Status: my entry for the ultimate 2016 contest, 1/12, completed
You're a Bum, You're a Punk
II.
Sam had plenty of misgivings as he locked the door of Noel’s pretty, if rather worn Corolla onto himself. He typed up a text to one of the guys, i cant make it tonight, text me l8r abt hw the party is going, hope im not getting killed. He deleted the last part before pressing send. The car pulled up in front of his building twenty minutes later.
“Come up for a smoke?” he offered as he unbuckled himself. Noel laughed at him.
“I might rob you.”
Sam laughed right along. “There’s not much for you to take.”
Inside, he poured them a glass of water each, put on a warmer sweater and lit a cigarette. He was about to pocket the card when Noel reached out for it, stating, rather than asking, “Can I see.”
Sam tried to protest, “it’s personal,” but the boy went ahead and plucked it out of his hand. He smiled at first, then frowned as he turned it over, then smiled again at the end.
“What happened here?” he asked, pointing at the blood stain.
“’ad a nosebleed,” said Sam defensively as he took the card back and slid it into the pocket of his bomber jacket. “Maybe we should get going.”
The Corolla glided through the city lights patiently, like a sailboat in a light breeze, only the sea was made of fog, white waves of mist rolling heavily against the side of the car. As the lights thinned, Sam felt the tension slowly seep out of his limbs. “Do we have to listen to Christmas songs?” he asked, not even properly sullen now.
Noel only replied, “yes. It’s Christmas, innit.”
He must have fallen asleep. Noel was nudging him in the shoulder repeatedly. “Wake up, mate.” Something didn’t feel right in his head. It was too cold and too warm at once. And there it was, “your nose is bleeding again.”
“Fuck,” Sam muttered, pressing two fingers to his nostrils. Noel handed him a bunched-up tissue, and he accepted it gratefully. The car came to a slow stop by the side of the road.
“Do you want to get out for a bit?” asked Noel patiently, as if he had been living with Sam’s nosebleeds for years. Hot and dizzy, Sam stepped out into the chilly air. Leftover snow crunched under his feet, and a few drops of blood escaped, leaving a mark against the bright white. He heard Noel’s voice from beside him,
“are you ill or something?”
He shook his head vaguely and pulled his fingers away to check if the blood was still leaking.
“It just happens when I’m, uh, stressed,” he explained weakly. “Not this often, usually.”
“You’re not dying, are you?” Noel teased, and Sam managed a weak laugh.
“I hope not,” he replied, and as he said it, he realised he wasn’t even sure what he was hoping for.
They were about halfway now and the darkness ahead was long and soothing. They stopped at the next petrol station, and Sam bought coffee while Noel filled up the tank. They sat down at one of the sharply lit faux marble tables inside, letting the paper cups warm their hands.
“Will you tell me the story now,” again, Noel stated instead of asking. Sam tried to play stupid, but failed.
“What story?”
“The one that’s giving you nosebleeds. This little James person.”
Sam scrunched up his nose.
“There’s not much to tell. I mean... what do you wanna know?”
Noel shrugged. “Why was he miserable a year ago? Why aren’t you friends anymore?”
Sam looked up from his coffee and gave him a bitter laugh.
“This time last year I was trying to manipulate him into not getting married. It drove him up the wall, but that really wasn’t the final nail in the coffin, you know? I hounded him until he moved away, and that was one thing, but I also ruined his wedding.”
Noel snorted in his coffee. “What did you do?”
Sam rubbed at his eyes; the lights were too bright, and he felt like they were lit somewhere inside his head. “Well he still invited me, and I told him I wouldn’t go. But then I showed up anyway and got really drunk. I didn’t do anything disastrous, it was just...” He went silent. His cheeks were burning with shame. Noel was silent for a good few seconds.
“Why did you do all that though?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I was in love with him.”
Noel looked at him, long and meaningful, something accusatory in his eyes.
“You’re immature,” he said finally. “Love is stupid.” Sam looked away, deeply hurt.
“I know that now, don’t I.”
There was something terribly, surprisingly soothing about the villages leading up to Sheffield. Sam navigated them with ease, following the straight roads across, ignoring the tiny, winding streets leading to cul-de-sacs. It was all so claustrophobic and comforting at the same time.
Noel glanced at him, smiling, as they turned into a wide street lit abundantly with Christmas lights. “You’re from around here, aren’t you.”
“From Sheffield,” he admitted.
“Aren’t you coming home for Christmas?”
“My mum’s husband doesn’t like me much. You’re gonna need to take a left there.”
Noel turned the wheel gently, and after the car turned around the corner, he looked at Sam again, longer this time. “But you hate London.”
Sam felt the skin on his cheek warming up under the gaze. “I can’t breathe in London.” There was no reply, so he added, “what about you?”
This earned a quiet laugh from Noel. “Why do you think I drove a stranger across country a day before Christmas? Same as you, I guess.”
But Sam wasn’t listening. He studied the street intently, then looked at the back of the postcard in his hand, then the map on his phone, then back at the street again. He touched Noel’s arm and softly said, “Stop! Stop here!” He pointed at a narrow white house across the street. “I think this is it.”
“Come up for a smoke?” he offered as he unbuckled himself. Noel laughed at him.
“I might rob you.”
Sam laughed right along. “There’s not much for you to take.”
Inside, he poured them a glass of water each, put on a warmer sweater and lit a cigarette. He was about to pocket the card when Noel reached out for it, stating, rather than asking, “Can I see.”
Sam tried to protest, “it’s personal,” but the boy went ahead and plucked it out of his hand. He smiled at first, then frowned as he turned it over, then smiled again at the end.
“What happened here?” he asked, pointing at the blood stain.
“’ad a nosebleed,” said Sam defensively as he took the card back and slid it into the pocket of his bomber jacket. “Maybe we should get going.”
The Corolla glided through the city lights patiently, like a sailboat in a light breeze, only the sea was made of fog, white waves of mist rolling heavily against the side of the car. As the lights thinned, Sam felt the tension slowly seep out of his limbs. “Do we have to listen to Christmas songs?” he asked, not even properly sullen now.
Noel only replied, “yes. It’s Christmas, innit.”
***
He must have fallen asleep. Noel was nudging him in the shoulder repeatedly. “Wake up, mate.” Something didn’t feel right in his head. It was too cold and too warm at once. And there it was, “your nose is bleeding again.”
“Fuck,” Sam muttered, pressing two fingers to his nostrils. Noel handed him a bunched-up tissue, and he accepted it gratefully. The car came to a slow stop by the side of the road.
“Do you want to get out for a bit?” asked Noel patiently, as if he had been living with Sam’s nosebleeds for years. Hot and dizzy, Sam stepped out into the chilly air. Leftover snow crunched under his feet, and a few drops of blood escaped, leaving a mark against the bright white. He heard Noel’s voice from beside him,
“are you ill or something?”
He shook his head vaguely and pulled his fingers away to check if the blood was still leaking.
“It just happens when I’m, uh, stressed,” he explained weakly. “Not this often, usually.”
“You’re not dying, are you?” Noel teased, and Sam managed a weak laugh.
“I hope not,” he replied, and as he said it, he realised he wasn’t even sure what he was hoping for.
They were about halfway now and the darkness ahead was long and soothing. They stopped at the next petrol station, and Sam bought coffee while Noel filled up the tank. They sat down at one of the sharply lit faux marble tables inside, letting the paper cups warm their hands.
“Will you tell me the story now,” again, Noel stated instead of asking. Sam tried to play stupid, but failed.
“What story?”
“The one that’s giving you nosebleeds. This little James person.”
Sam scrunched up his nose.
“There’s not much to tell. I mean... what do you wanna know?”
Noel shrugged. “Why was he miserable a year ago? Why aren’t you friends anymore?”
Sam looked up from his coffee and gave him a bitter laugh.
“This time last year I was trying to manipulate him into not getting married. It drove him up the wall, but that really wasn’t the final nail in the coffin, you know? I hounded him until he moved away, and that was one thing, but I also ruined his wedding.”
Noel snorted in his coffee. “What did you do?”
Sam rubbed at his eyes; the lights were too bright, and he felt like they were lit somewhere inside his head. “Well he still invited me, and I told him I wouldn’t go. But then I showed up anyway and got really drunk. I didn’t do anything disastrous, it was just...” He went silent. His cheeks were burning with shame. Noel was silent for a good few seconds.
“Why did you do all that though?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I was in love with him.”
Noel looked at him, long and meaningful, something accusatory in his eyes.
“You’re immature,” he said finally. “Love is stupid.” Sam looked away, deeply hurt.
“I know that now, don’t I.”
***
There was something terribly, surprisingly soothing about the villages leading up to Sheffield. Sam navigated them with ease, following the straight roads across, ignoring the tiny, winding streets leading to cul-de-sacs. It was all so claustrophobic and comforting at the same time.
Noel glanced at him, smiling, as they turned into a wide street lit abundantly with Christmas lights. “You’re from around here, aren’t you.”
“From Sheffield,” he admitted.
“Aren’t you coming home for Christmas?”
“My mum’s husband doesn’t like me much. You’re gonna need to take a left there.”
Noel turned the wheel gently, and after the car turned around the corner, he looked at Sam again, longer this time. “But you hate London.”
Sam felt the skin on his cheek warming up under the gaze. “I can’t breathe in London.” There was no reply, so he added, “what about you?”
This earned a quiet laugh from Noel. “Why do you think I drove a stranger across country a day before Christmas? Same as you, I guess.”
But Sam wasn’t listening. He studied the street intently, then looked at the back of the postcard in his hand, then the map on his phone, then back at the street again. He touched Noel’s arm and softly said, “Stop! Stop here!” He pointed at a narrow white house across the street. “I think this is it.”