregnant pigs and then have the audacity to sue the fast food chains for "making" them fat. They shouldn’t get a cent. They don’t pay me every time I have to witness them stuff a dozen burgers, fries and a milkshake down their throats and then guiltily watch the guy with the bucket and mop clean up my vomit. Fair is fair.

Chapter 4

Leaving the bathroom i allowed the door to swing closed with a extra push on its way, hoping to either trap who I’d hurriedly left behind, or failing that, crossing my fingers that the door would hit him with such force and impact that he’d either be knocked out, giving me a moments peace, or, just like on TV, the sudden blow to his head would make him forget who he was and he could be convinced that we don’t know each other - giving me more than a moments peace. The sound of approaching feet, getting closer and faster, and not changing directions as my glance to the heavens hoped, coupled with a self assured, yet badly out of tune and escaping all pitch, singing of some other teen bop classic, told me that my reprieve had been the shortest possible. Steven was once again next to me. Hurriedly trying to make my way back to the others, so as to put more bodies between Steven’s delusions and myself, I only succeeded in almost mowing down an approaching waitress. Before I could utter a word of apology and hope that this brief stop in stride hadn’t brought Steven even closer, the waitress said sorry, excused herself, and walked off. I have no idea why I was surprised by what happened next. Sidling up to me with the expertise of a Cold War spy, or more likely a stalker, Steven was suddenly looking over my shoulder with an unusually, even for him, smug air of arrogance painted across his face.


“Did you see that?” He whispered uncomfortably close to my ear.


“See what?” I replied, continuing my journey back to the others that now seemed almost an epic tale of lonely hopelessness. Actually being in an epic tale of lonely hopelessness does seem more appealing right now.


“What that waitress just did.”

”Yeah, that was nice of her, although to be fair we should have been the ones stepping aside.”

”You don’t get it.” He whispered in an exasperated tone of one who seems to be seldom on the same plane as others.


“Get what? Manners? I think I’ve got the just of it.”

”No, one of those waitresses wants me, and they’re all in on it, it’s so obvious.”

He was right. I didn’t get it. What was obvious though was that he truly believed this to be the case. This day may not end up being a total loss. Steven could still end up making a fool of himself and getting a slap for his troubles. Although none of my other prayers had been answered. There was still hope though, and hope I would cling to, its all i had going right now. Caught up in my own dreams of violence and embarrassment being meted out to my self assured “friend” I failed to notice the smile that had crept up on my face as I approached the table in dreamland. Sitting down I was brought back to reality by the hollowed whistling of the teen pop master again. God I hope he wasn’t peeing again.

”Ahh, Hotel California!” Said Guy, leaning back in his chair, arms behind his head, obviously taken back to a moment when that song meant something to him.


“Baby Hit Me One More Time.” Corrected Steven, a little bemused as to why no one could recognise his tune.


“A classic!” Replied Guy, obviously wanting to turn this into a conversation.

“Not without the video.” Chimed in Murphy, granting Guy his wish.


“Oh, Ooops I did it again! Now there’s a hot video.”

They were all involved. This was now a conversation born out of off tune whistling that could have been anything but turned out to be a Britney Spears “classic” that a group of guys in their mid 20’s were now using as a bases of a conversation. A group of well educated, and seemingly intelligent guys I may add, and Steven of course.

”Oh yeah, the red jump suit, wow!”

”Okay, can you guys spell statutory rape?” I added, not wanting to be left totally out of the stream of dialogue, but at the sane time trying to distance myself from it.


“S-A-T” Spelled Steven.

Like i said, a group of well educated guys - and Steven.

”Shut up, and you were spelling “satutory” rape.” I said, faining frustration but secretly enjoying the fact that he had taken me literally and still failed.

”Yeah that’s a entirely different thing”


“It’s when everything starts leaking and…”

It seems that Guy and Murphy where starting to enjoy themselves. They’ll talk about anything, and its not that they like the sound of their own voices, or each others I suspect, but rather the plain simple truth that they are bored. Very bored. Plus I think they both have a thing for Britney Spears or Christina Aguilera and will use the any excuse to talk about them, especially if it involves picturing them. The fact that this was brought up by Steven is just gravy for them. Also they don’t seem bothered that this has turned away from the objects of their lust to a silly game play about the made up word “satutary.” The mere fact that the conversation was started with Britney in mind is enough to flame this one all night. It’s pretty easy to drift off whenever these guys get going. It’s kind of like your day time soaps, you can watch them everyday, then go on holiday for a while, and when you return for your afternoon TV the story may have moved on but in many ways it’s the same, and pretty easy to pick up on. Somewhat comforting in way. That’s what conversations were like here, you can drift in and out, go over your shopping list, anything you’d rather be doing at that moment, wondering if you still remember the starting line up of the first Cup Final you ever watched, and drift back into the conversation, easily picking up on whats being talked about without necessarily having participated in the last few minutes. Comforting. The scenario is comforting, not the topic in this particular discussion. I’ll briefly attempt to surmise the just of their hotly participated in conversation. Guy kicked off this particular subject by wondering why men in general, when asked by a girl if they think the likes of Britney or Christina are hot, they tend to say no. The idea here being that men seem to feel that the best approach here is to appease the girls by telling them what they feel the girl in question wants to hear. Leaving the real answers to the locker room and Foosball tables. Murphy went on to substantiate that it was the whole “lesbian thing.” His words not mean. The idea here, in supporting the whole argument, is that men think the idea of lesbians, so long as they look like Britney and Christina and not Brian and Chris, are a turn on. But when asked by girls the usual answer is “no, yuck” when in reality they are thinking “where, how much.” I know this conversation has you on the edge of your seat, hanging on to every word of this engrossing, topically relevant conversation, especially in this time of war, famine and George Bush. This is where the discussion takes a Steven turn, and this is best described in his words, as simple as they are they fully justify all that is Steven and why he is so lightly tolerated.


”I once had a threesome with these totally hot lesbians.” said Steven, staring off into the distance, as one does when seeming to not care if anyone is listening, but hoping that they all are, stunned and in awe.

“No you didn’t.” Replied Murphy, in a tired, almost frustrated tone of someone, like the rest of us, who’d heard it all before and was very nearly on the verge of violence, in any small form.


“Okay, but I almost did. I turned them down.”

“No, you did’t.”

”I did, seriously, I did!”

”When?”


“last week, in a club.”

“WHEN?”


“Last week, in a club!”

”That club was a strip club, and you asked the strippers to kiss, and they slapped you.”


“Oh, you were there.”

And that’s Steven, In his own words. You couldn’t make this stuff up. I sometimes wish I could, because then he may not be as Steven as I make him out to be. Unfortunately he is.