The Short Story

Just over 10 years ago I started studying Creative Writing and English Literature at Aberystwyth University. The place and people were wonderful, the course was pretty disappointing. Here's the story I submitted for my first marked assignment on 10th November 2003.


The Short Story

Abbott put his arm around me, he kissed me on the forehead and kept his hand on my shoulder looking out at the road ahead.  We'd been traveling for about five days now, I didn't know where we were going really, but Abbott seemed to.  I looked at him as he drove, all around us was deserted and the sun sat right behind.  I leant over and nestled my head on his side.
    At that moment I felt my father's hand on my shoulder, prodding me.  Daddy didn't like it when we got cosy together in the car, I just liked having time with Abbott and sometimes forgot that my Daddy was even there, he always made sure he reminded me about it though.

My father had raised me by himself for about nine years now, since I was six.  He was very protective of me, always lecturing me about being a good girl, coming home on time and he wasn't fond of Abbott to tell you all the truth.
    I met Abbott after school, he used to be sitting on the fence by the field with the long grass with his friends.  I'd smile at him as I walked by, and soon he was smiling back.  One day he jumped down off the fence and asked if he could walk with me.
    “I'm not sure if my Daddy would like that.”  I grinned.
    “Fine,” Abbott nodded respectfully, and then he winked and said, “I won't walk with ya' all the way then.”  He walked alongside me, and I could barely speak, couldn't do nothing but smile.  “What's your name then?”  He asked looking down at me with his blue eyes, I remember how blue they were so well.
    “Tess.” I said.
    “My name's Abbott.” He stopped and held his hand out to me, I'd never had a boy offer to shake hands with me before and I couldn't help but laugh.  “Well, are you gonna shake my hand or aren't ya'?”

The car pulled up to the side of the road, the dirty ground crunching under the wheels.  Abbott leant on the door and looked up and down the long empty strip.  Then off we went again, this time the car began out over the ground leaving the road behind us.  I looked at Abbott like he'd gone and lost his mind, but soon we came to this little secluded place with trees and large dusty rocks.
    “We're stopping here tonight.”  He said getting out of the car and pulling his leather jacket off the back seat, “You wanna help me?”
    “Do what?”  I asked.
    “Get a fire going or something.” He exclaimed as if it was perfectly obvious to everyone but me.  “I'm going for a piss, try and see if you can find some firewood or something.”
    I went over to one of the trees and began shaking at its trunk, but it barely made a move, though I'll be honest with you I'm not exactly the toughest person in the world.  I leant back on the bonnet of the car and looked up at the tree, a wind blew through the leaves and my hair, it span dust up as if it were alive.
    “You look pretty with your hair down.” My father said from the backseat of the car, “Your mother always said you'd grow up beautiful.  You're starting to look a lot more like her, everyday it seems.”

Daddy didn't like Abbott, and he made no bones about keeping it under his hat.  First time he met him was about a week after he started walking me home, Daddy was sat on the front porch smoking his pipe and he saw me talking down by the road.  Abbott was practically begging me to go to the old barn down by the lake that night, some friends of his were having some kinda party, said they were starting a band.
    “I'll think about it.” I grinned tugging my bag back up onto my shoulder, I started to walk up towards the house with Abbott nodding and smiling.
    “I'll think about you!” He laughed pointing playfully at me, and winking.
    I could tell my Daddy was mad the second I could see his face clearly, but to be honest with you I didn't know why.  He had his hands on his hips and the pipe drooping sadly from his mouth, I looked up at him and plain as day he swore,  “God damn you Tess, what are you playing at?  Get inside the house.”
    Our house was one of the nicest one's around for miles, I always loved that place despite whatever happened inside those four walls.  Though I would've changed a few things about it, that's for sure.  My father and his father were proud hunters, and they had heads of all kinds of animals up over the fireplace and the like, deers and boars, they went traveling for weeks finding stuff to kill.
    Daddy sat me down at the dinner table, he turned a lamp on as it was getting pretty dark early now in the Autumn.  Daddy told me to put my hands on the table, about shoulder width apart and he struck the backs of them hard with his hand, it hurt but I didn't say nothing.
    “What are you playing at?”  He asked again sitting so upright I thought he'd locked his back again, I didn't say anything because I had nothing to say.  He rolled his eyes and looked round the house, “If your mother could see you now?  Holy Jesus, I don't know what she'd say.  She'd set you straight, that's what she'd do.  Tell you how blind you're being, how foolish!”  He took my hands in his and stared me straight in the eyes, “Now you listen to me, cause I'm telling you now not to see that fella...”
    “But, Daddy...” I began.
    “Lord have mercy!”  My father interrupted, “Aren't you listening?  Don't you hear me?  I'm commanding you my girl, my daughter.  I didn't raise no commandment breaker now did I?  You love your Daddy now don't you?  Now, say your prayers and I'll start dinner tonight, but it's to bed early today, you hear?”  He paused, “Tell me now, do you hear?”
    “Yes Daddy.” I answered.

Later that evening, it was about eight o'clock I reckon, I could hear this sound at my window and when I looked up there was Abbott stood outside, I didn't realise who it was at first and almost jumped out of my own skin.  Quietly I crept over to the window, slid open the pane and stuck my head outside.
    “What do you want?”  I asked in a whisper.
    “Come on, I came to take you to the barn, I figured that a lady shouldn't walk alone.”  Abbott said starting off into the dark almost immediately.
    “Well hold up!”  I called with bated breath, “I'm wearing my nightgown, I gotta get changed!”
    Abbott threw his hands up and stamped a foot, “I told you we was going to the barn!”
    “I'm sorry, b-but my Daddy, he - he said...” I could hardly speak now, and Abbott could see that he'd been a little rash so he came up and put a hand on my cheek.
    “Hey there, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap at ya'.  I didn't realise.  Don't be upset now.”  Abbott's hand was so warm despite the cold Autumn air at night, and I practically nuzzled against it.  “Come on now,” he continued, “Get some clothes and shoes, stick a pillow under the bedsheets, you can wear my jacket if you want, it's real leather.”

“What are you thinking?”  My father asked me as I pulled a blanket up over me in the front seat of the car.
    “I was wondering why you used to hit me so much?”  I said bitterly trying to find some warmth, it was winter even in the desert!
    “You can be stubborn sometimes, you get that too from you mother.”
    I began to feel tears in my eyes on my skin thinking about her, “Why did she die, Daddy?”
    “The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.” My Daddy reasoned, but it never made any sense to me.

I was a little angry when nobody else showed up in the barn that night, later Abbott told me that they'd all gone out drinking and forgotten to tell him!  He didn't mind though he said, he told me that he was happy enough sitting here with me, and I was with him.  There wasn't anywhere to sit as such in the barn, barely anybody used it then, which is a pity because it was so beautiful there in the moonlight.  Abbott made us a bed of hay to lie on, it was all bailed up but Abbott tore through the cord holding it with his bare hands!  I'd never noticed how strong he was in all the time we'd known each other, and then how carefully he set the hay down on the ground, he was like an artist at work.
    That's the night I knew I was in love with Abbott.  It was getting late, we could see the sun rising up out in the distance across the lake.  My head was on Abbott's chest and I could hear his heart beating, and I felt so calm there with his arms wrapped around me.  I wriggled out of his embrace and looked him in the eyes, he looked down at me.
    “What?”  He smiled.  I quickly kissed him on the lips.  “What was that?” He asked.
    “A kiss.” I replied holding his gaze.
    “I know that, but why'd you do that?”
    “'Cause I wanted to kiss you, that's why.”
    Abbott raised his eyebrows and grinned, he looked around the barn as if he were surrounded by a thousand eyes and didn't care.  “Do you still want to kiss me now?”
    “I'm not so sure.” I teased.
    Abbott chuckled and put an arm round the back of my neck pulling me closer to him and he kissed me, his hands ran down my back and opening his hands his fingers practically wrapped round me.

When I left the barn the next day I pretty much floated all the way home I was so happy, Abbott didn't walk with me he had to be in town, to check on his friends.  I remember that the world had never seemed so beautiful before, the barn was a luminous glowing grey sat against the Autumn sky.  The grass around it was browning and captured in sunlight, and it didn't matter about all the moss, lichen and rust, because somehow on that day it was all perfect.  And I'd seen sunrises before, me and Daddy would stay up and watch them sometimes, we'd eat lamb stew with crusty bread, but this one was special.

Abbott came back looking white as a sheet, he stumbled over a rock in the dim dusk light and cursed quietly to himself looking up at me.  “Where's the Goddamn fire?”
    “There's no stick or nothing, and I couldn't reach up into the tree there.”  I pointed.
    “Jesus fucking Christ.”  Abbott muttered, it shocked me when he swore, he didn't used to swear so much, but you get to know people more and more as time goes on, that's what love's all about I guess.  He proceeded to swipe at the tree, but he kept swinging too wide and missing the branches, and eventually he just began kicking at the trunk, bark splintering and denting.
    “Are you allright Abbott?  Look like you've seen a ghost.”  I said getting out of the car and going over to help him.
    “I'm fine!” He snapped.
    “Are you sure?  Do you want some water or something?” I raised a hand to his side and touched him.
    Next thing a fist came into my face, it knocked me to the ground and I scratched the underside of my hand as I fell onto the rough desert floor.
    “I'M FINE!” He yelled, and then turned placing his hands on the tree, “Jesus fucking Christ.”
    My face felt numb and the bridge of my nose buzzed and hummed, it stung like when you crack your elbow on the table.  My face felt wet, like I was crying, but I wasn't and when I drew my hand back it had red streaks across it, I dabbed the tears with my finger and saw that it was blood.
    Abbott had slumped himself against a rock and was lighting up a cigarette, he seemed to be talking to himself but I didn't care neither way.  I got back in the car and found a handkerchief and held it to my nose, the white cloth was quickly blackening red with blood, I looked back to my father but he had got out the car.  Looking round I saw that he'd gone over and was stood next to Abbott, smoking his pipe.  He looked over to me and nodded, mouthing the words 'Go to sleep', and so I did.

When I got back home in the morning my father wasn't in, so I busied myself by tidying up the kitchen and washing the dishes from dinner last night, then I hanged the clothes out on the line and made the beds.  My father's bed though looked like he'd had a rough night, the covers were flung over the floor and I was growing concerned due to his absence.  Nevertheless, Daddy often goes out for walks and stuff, and anyways, he didn't know that I was missing school today and I was glad he didn't otherwise he'd probably strangle me!  In some ways I began to think that if Daddy didn't come home then Abbott could move in, and he could tend to the fields and the cows, and I could cook for him and he'd stay up late reading to me at bedtime.  To some extent I began to dream that Daddy wouldn't come home, and it's practically at that moment when he did.
    I never heard a door open and close so loudly before in my life!  I looked up at the clock and it was about lunchtime, so I thought that Daddy had come back in for something to eat, but he came straight up to me with a horrific look on his face, beads of sweat dripping off his brow.  Suddenly he struck me with the back of his hand across the face, and when I fell to the floor he pulled me back up by my collar and shook me.
    “I told you!” My father barked into my face, “I told you again and again.  What do you want?  Huh!?  You want me to hurt you?  Is that what you want?  'Cause I'll do it, don't doubt that I will!  Heaven above, don't you understand that I love you Tess?  Don't you see that I don't want you to be hurt?”
    I couldn't stop crying, tears burning my eyes I cried till I could hardly cry no more, I tried to wipe them away but he held my arms down and rattled me, I thought that he'd break my neck he shook me so much.  When I could finally see again I noticed that his knuckles were a mucky brown red colour, I looked up at my father and I could see it in his eyes that he'd gone after Abbott before he came to me.
    “Daddy what did you do?”  I sobbed.
    My father looked down at his hands and withdrew them, trying to wipe the stains off onto his shirt, and the moment he did I tore out the side door with all my speed, practically screaming for air as I went.
    I could hear my father yelling behind me, but he didn't bother to follow.  I ran so fast, I ran past the old barn, down the road and past the fence by the field with the long grass, and then towards Abbott's house on the other side of town.  I could tell that something was wrong because the door was hanging off its hinges, and glass from a window was scattered on the floor, it cut into my feet as I walked over it, I'd forgotten to put any shoes on or nothing, but I didn't notice 'til later.
    Inside the gloomy, sparse house was Abbott, slumped in a corner a hand to his face and as I stepped towards the shadows where he sat I could hear him sniffing, holding back the tears too.  I reached out for him and took his hand from his face, he moved his head forward into the light and I saw what my father had done. 
    Abbott's eyes were swollen, dark purple and puffy, with blood trickling out of the eyebrow and he'd split an eye lid open, Abbott could barely blink the poor soul.  His lip too was gashed and red with blood ran over it, he was scuffed with all kinds of dirt and splinters, but that wasn't the worst of it.  I tried to help Abbott to his feet but taking his arm in my hands made him holler in pain, I tried to help him again but he protested so badly.  Carefully I looked at his arm and realised the elbow was all awash with blood, it was damp and sticky, so carefully I rolled up the sleeve and saw that the arm looked odd, and then realised that the bone jutted out through the skin where it'd been broken.  I clasped my hand over my mouth, I could barely comprehend how my father did this.
    “Abbott,” I said running my hand across his cheek, but he winced away in pain, “Abbott?  Are you going to be okay?  Abbott come on, talk to me now.”
    “I-It was y-your father.”  Abbott managed to utter, his words wet and gargled, he spat onto the floor and I could see that he was coughing up blood.  “He came in raging, like a man possessed he was, I could barely speak, he just didn't let me...”
    “That's alright Abbott, you don't have to say anything.  You want I should get a doctor?”
    “No.” Abbott started, “You go home, I don't want you to get into any more trouble than you are already.  I think...” He caught his breath, “I think you shouldn't see me no more, Tess.”
    I bit my lip as I let his words fall upon me, but I could tell that he was just trying to be generous to me, “Abbott, I'm not going to leave you, I love you, and I will do anything for you...” I thought about what I was saying, the first time I really paid any attention to what I said or how I said it, but I did so because I meant it and I remembered something my mother used to read to me, “'You may ask me for anything in my name, and I will do it.'”

My father walked back to the car and got in the driver's side, sitting on the front seat, he looked at me and blew jovially into my hair, it roused me from my sleep and I looked round, it was morning.  I turned my head all around and we were still in the desert, usually Abbott would drive off in the middle of the night and I'd wake up someplace else, but it was still that little secluded spot.  Clouds hung over us in patches, dark grey underneath but glowing fluffy white above, the sky was a baby blue and peeked through like pools in the air.
    “Morning.”  My Daddy beamed when I wearily blinked at him.

When I returned home my father was in the bathroom shaving, all was quiet in the house, strangely so, except for the sound of water being slapped around by his razor as he cleaned it off.  I crept quietly into my room and gathered up my clothes, placing them neatly into my schoolbag and throwing it over my shoulder.  I thought briefly about writing him a note, but thought that it'd be better for him to gradually understand as opposed to me trying to explain it myself, and where would I begin?
    As I moved through the front room, under the watchful gaze of the deers and boars, bears and other beasts I felt a sense of sadness for all the things I'd be leaving behind, but then again what were they but memories?  And now each happy memory lead to a sad one.
    I reached the door and then remembered that I wanted to take a book for Abbott to read to me, so crept back over towards the fireplace where my favourite books rested on the mantle.  As I dropped my bag to the ground I heard my father's voice behind me.
    “What are you doing?” He asked, yet he sounded different, sombre and remote.  “Where are you going?”
I turned and saw my father stood in the doorway opposite, his face hidden in shaving foam and the razor in his hand, he rested on the door frame and looked sorrowfully at me, his eyes large, blue, staring.
    “I'm going away Daddy.” I said, but then he began to shake his head slowly back and forth.
    My father looked up to the ceiling and sighed, smiling to himself and speaking up to the Heavens, “I tried, I'm sorry.”  He then looked at me and began walking over, and for some reason I was shaking uncontrollably I felt like my legs were going to give way I was so terrified, I just remember his hands, bloodied and dirty, I just remember Abbott's face as he cowered in the corner, and then I just remember the sound of gunfire.
    When I looked round again my father was lying on the floor back by the opposite door, his hand had dropped the razor and the other one was slumped across his chest.  He lay with his lungs breathing slowly in and out, getting further seperated by the second and as he breathed more blood pumped out of him, from a hole in his chest and a pool haloing his head.

I looked at my father sat in the driver's seat of the car, as I turned round I saw that Abbott had gone again, when I looked back my father had gone too and I saw the wind blow through the trees, it released some leaves that clung to the branches, and spun dust up into the air as if it were alive.

Predictions

"Who - why - when - what are you do - done - doing to - today?" my son asked, sat at the breakfast table, pondering his choice of jam.

                "I've got two meetings with clients, quite an important day for me." I smile and pour his orange juice.

                "Con - coke - cork - cool."  He takes a large bite out of the slice, it quivers under the weight of blueberry slathered on top.  "Cat - car - can I ass Mark arouse - around for tea?"

                I take a slow sip from my coffee, "You can ask him around, yes."

                "Who - why - when -what did I sad - say?"

It makes speech easier!  You'll never be stuck for the right word again!  Can automatically translate your speech into twenty different languages, with more being added all the time!  Consult your healthcare advisor about the Predictive Speech implant today!

So ran the copy, and every kid wanted it for some reason that eludes me to this day.  I argued with Terry about it, told him I didn't want to put a chip in our child's head, but he said it was fine.  I asked him how he knew and he told me that he had one implanted a couple of months back.  I was offended he hadn't told me, which he took as an opportunity to remind me that we're not married anymore and he doesn't have to tell me everything.  If anything this just reminded me why I divorced him in the first place.

                We spoke to Dr. Stephens and she said that it's a simple, painless procedure, just a little implant that sits snugly in the interior frontal gyrus of the brain.

                I asked if she knew anybody who had the chip and she told me about her neighbour's kids, said it had improved their manners considerably.  "None of that text speak," she'd confided.

I decided to let Harry stay with his Dad after the operation, I was still quite shaken by the whole thing if I'm honest and thought that if there was to be any teething trouble then Terry would be better at dealing with it.  Me, I'd just drag Harry back to the doctor and get him to take the damn thing out, it's not like our boy ever had trouble communicating before and I'd hate to think of him as part of a little crowd at school.  That Mark is a bad influence, but we all knew those sort of kids, I mean, I aspired to hang around with Julie Walker and Margie Kempton, and now I'm rather glad they ostracised me.

Harry came back a week later, he greeted me with a big hug and beamed, "Hi mum!"

                I must admit I let out a massive sigh of relief that he wasn't spouting gibberish or worse, and Terry could see this weight being lifted from me, he gave me a knowing smile and ambled back down the path to his car.

                Like any one would be, I was curious, and wanted to just test that things were ok.  We both headed, naturally, for the kitchen, where I began to make myself a cup of tea.

                "Would you like a drink?"

                "Yes pl - please," he smiled.

                "Cup of tea?"

                "No thanks."

                "Don't you like tea?" I teased, knowing how much he hated all hot drinks, apart from warm blackcurrant juice.

                "No."

                "What's wrong with it?"

                "It's disguised - disgusting."

                "Disguised?"

                "Dis - disgusting."

                "Disgusting? Why don't you try some?"

                "No!" he objected, laughing as I wafted a tea bag in front of his face.  "Y - Tu - Tic - Tuck!"

                "Tuck?" I squinted, confused at his little face sticking his tongue out in protest.

                He concentrated, thought about what he'd said, muttered the series of words again like they formed part of a spell and then finally announced, "Yuck."

                "Did you mean to say 'tuck', did you know you were going to say it?"

                "Was - wash - wasn't thinking."

                "So, if I were to make you eat this teabag, what would you say?"

                "Y - Yuck," he articulated the world with the same theatrical disgust, and I chastised myself for being over-bearing and suspicious.

But, something lingered, and I phoned up Dr. Stephens who put me on to Mr. Enright at the company that designed the Predictive Speech units.  He reassured me that it would take a while for the chip to completely adapt itself to my son's choice of vocabulary, but it had some very smart software that would begin to recognise his most commonly used words and automatically default to those in future.

                "So the stammer?"

                "That's just the unit trying to second guess him, it goes to what our studies have suggested are the most favoured words based upon the electrical data released from your brain."

                "Why does it need to do that?"

                "Well, to make sure he's never short of a word really, that's the point of the unit ultiimately, you'll never be tongue-tied again, or perhaps it'll help you get the confidence to say those things you never thought you'd be able to, it's also a really useful tool when making an important presentation to..."

                "Save it," I rather curtly announce before ending the call.

I picked Harry and Mark up outside the school gates, they hopped into the back of the car and buckled up.  Mark said hello and asked me how my day was, which was an unexpected pleasantry.

                "How about fish and chips for tea?" I asked, glancing back at them in the rear view mirror as we set off down the road.

                "Yes please!" the two chimed in unison, when presented with a treat precocious boys always regress to being toddlers.

                I put the radio on and we drove to Ryan's fish bar, parked up and bundled out of the car.  It was quite busy for a Wednesday evening, all parents and children who had similar ideas in an effort to spare themselves an evening of cooking and cleaning.

                "What would you boys like?"

                "Cunt and chips." Mark grinned eagerly.

                "Me too, with my - mush - misguided piss," my boy smiled.

                I could see some heads turning, awkward eyes waiting for me to take action.  I crouched down, a serious look on my face, "What did you just say?"

                Mark looked up forlornly at the boards, pointing, "Cunt - cunt - cod and chips," the words came out after some stumbling efforts.

                Harry was already combobulating his sentence, looking down at the floor before raising his head and proudly saying, "Mushy peas."

                "I don't want to hear that kind of language from you Harry, and I'm pretty sure your parents wouldn't want you to talk like that either Mark. Ok?"

                I wanted to reprimand them further, deny them the fish and chips, but I was not certain that they were entirely responsible for their behavior.  Punishing them might only encourage them to swear some more, but this time out of choice.  So we waited patiently, quietly and awkwardly in the queue until we were served and then headed home.

Whilst the boys ate their dinner, with the greasy paper unfurled on their laps in front of the television, I - optimistically considering the time - called Mr. Enright again.

                "Hello?" was the puffed reply.

                "Mr. Enright, sorry to bother you, it's Sarah Alderton, we spoke about my son, he has the...

                "Yes, I remember.  What do you want Mrs. Alderton, I'm just about to leave the office."

                "You mentioned that the chip picks up on frequently used words, sets those as its defaults, well, what if someone used bad words frequently?"

                "You mean swearing?"

                "Well, yes."

                "It depends how much they swore to..."

                "He's a fourteen year old boy."

                "Oh dear, well, then, yes, there's every likelihood that swearing might be a more prevalent go-to for the device but..."

                "Yes?"

                "There are ways to monitor and control the output."

                "What do you mean?"

Upstairs was the instruction pack that Harry had brought back with him, I had dismissed it, having attempted to continue to treat my son as he always was and not some technological hybrid.  But, as Mr. Enright had said, there was a section about parental locks and, in a plastic pocket, a CD-ROM.

                I installed the software on my computer and looked through the options, it was laid out very clearly with a series of sliders to set the level of control.  I decided, considering the earlier outburst, to set the parental lock to high.

                Little green radar signals appeared on the screen, a cartoon representation as it searched for my son's output and then Harry Alderton popped up, alongside Mark Bollard.  I clicked on my son's name and a blue bar filled up to 100% before a rewarding little ping announced that the settings had been saved.

                Feeling satisfied I browsed around the software a bit more, realising that I could open up the implant and look at, and monitor, what new words had been added to the chip's dictionary that day.

                Mantle, tectonic, convergent, had all been added in the past six hours, he must have had a geography class.  But also, highlighted in red - with a note indicating that these words were now restricted from his vocabulary - was clit, cunt and jism.  At first I was more surprised that he'd learnt all three in such a short space of time, but then I did always presume Mark was a bad influence.

                Clicking back through the history of words over the past week since the chip was installed I was alarmed to discover what terrible language my son had managed to amass, words that I am certain I did not know until I was much older than he.

                I decided to look at what words Mark knew, and found a list of equal and greater depravity than my son's.  There were homophobic, racist, sexist, disablist terms, all manner of colourful swears and cusses, lurid descriptive terms, all of which I was able to order by their offensiveness as perceived by the software's online ranking system (clearly I was not the only concerned parent utilising this software).  Yet none on Mark's profile were highlighted in red, perhaps his parents were unaware of his pottymouth or this software, so I felt that they would be grateful if I set the parental restriction for him.

Later that week I received a concerned phonecall from the school deputy headteacher, she asked me to come in for a chat.  I was with a client that afternoon, but let her know I would pop in around 4pm if that's ok, besides Harry's father was looking after him over the weekend.

                There is a note of hesitation, but the deputy headteacher said it would be ok.

When I arrive to the school I'm shown through to the deputy headteacher's office, she stands to shake my hand, but my eyes are fixed on Terry, sat with a stern and serious look on his face, barely a hint of a smile to say hello.

                "Is everything ok?" I ask, my voice immediately weak with worry.  "Where's Harry?"

                "Harry's in the nurse's room taking a nap, he's had a rather stressful day," the deputy headteacher, who hasn't yet introduced herself to me properly, though the plaque on her desk reads Ms. M. Slocum, says sitting back - hand unshook - at her desk.

                "What happened?"

                "They're not sure," Terry begins, resting his elbows on his knees like he would every time he wanted to have a serious talk and scold me for something like I was a child.

                "Harry," Ms. Slocum wedged in, wishing to deflate any pre-prepared tension my ex-husband and I may have brought to the room, "complained about having a headache during his biology lesson, he was then found having a - well, a seizure in one of the corridors.  He's ok," she hastened to add, "we asked him if he had any history with..."

                "No, never, he hasn't gotten any allergies or epilepsy or anything like that, not that we know of."

                "Is he a squeamish boy?"

                "What do you mean?"

                My ex-husband tuts, "They were doing a lesson about reproduction and they think our lad might have got disturbed by it.  He sees worse on telly every..." Having seen how wide Ms. Slocum's eyes had become my ex-husband abruptly ended his sentence early.

                "We've had children faint in classes before, it was just," she searched her mind for the right word, "the severity of his reaction that alarmed us.  I don't imagine you've talked about the birds and the bees with your son before?"

                "My son, Harry, isn’t an idiot, he’s got common sense about things like that… Christ! He’s fourteen, he knows that it’s not a bleedin’ stork that delivers a baby, he knows it comes out of a woman’s…”

                “Mr. Alderton,” Ms. Slocum stood up, her chair squawking across the floor, “that’s completely unnecessary, thank you.”

I went into the nurse’s room where Harry was lying in bed, there were tissues crumpled up on the floor with spots of blood on them, and as I got closer I could see he’d had a bloody nose.  When I gathered them up and tossed them into the bin, Harry began to stir.

                “Mum?” he murmured as if he suspected I was part of a dream.

                “Hey trooper, how are you feeling?”

                “My he – he’s – head hurts a bit.  What happy – happen – happened?”

                “They said you passed out after something in class, do you remember what they said?”

                After a bleary moment trying to recall he turned back to me, “I put my hand up to answer a question, but when I tried to speak I… my head…” he reached to his forehead, started rubbing.

                “It’s ok, sshhhh, there there.” I reassured him, rubbing his hair.

Harry went home with his father for the weekend as planned.  I picked up a pizza and hopped through TV channels until I stumbled upon a cheesy 80s action movie, it was edited for television so kept awkwardly cutting away during the violent scenes and the hero would growl bizarre phrases like: “Go fun yourself!”  After a while it ceased to be entertaining, so I flicked over to a chat show.

The phone woke me at 4am, it was Terry, he sounded desperate, like I’d never heard him sound before.

I arrived at the hospital an hour later, where the doctors told me that our son had had a brain aneurysm.

We deactivated the implant, but were unable to prove a link between the product and our son’s hemorrhage.  We were lucky he didn’t die, but he suffered severe brain damage.  Terry took it terribly, he started drinking again, I was always stronger than him, but it meant that I didn’t have any help looking after our boy, who was now barely a toddler again.

                Sometimes I look in his eyes and see a growing boy buried somewhere deep within, but there’s nothing I can do now to bring him out, to get him back.  The same thing happened to his friend Mark, I know it was that chip in their heads, yet people continue to get them implanted.  Sometimes I open the software on my computer to see if the radar picks up any new devices in the area, I don’t know what I’d do if it did.

Adventures

With great force they wrestled the helmet from Mr. Malpasso's sandpaper hands. It was the last piece of the costume that he'd made, the outfit that he'd been wearing almost every day for the last fifteen years.

When they finally prised it away from him, he, a sixty-two year old man, bawled like a spoilt toddler, dribbling and elongating with a cartoon like stutter, until it sounded ridiculous, one word: pleee-he-he-he-heease.

They took it out front, with the rest of his hand crafted uniform, and set it on fire. It's for your own good, they said. His daughter, Melody, reminsced to nobody about how embarrassed she was to see her father walking around town dressed like a space pirate or something. Captain Malpasso, her youngest, Stevi, corrected her, but her mother wasn't interested.

Mr. Malpasso didn't want the ceremony, they all thought - his children all thought - that it would be symbolic for him, a liberation both literal and figurative, that it would release him from the trappings of his fantasy. You can live your life again, Dad, his son Ryan had smiled, warmly clapping his old man on the shoulder.


He just sat there, in his favourite chair, letting them bumble around him, tidying things away that didn't need to be tidied. They put this week's tv guide into the magazine rack, meaning he'd only have to fish it out again in a short while. They moved the coasters back into the little coaster holder and straightened the framed photographs on the mantlepiece, thus rendering their careful angling nul and void. Now she didn't look over his shoulder anymore.

Doesn't mum look pretty here, Melody asked rhetorically holding a frame. How old was she?

Melody's husband, Phil, took the picture, turned it over, searching for a clue to the year. Graham, he called, his voice slow and simplified for Mr. Malpasso's presumed benefit, how old is your wife in the picture?

My wife is dead, Mr. Malpasso said flatly.


It had been a month after the funeral when he had first worn the outfit. He had walked into the office to various hushed and muffled responses, a few uncensored laughs, and sat himself at his desk and got on with the tasks at hand. He made his calls, he wrote his reports, all was as normal, except he was dressed in a gaudy, shining diving outfit with a vibrant, mirrored helmet, various pipes and tubes hunched up and into the heavy fabric like the body of a sea monster, there were adornments such as the tassled shoulder pads and some random patches, medals and insignia.

He was called into his manager's office before 11am, and after patiently listening to the inevitable company spiel, Mr. Malpasso very reasonably stated his case and his manager agreed and let him continue to wear the uniform to work.


However when Melody saw her father in the uniform for the first time she burst into tears and batted him away, as if he were riddled with disease, when he tried to comfort her in his arms.

She asked him why he was wearing that stupid costume.

He said it made him feel like everything was ok.

She snuffled up the tears, tried to compose herself and accept it.


It was four years ago, when she overheard her father talking to Stevi that she cried about it again.

Dad's lost his mind, she told Ryan. He was telling Stevi about the planets he'd been to and the creatures he'd met, he was telling her about the greedy lizards who live in the clouds, he was talking about things made of eyes and a rocket ship in his shed. A rocket ship! I just thought he wore that thing like a blankie, a comforter, y'know, but I think he thinks he's actually a spaceman.

Ryan was flippant, said he could tell Dad wasn't nuts just by looking at him. Sure, he dresses like he's from a 1970s sci-fi show, but people wear all sorts of weird stuff, he's not doing any harm.

He was curious though, and later, at dinner, he casually mentioned outer space in conversation. Like, I don't think there's anything out there, he lied.

Out where? his father had asked, lifting his visor to take another bite of chicken.

In space, aliens and stuff.

There are aliens, his dad replied.

What?

Plenty of them, all sorts, more than you can imagine, some like us, some you couldn't comprehend.

How do you know?

I've been there, I've been to space, I've seen the universe.

When did you go there?

I go there all the time.


So Ryan agreed with his sister and they began plotting an intervention, it had been eleven years and the time had long since past that he should be confronted on this. Though he kept the suit clean, patched it up when necessary, the suit was no longer the issue, and clearly, to them, the fantasy had begun to rot his brain.

At first they sat him down and talked to him, they kept repeating; You know it's not real Dad?

Mr. Malpasso would look sheepishly at the ground, a glimmer of recognition they suspected, but he'd smile and square up to them defiantly, It's real, he'd say.


So, after four years of quiet private discussions, unexpected trips to therapists, they finally decided to take the drastic step to destroy the uniform, burn down the source of all this trouble and release their father from his delusion.

When the flames had burned out, and the house had been put in order, they stood in the front room where Mr. Malpasso stared at his dim reflection in the television screen.

Ok Dad, Ryan said, we've put some dinner in the oven, it's heating up, should be done in half an hour. Do you want us to stay or would you rather be alone?

He sat, stoic, only his lip seemed to wobble as if with inaudible words.

Melody, not wanting to leave on a bad note, crouched next to her father, put a hand on his side and smiled up at him. I'll come round tomorrow, ok Dad? Help with some gardening?


Phil tried to listen to the radio, straining his ears to hear the football results under Stevi's sing-songing in the backseat whilst she butted the heads of two plastic ponies together. The car door opened and Melody got in, her eyes were red and she, in hurried, fluttering movements, wept away eager tears.

You ok? Phil asked, one ear still squinting to the tinny howls of the crowd.

He told me that this was a terrible reality.

Who did? Your old man?

Melody nodded, sniffed.

Some thanks, Phil scoffed whilst starting the car. Give him time love, he'll learn to appreciate what you've done for him. 

And they drove home.


Mr. Malpasso tried to go to space again that night, but he couldn't do it without his uniform, he just found himself lying in bed, feeling the sheets too tight around his body, and the space where his wife used to sleep, unoccupied for fourteen years. He wished her goodnight, said her name out loud as he had done all that time ago, and had not done since her death.

Mr. Malpasso didn't go to space that night, but he was no longer part of our terrible reality the following day.