This story is dedicated to you, Shivy.
Without you this story would only be half as good or non-existent.
All I could hear was my jeans, as they brushed against the tall grass, and my feet as they made soft thuds against the dry mud. I had just left the last residential area, on my way to the golf course. Between the two was an unclaimed stretch of moor-like-waste-land that no one really used unless it was to speed around on mopeds and quad-bikes.
A cool breeze breathed against my damp face making it refreshingly cooler; I’d kind of overdressed with two t-shirts and my jumper. It was too warm a night for all those clothes. I looked up at the cloudless, starry sky, noting that the lack-of moon seemed to make the stars brighter. I pulled my sleeves back, aimed my torch at my wrist and looked at my watch. It was just coming up to
I remembered me and my friend, Shawn, used to come up here all the time when we were younger. At ages
I came to the end of the moor. There were two ways I could get on to the golf course from here; I could take the “spiky path”, as I (lamely) called it in my head because of all the gorse bushes or I could take “the other way” as I (lamely) called it because it had no defining features.
For fun I decided to take the spiky path. As I battled my way through the gorse I stumbled and almost fell. I remembered one time when Shawn did fall, head first, into one of these bushes. I’ve never heard anyone swear so hard for so long! I giggled at the memory as I fought my way past the last gorse bush and came out halfway through hole thirteen.
“The base” was nearby. It was a clearing in a small thicket of trees just between holes thirteen and eleven (the layout of the golf course is a little confusing). A few years back there had been a really bad storm that had essentially ripped through the base and destroyed its natural camouflage. Before the trees had covered the entrance but now it was just a gaping hole that may as well have been flashing neon lights saying “BASE HERE!”. Sucks how things change.
I trudged my way into the clearing, avoiding the fetid compost heap as I did so, and shone my torch around. This place was essentially barren now. When we were younger it was greener. And there’d been more stuff too. We brought up some old cabinets from his garage to keep stuff (porn and golf balls) in; there was also a whole array of useless boy scout books that we stole from the old scout hut and there was two old tyres that we used for seats, they were the only things still here now. There had been a picture of us too. We’d had it taken by some random golfer and we framed it in an old frame that was way too big for the Polaroid. It really upset me that that had been stolen; it was the only picture of just the two of us. I looked at the tyres, weeds were poking up through them, we’d positioned them so they’d be in the sun on sunny days and I could almost picture it. I imagined it’d look like some cheesy sepia-coloured movie.
“I’m not gonna cry.” I told him. “I’m not.” My voice cracking.
“Oh my god can you actually believe Fred gave me a detention!?” Fred was our art teacher. Well at least that’s what we called him cos he looked like Freddie from Scooby-Doo; he wore the ascot and everything.
“In all fairness you did turn me blue.” When we were messing around in art today he’d ‘accidentally’ thrown a pot of cerulean coloured paint at me.
“Oh you always stick up for him – he’s such a dick too – I recon you have the hots for him.” Shawn asserted. I looked at him. He was really cute. His dazzling blue eyes and his spiky blond hair. And his boyish rounded face with the smile that rarely concealed those brilliant straight white teeth.
“Naw, man, I have the hots for you.” I’d intended it to sound like a joke.
I was howling now. Tears streamed down my face. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t. I looked up at the stars. Mum always used to tell me that’s where he’d gone: to heaven to watch over me. The thought disgusted me. I couldn’t allow myself to believe that. If I did I’d want to die.
I looked at my watch. It was about twenty-five-past now. I walked out of the base, trying to make up my mind if I wanted to go home or revisit some of our old haunts.
Whatever I was going to do I needed a piss first. I was just about to turn back and go in a more secluded part of the base that we always used to use, but then I noticed the flagpole. I frisson of mischievousness spread though me.
“You’re such a tosser.” I muttered to myself as I sniffed and made my way over to it. I unzipped and aimed for the hole. It’s always weird peeing outdoors, you get that horrible sensation that someone is watching you. I had to twist my head around several times to try and shake the feeling,
I zipped my jeans up again. Disappointingly the hole had holes in it; presumably to let water drain out. I zipped up, pleased with my little rebellion.
“FORE!!!” a deep voice hollered as I heard the twack of the club hitting the ball.