“In my deepest mind I knew, I reminded myself before each game; stand in the shower in full kit and talk to myself, repeating his name, it was always the way – head against the wall then the mirror when the others had gone.”
The Year 2000
A green field, boys in blue shirts, their legs covered in dirt – the end of the game – it’s all over, said and done – a hug from my cousin Jon. The tunnel after, at the side of the pitch – rounds of applause, three cheers and more. Yet, I choose to ignore my teacher’s hand – as he’d made demand after demand. He kept me there that day – I’m still there now sometimes – but I didn’t want to stay – I just wanted to go home before the game. I also wanted him to go away – and leave me alone!
Off I walk, slowly at first, back to the changing room, away from the pitch, away from the other boys in their blue shirts, with legs covered in dirt. I last saw them stood there chatting, laughing, clapping – but he’s after me and he’s tamping! He shouts “Wait, just wait” – “You, disrespectful young boy” – these words, they now ruin my joy! I disappear round the corner, but his voice, it’s so loud, I want to hide, as I feel scared inside. That walk now turns to a run – and in a flash I’m gone.
I can hear the tapping of metal studs on the ground, that unforgettable clinking sound, tapping faster, and faster – as my feet pound. I stop at the double doors, and I can hear him still, he’s shouting and raging, that sense of fear begins to fill – I get inside where I think I’ll be safe – BIG MISTAKE!
“… frozen in space… “
If only I knew then what I know now, I’d have stood there and waited…for the other boys…those in the blue shirts…with legs covered in dirt…but they like me are still stuck – me in that changing room with his hand on my head – them on that green field chatting, laughing, and clapping – just a team of teenage boys frozen in space and time – just waiting to defrost.
2015 – 2018
I see the memory of rugby fields I’d “sleep” above; Sidmouth, Exmouth, and Torquay…these places were my sanctuary. Something…at that time no idea what…took me to these places, it wasn’t my choice, I just followed some “inner voice” …I’d sit there and stare all night at the pitch…just trying to scratch an unknown itch…but that itch opened an old unhealed wound…underneath a sky bemooned.
I must have gone looking for the other boys, those in the blue shirts…their legs covered in dirt…who like me were lost in time and place. I saw a picture of “me” from 2015, I did not recognise him…he looks lost, yet attempting to smile through, telling jokes to strangers in pubs, but his eyes they hold all the clues – they look blue, but only with sadness – not with colour that had drained away – the sparkle had gone.
His fat face bloated from booze, hair a mess, beard the same – this “man” was clearly in pain. At the time he knew something wasn’t right, but he was alone, lost, scared, and mentally bossed – hiding out in pubs p*ssed a lot. Pubs and bars, in faraway cities and towns, too many memories in my hometown to drown.
The Blue Shirt Returns
This is when I started seeing my blue shirt, my legs covered in dirt, most mornings just after that crash – when I start thinking back. The first time it happened – he delivered it to me in the flat, when I was alone, my ex-partner C was out at work for eight, she’d be gone early – great.
I heard a tapping, a faint clinking sound…not sure where from…was it from now(?) or days long since gone(?). Metal studs! Hard floor! A sound I could never forget – as the volume increased so did the dread! Then my eyes caught sight of him, at the foot of my bed, that tapping sound increased furthermore in my head – now like ear-shattering thunderclaps instead of the light clinking taps.
“…transfixed by his presence – yet frightened by his stares…”
I wanted to look away, but I was too scared, transfixed by his presence – yet frightened by his stares. He’d tried to kill me with the crash, or so he said, and this time he’d only stop when I was dead; he told me things will get worse – until and I quote “You leave in a hearse”.
He Follows Me
After this, he was there increasingly, waiting until C had closed the door…then he’d strike, he’d shout, he’d scream, he’d threaten me – during days and in dreams. My blue shirt kept coming, hanging up in the room, sometimes just out of my view.
Not just the shirt, but my legs always appeared covered in dirt (no matter how much I tried to scrub it off); also, a towel, rugby boots, and a school bag – all were mine…but not of that time! He didn’t always show up, sometimes just my stuff, but BELIEVE ME that was enough!
Who could I tell? What could I say? I tried, but I didn’t understand this anyway…so I turned it all into jokes…about nostalgia, times gone by, always harking back to the past…anything to get a quick laugh…as that would mask the confusion and pain just for another day.
No Chance
Every time he showed up, I was alone, it would normally start at home, but then he started following me to work…he was with me at the Vic – the b*stard was stalking me and making me sick.
Each day for months he was there; with me near the pool, behind machines in the laundry room, reflected in the glass I cleaned – just waiting for me to crack and give in – he wanted nothing more than to punish me again.
“I hit the cans to drown him out!”
When I was sent home, he’d win, laughing at me as I’d caved in, smiling his sadistic grin! He was then there more at the flat when I was alone, which is why I started to run away, to try and escape the man, as this time I thought I can…NO CHANCE…as how do you escape the thoughts and visions in your head(?).
Running was the wrong thing to do…but I had nobody…as who would understand(?)…so I hit the cans to drown him out! Cans, well booze, a pub or ten any night I’d choose – I didn’t care…then again neither did C…I could not explain this to her, she had, rightly, had enough…and wanted me gone – as I was a nightmare to be around.
T and Him
He’d got so far in my head, sometimes I’d see her as him, especially when she’d shout and scream – that’s why I was scared, worried, and confused – my solution, you guessed it, more booze!
He was winning by making me lose…in the end I had to choose…but it wasn’t just him…sometimes T turned up too…playing that tune (the reason I detest the Black-Eyed Peas and mention of 2003) …once I came to the flat and C had it on…so I turned around and started to run…as going inside just didn’t feel right.
Then when back outside, I sat on a bench, I couldn’t believe my sight…it was C… that song…it hadn’t been on in there, it was inside my head, like at the crash, when HE and T wanted me dead. HOW? HOW? WHAT WAS THIS?
“My solution – you guessed it – get p*ssed!”
My solution – you guessed it – get p*ssed! C never saw me that day, hiding in tears out of her way, she did not see me the next or the day after that, as I’d run off to somewhere…but where(?)…sorry dear readers – I haven’t a clue!
This started to happen more and more, being tormented by those two…T and HIM…working together inside my head…forcing me to run or quit – they’d only be happy when I was dead.
Lost In The Past
Thinking back, I’d sat and stared at rugby pitches for years, from the age of fifteen, never wanting to forget something, but never knowing quite what. Hours were spent just lost, looking out at the grass, head stuck in the past, body just about in the present…why this fascination? Was it an internal machination, to recall the day it all changed…?
People did see me, sometimes they spoke, just never directly to me, as I was never fully there, I was off in a daydream – well more accurately, a waking nightmare.
Snippets of memory would return, like snapshots from a film – then they’d fade – gone for another day.
Wake Up
In my deepest mind I knew, I reminded myself before each game; stand in the shower in full kit and talk to myself, repeating his name, it was always the way – head against the wall then the mirror when the others had gone – repeating the phrase – “WAKE UP, YOU STAY CALM, ANGER BE GONE”!
This started at fifteen and continued until my very last game, if it wasn’t done, I’d not play the same, yet when I did it, I’d feel the burn of shame. People occasionally saw me but never thought to ask, “Why are you doing that?”. Sometimes before playing, I’d go to the toilet – lock the door, cry and be sick – another thing that happened that day when it all changed…I never wanted to be angry on a field, or off, as look what happened when I once was.
“I’d go to the toilet – lock the door, cry and be sick …”
The Green Field
I don’t remember walking to the college, years after leaving, going into the grounds and wandering around; but I must have… as the principal followed me out and spoke to me. I’d apparently walked by some classroom windows, sat on a bench, and stared at that green field for a few minutes…before turning around and walking away.
I was disassociating, I know that now, but back then I just looked bemused and said sorry to him, before running away and crying, then going home internally dying. He told me I was behaving odd, he thought I was drunk, but I wasn’t – well not yet that day – later I was (AGAIN) solely to lock that shame away.
In hindsight I know what was going on in my head as I sat on that bench, I was watching a rugby match from the year 2000, play out in full view; seeing myself leave that green field…wearing that blue shirt…my legs covered in dirt…hearing studs tapping…I’d seen this before…more recently than it seemed…was it a dream(?)…this was my past it would seem – then how can I see and hear it now?
Those sights, those smells, those noises; my multi-sensory equivalent of hell.
I hope anyone reading that relates to any of the themes covered, or knows someone who does, feels safe and finds the right support to help.
Take care of each other.
Bemooned is an old word – meaning lit by the moon.
Tamping – it means angry (commonly used by Welsh people including my family).