Wednesday 21 August 2019

The Supposed Truth


i)
“It’s not what you do, but what you’re seen to do that’s important.” She quipped with a wink. Paul looked at his soon-to-be-mother-in-law with contempt. The comment had been said with an innocent enough smile, amongst the applause, in a voice that she knew only he could hear. He so wanted to push her on to the stage or trip her, but he knew that he’d be the ultimate loser. He knew that Lesley would milk it for all it was worth and he’d also lose whatever support he still had from Jane, his fiancée. So he let inch her way, painfully into the centre of the stage and accept the award for “Fundraising personality of the year” –even though it was Jane who had done all the work. There’s never a precariously placed bucket of blood around when you really want one, he thought.

To hear Lesley tell her story she was a survivor; and there were certain facts that attested to that, but there was a lot to be said about how those facts were interpreted. Leo, her long suffering husband, used to beat her and she had the bruises to prove it. 
People were shocked when they first heard what had happened for Lesley and Leo had been the archetypal happy couple; a storybook romance if ever there was one. If any acting had been involved on either part then it was Oscar worthy for sure.
Nothing happened for the first ten years and then Lesley, who had never seemed vain or insecure, started wearing heavy make-up. No one said anything to start with, but after a few months the bruises started to appear on her arms and legs, and she wore long sleeves and trousers, even in summer.
It didn’t take long before the “truth” came out. Lesley was at the forefront of women’s lib in the ‘80’s and went back to work, succeeding in a male dominated office; and it was there that the truth surfaced.
The truth that Leo had been beating her…. But even when it was common knowledge it still took a year before she eventually left him. It wasn’t until she was hospitalised through a severely damaged spine that the police stepped in. Leo had kicked her mercilessly in the back…. At the time no one could understand what could possibly have provoked him, and no one really cared. All eyes were on Lesley. She still loved him though and attested to it being her fault, but eventually left him; knowing it to be traumatic for Jane, she had to strike it out on her own.
Her story became the talk of the village and all rallied around her. Leo barely managed to make it out of the village with his life; he was damn near lynched the moment he was released from police custody. Lesley couldn’t bear to press charges, she still maintained that it was her fault; that somehow she had provoked him.
Years later Paul found out the truth….

ii)
“You’ve got to believe me; there’s so much more to the story than what you know; what you’ve been told.” Leo was close to tears; ten years afterwards, nursing his beer as if it only happened yesterday; the events still leeching the life from him. This was no longer a man but a spent casing.
Paul was 17, had just started work at the local supermarket in the next town. He’d was also going out with Jane and was now well versed in the story, or so he thought. Who in the village hadn’t been? It was legend, but he’d been given a fresh re-telling just the week before; straight from the Lesley’s mouth; exactly two weeks after they’d gotten engaged. Even then it seemed a bizarre thing to do; to relive it in such detail and with Jane being an avid listener. Maybe to Jane it was now just a macabre fairy tale akin to those about the trepidations of adulthood and the dangers of marriage. Paul wondered if that was why he was being told; to serve as some kind of warning?
There was something in that retelling, though, that just didn’t ring true to him. He had grown up with Leo and had respected him as an authority figure. It was important for Paul now to hear the other side of the story from Leo himself. After all, Lesley was going to be his mother-in-law, and if there were any dangers it was better to be forewarned.

When Paul first saw Leo in the staff canteen he sat down and started talking to him as if nothing had happened. No one else ever sat next to him and Leo looked at him with fear and trepidation. He would have been aware of the gossip surrounding Paul’s proposal to Jane, guessed that Lesley had told him the story and, naturally, thought the worst. He seemed relieved when Paul asked him for a drink; someone was taking an interest in his side of the story. Obviously Paul never told Jane they were meeting up.

That night, dinner and a pint at the local pub next to the supermarket.
“So… tell me, Leo; I’ve met Lesley. She’s a nightmare an all..”
“You don’t know the half of it.” He interrupted and looked down into his pint; haggard and worn as the pub itself. He breathed deep, coughing against the deep cloud of smoke that hung in the air, permeating the conversations around. “I’ve not told another person, Paul. I doubt they’d believe me.”
“Try me…”
“To hear Lesley tell it I used to beat her incessantly; the bastard husband and she was the dutiful, sorrowful wife. But would you believe that what I did was out of self-defence? Desperation?”
“Oh, come on now… I’ve heard of excuses, but…”
“What about this then? Excuse this.” Leo pulled up his jumper and t-shirt. Even though the alcove where they sat was dimly lit Paul could still see the wound; as if Leo had been struck with something but the flesh was badly scarred. “A poker… clichéd as it sounds, red hot.  That was done the last night I saw her, when I was already on the floor. She’d already hit me two or three times and there was no way for me to escape. I dunno, something inside me snapped then. I knew I had to fight back. That’s when I lost control; it started out as self-defence.”
Paul was stunned. If anyone else had told him then would he have believed them? Even now, with the evidence right in front of him it seemed improbable; frightening even. But it was the sheer desperation in Leo’s eyes, the desperation to be believed.
“Why didn’t you tell the police?”
“You think I didn’t try? Do you honestly think it was the first time I’d tried going to the police? They didn’t believe me – a big strong man? I mean, you didn’t even believe me!”
“I don’t know, Leo.. I really don’t know what to say.” And Paul didn’t. He wasn’t one to be speechless but there were too many things that rung true. Leo could be trying to win back some sympathy, but why now after all these years? What would be the point?
“You could start by listening to what I’ve got to say.”

iii)
“Beware of Lesley.” Leo said as an opener. “She’s a skilled manipulator; it’s a learned behaviour as her mother was the Queen. I nicknamed her ‘Livia’ after the character in ‘I, Claudius’, except her poison was of a different kind but just as lethal.” Leo explained further. “Lesley learned her lessons well…and her sense of timing?” He shook his head and drank from the emptying beer glass in front of him. “For the first few years things were great; well, except for Livia trying to break the two of us up, but Lesley wouldn’t have it. She fought her tooth and claw and could get pretty nasty sometimes. Part of me actually felt sorry for her mum, y’know?
“You know, it hurts more now knowing it was just a part she was playing; that she was just biding her time until I could give her what she always wanted.”
Paul looked at Leo askew, unsure of what he meant. He had an idea but it was too monstrous to contemplate, Leo continued.
“Even when Jane was born things went well. Lesley was the loving mother; a little over-protective, possibly, but nothing major. I mean, with a mother like hers you could understand, y’know?
“Looking back on it now I can see what was happening; I was slowly being pushed to the back of the family unit. Work was becoming harder and we needed the money, so I saw less and less of them both. As time passed and Jane started school the snide comments started; gradual at first, then increasing in intensity and regularity. Jane was of an age now to bear witness to it all; I did what I could to make amends, tried to juggle work and home more but we were struggling financially. Even with all the hours I worked we were barely scraping by.
“When Jane finally started secondary school Lesley put forward the idea of working herself; bringing in another lot of money, fitting in her hours around the school day. I know that she’s made out that I was against it from the start but that couldn’t be further from the truth.” He shook his head again, reliving it all over again.
Paul saw this as a chance for a breather; it was becoming more intense than he’d imagined.
“I’m going to get another pint. Want one?”
“That’d be nice, Paul… Isn’t it my turn to get one in?”
“Just sit there, mate. You look as if you need it.” Leo just nodded.
Ordering the pint Paul just shook his head; it all sounded so fantastic. If it had been told to him by anyone else, or about anyone else he would have said that it deserved to be in a soap opera. But there were too many things that rang true for Paul to dismiss out of hand. He had gotten to know Lesley too well himself and had started making his own comparisons with how she’d behaved to him.
He’d known her most of his life, growing up in the village she’d always been more of a surrogate aunt to him; but since dating Jane their relationship seemed to have changed. Barbs had started to appear; serrated edges to some of the comments she’d make in passing.

iv)
Sitting down with Leo again they sipped their pints, almost afraid of what was coming next. “Things turned nasty the night I woke up handcuffed to the bed. She’d never shown any signs of being into that kind of stuff before, and at first I have to admit that it turned me on. We hadn’t had sex in a while so it was almost a welcome relief, but it showed another side to her that I hadn’t seen before. She seemed to relish being in control and, for my part I just laid back and enjoyed it… initially.”
Paul tried his best not to picture the scene; it was the last thing he wanted to imagine Lesley doing.
“It happened a few more times.” Leo continued, “Always unexpectedly and at first it was fun; arousing even… but then she started exercising more control, not letting me cum. I was already suffering because of stress at work and this didn’t help me at all. It got frightening sometimes, I don’t mind admitting to you, Paul. She ignored my protests and then denied any knowledge of what was going on when I tried to talk about it later.”
“It was just a game for her, then?”
“Oh yeah; for sure – one sick game.”
“Who’s Afraid Of Virginia Woolf…” Paul muttered.
“Worse; much worse at least their game was through willing participation. I was never willing!”
“What happened next?”
“She seemed to grow tired of me just lying there and she’d really try to provoke me. Push me into hitting back… but I wouldn’t… just couldn’t do it.
“Then one morning she came downstairs into the kitchen with a black eye. I was horrified and asked her how she got it. She seemed terrified of me and backed away; begged me not to touch her again.”
“But…”
“No. I never laid a hand on her, Paul. Seriously.”
“I want to believe you, Leo. Really I do. But what you’re telling me sounds too fantastic.”
“I couldn’t have hurt her; not like that –I know only too well what it feels like. My father, God rot his soul, used to take it out on both mam and myself. It’s a wonder I’m still here after some of the beatings he used to dish out.”
“I didn’t know that, Leo… I’m sorry… but you did hurt Lesley later…”
“It was either her or me. Things had spiralled too far… I’ll get to that in a bit. I know this makes for unpleasant listening, Paul, but you have to understand.” Paul nodded at Leo to continue. “Lesley knew about my mum & dad, but she was trying her best to find where I’d finally draw the line.”
“What about the black eye?”
“I don’t know… truthfully, I don’t know. I’ve never been able to figure it out. That leaves two possibilities –make up or she did it to herself. I don’t know which troubled me more…. Of course, she’d apply more foundation to the area when she went to work and did her best to hide it. This was all for my benefit at that stage; she wanted the torture to be psychological rather than just physical. She created this whole… abuse fantasy, that I was deliberately hurting her and nothing I said made any difference. She insisted that we slept in separate beds, which I was only too happy about.”
“So why didn’t you try to leave her?”
“And say what? What possible reasons could I give for wanting to leave her? She was so clever about it all… and then there was Jane to think about. I couldn’t let Lesley get custody of her; but I didn’t bank on what Lesley was telling her behind my back…
“I remember one night; actually the night when everything came to a head, Lesley had gone on a night out with her friends from work. I picked them up from the pub… I can just picture it now: she’d probably been bad-mouthing me the whole night. When they got in the car I could feel their stares and one of the even whispered ‘bastard’ at me when they left.
“Lesley was extremely drunk and all her inhibitions were gone. As soon as she closed the front door she was on at me. Slapping me across the face with such venom. That was the last straw –I’d had enough; I wanted out.” Leo took another sip and shuddered. “What I should have done was just walk out the door and maybe things would have ended different.
“But I didn’t… I went upstairs to pack.  I didn’t see Lesley go to the fireplace; pick up the poker that had been lying there all night. It was only when I felt the pain that I realised what she’d hit me with.
“She was behind me on the stairs –can you picture it?  So I must have fallen and taken her with me, but it was all a calculated risk. Each bruise she had she could blame on me.
“She was on her feet before I’d even stopped falling, and just started hitting me with the poker, again and again. She hit me in the same place, over and over so it wouldn’t show.
“I finally came to my senses after hitting my head on the way down, but I’d had enough. I managed to knock the poker out of her hands and then just kicked her legs from under her. I got up and she was just lying there, looking at me. The maliciousness in her eyes is a sight I’ll take to my grave; the sheer hatred that she directed at me.
“’She’s not yours and never will be.’ She said; her final words to me. I finally snapped and just lashed out; kicked her repeatedly where she lie. I just couldn’t think straight –it had been months of torture and I couldn’t take it anymore…
“But it was then that I heard Jane sobbing. I just broke down myself and cried. There was no going back from this; she’d been meticulous in her planning and when the police finally arrived she played her part beautifully.”
“Who called the police?” Paul asked.
“Jane… she must have been scared out of her wits… Even when the police came she wouldn’t even look at me. I failed her…The police didn’t care about my side of the story; and if I was in their place maybe I would’ve done the same. This is exactly how Lesley had planned it and she played to it perfectly; begging me to forgive her. I found it so difficult not to lose my temper again but I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction. I’d lost enough already.”

v)
Paul just let the conversation stall. It would have been far easier to just disbelieve everything Leo had told him. He’d had plenty of time to make something up, after all, but to see his wound, hear the emotion in his voice.
But what was worse; he could picture Lesley saying all those things and, if anything, she had become more manipulative. She was the Queen of emotional blackmail and thrived on getting people to do things for her.
Somehow she had become an ambassador for a local children’s charity. She arranged drop off’s and pick-up’s (which Jane organised and undertook) and day-trips for the children, and organised cake sales (which Jane baked for and ran).
Jane didn’t seem to mind; she doted on her mother –the whole village seemed to; commended her on the work that she did so selflessly; especially when she came from such a background. (one might wonder why she didn’t volunteer or raise money for a battered wives charity… ) Eventually she was nominated, and won, their coveted Fundraiser of the Year award. Of course, Lesley lapped it all up with great humility.
She used that night to tell Paul exactly what she thought of him: “She’s not yours to have, you know; regardless of what you think. She’ll never be yours, but I’m going to let her come to that conclusion on her own.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“Well… I guess I’ll have to nudge her a bit. It won’t take much… After all, it’s not what you do but what you’re seen to do that’s important. To her I’ll always be the loving mother.”

Paul let it stew for a while. The more he thought about what Leo had told him the more he realised what was at stake. Lesley had already laid down the law to him; regardless of what he wanted she wasn’t going to let him in. Yet why was she biding her time? Why not just force him out now?
He thought back to what Leo had told him and suddenly he realised… but it seemed so monstrous. It was the only thing that made sense though: she wanted a grandchild. He was being used, little more than a stud and when he had performed his part then he would be just cast aside.
Paul had to figure out what his options were. The obvious one was to just cut and run; have nothing more to do with either of them. It would certainly be easier, call the whole relationship off. … but he loved Jane; had done for years and was pretty sure that she felt the same.
Course, she had never been put into the situation where she had to choose between the two of them, which was another option, to be sure… but not one where Paul fancied his chances. The only other option was to confront her with the truth.

vi)
Which didn’t go down too well at all. Almost as soon as he dropped the ‘bombshell’ about seeing Leo things went from bad to worse.
“I know.” The exact last thing he expected her to say… 
Jane then summarised their entire conversation as if she had been there. “You really think that mum wouldn’t have found out? And then told me?”
So that was it, Paul thought, Lesley must have been told about his meeting Leo in the staff canteen (he hadn’t exactly been subtle, but it hadn’t occurred to him that there was any reason to be secretive) and then pre-empted the conversation with Jane and put her own spin on it –the supposed truth.
“And I expect you believe him?” Jane challenged.
“Well, I found it hard not to, baby.”
“Don’t call me that anymore.” She snapped. “I honestly thought you’d be different; that you’d see things as they really were rather than take the easy way out”
“I hardly see it as the easy way out, babe.”
“Don’t call me that!”
“You weren’t there; you didn’t hear what Leo said to me; the wound on his side… see the pain on his face when he told the story.”
“The wound on his side could have been make-up…”
“That’s exactly what he said about your mum’s bruises in the early days.”
“His story is right though, Paul. You weren’t there…” she snapped. “You weren’t there when he was kicking seven shades of shit out of her. He beat her, Paul!”
“You weren’t there either, Jane.”
“You bastard. How dare you?” I thought I’d really overstepped the mark then. That was the first time they’d ever had a real argument; he’d always stuck up for her before then and there had been no reason for her to doubt his love, despite what Lesley may have said.
“Listen to me, pet; please. I wouldn’t lie to you –especially over something like this.”

They talked for hours. It was like walking across a minefield for Paul; he was very aware that he could easily say the wrong thing at any time and was careful not to point the finger or make any spurious claim against Lesley, despite every fibre of his being wanting to do opposite. He knew that this was make or break time for them as a couple; there was no going back now.
He wanted Jane to keep an open mind; to see if there might be any grain of truth to what Leo had said. Nothing would be done with Lesley until a situation presented itself; Paul wanted so desperately for Lesley to hang herself.. and, as luck would have it, he didn’t have to wait long.

viii)
It was a holiday he had been looking forward to for some weeks. Initially it was just going to be the pair of them; a romantic weekend away, but when Lesley got wind of it she played her sympathy card and emotionally blackmailed Jane into bringing her along.
At this stage Jane was starting to believe what Paul had been saying. She had noticed little things: the way Lesley constantly tried undermining him; and it had definitely gotten worse since he had seen Leo.
Jane wanted to confront her mum then –she had been looking forward to the holiday herself. Lesley had become more ‘frail’ over the last few weeks; constantly needing attention. She had cancerous growths on her legs which seemed to flare up at all the wrong moments. Jane couldn’t help but feel resentment over the way she was treated, but then felt guilty despite herself. Part of her wondered whether the flare-ups were psychosomatic? There was a third alternative though.
Paul was against confronting Lesley until the time was right. He casually remarked that the whole holiday debacle would sort itself out. Chances are it would be cancelled last minute anyway.

In fact, the night before the trip…. Lesley rang up in the most dreadful pain and Paul seized his opportunity. This was the night of reckoning. The journey over was in complete silence. They both knew what had to be done.

“I’m so sorry”. Lesley said when they walked through the door.
“Bullshit”.
“Paul –that’s my mum, you’re talking to. I won’t have it any more; I really won’t! Not after what she’s been through.”
“After what? Don’t make me laugh! She’s a fucking menace!”
“I told you this would happen, Jane.” Lesley played her part perfectly. She was out to milk this, but Jane was having none of it either.
“Oh, shut up, mum. I’ve had enough. All I hear is your moaning; putting him down; the hardships… everyone else at fault except yourself… well, I’m sick of that as well!”
Even Paul was taken back by this, Jane was really laying into her mum. “I was really looking forward to this holiday and now you’ve ruined it!”
Almost on queue Lesley collapsed, her legs just giving way.
“Mum!” Jane cried out, catching her. They both carried Lesley to the sofa and sat her down carefully.
“I’m so sorry, Jane –I really am. I know how much you were looking forward to the holiday. I didn’t want you to know how much pain I was really in, but it was too much; I just don’t want to spoil it for you. You both should go without me.”
“I can’t just go without you, mum. I’m so sorry for doubting you. Let me have a look at them.” Lesley lifted up her dress so they could see the red scabbed welts on her legs. Lesley had done a damn good job on them; they looked so realistic.
Now was his chance.
“I’ve had enough. I’m calling your bluff, Lesley. I’m not having this anymore.” He got down on his knees before they could do anything about it. He picked an area on her legs that looked particularly fake and rubbed it with his handkerchief, hard. Lesley screamed out in pain and kicked him away with all her might.
To his horror the scab was real and rivulets of blood started to flow from the wound. There was a glint of triumph in Lesley’s eye but only Paul could see it. Jane slapped him hard and ran for the first aid kit.
“You’ve done it now, Paul. Thank you… I couldn’t have planned it better myself.” She said, a rictus of triumph across her face.
“I was so sure….”
“Thank God you chose the left leg, Paul. The trick is showing people what they expect to see, remember. The right leg had the make-up done…. It’s over now.”
“How right you are, mum.” Jane replied from the doorway. “For you it is over.”

Sunday 11 August 2019

Life as story conquest


These are the rules of a game; a game that you are probably playing at the moment. Who knows, perhaps you’re better at it than what you think. Which role do you play?
·       Each triangle is a “beat” or action.  The “aim” of the game is to control the board and / or the actions of the other players. Each role Is assigned a colour:
o   Persecutor = Red; Rescuer = Green;  Victim = Blue
·         There is actually an infinite number of beats in the game (as the board is actually fractal in nature) and the game can vary in length depending on the paths taken.
·         The board constantly tilts depending on the bias of the board, and who’s captured the most triangles or beats
·         By controlling the board the individual becomes the “Pole Position” at the bottom.
·         Each player can bring in surrogates which could, in turn, create a Koch’s Snowflake pattern externally and could equally create more of a bias depending on who brings in the third party and how quick the other players respond.
·         The game board takes place within “The Zone” which encompasses the board.
Movement in the zone can be discerned through cartesian coordinates on the x / y axis
·         It is possible for other players to enter the game from the zone at any time. This will change it from a three point game to a four point game. (Where there could be two rescuers, for example)
·         It is also possible to have a more complicated game where an advanced Persecutor is actually playing on a 3D board with two victims, independent of each other, and two conjoined Rescuers. (For example, the Persecutor could be playing one victim off against the other)
·         Equally the Rescuer could be called a Scapegoat if use by the Victim; especially if they are playing a more complicated game. In this instance the Victim becomes the Manipulator and the Persecutor could actually become the wronged party and the True Victim of the game.ie/
o   Victim = Manipulator
o   Rescuer = Scapegoat
o   Persecutor = Wronged Party / True Victim
·         Likewise, the Rescuer, depending on their own pathology, could be recruited by both the Victim and / or the Persecutor (or even running a game of their own!)
o   If the Rescuer is an independent third party then the bias could either work in favour for the Victims positive outcome (if a. the Victim is not playing a game themselves and b. the Rescuer is an enabler and not a victim themselves.)
o   If the Rescuer is already part of the Victims game and are actually victims themselves then this can either work in the Victims best interests or against them. This depends on a. whether the Rescuer is playing their own game b. a genuine enabler c. unwitting stooges of the Persecutor d. willing confederates of the Persecutor.
·         Of course, all three roles could be wearing false persona’s; therefore it is possible for there to be a game within a game.
o   The Persecutor could be a victim themselves (Bully syndrome) and might be part of a much older game. The Victim could be aware of this and be manipulating the circumstances even further.
o   Equally the Persecutor could be savvy enough, understand what the Victim (who has now become the Manipulator) is doing and choose to fight a much deeper game. Their roles would then be:
§  Persecutor = Prosecutor
§  Victim = Manipulator / Manipulated
§  Rescuer = Witness
There is no real end to the game itself; but it is possible to stop playing it. The temptation will then be for others to drag you into their games. This is where the willpower of the individual will come into play. A strong individual will refuse to play and the others will be left with two alternatives –keep playing or wise up themselves.

Friday 2 August 2019

Moonpie


There should be a distinction between growing up and becoming an adult: just as it’s possible for a child to be very ‘grown up’ there are some adults that never do. This is about Moonpie; an adult that never grew up, never lost his sense of magic and awe, and of what happened to him.
I was a child growing up in the ‘80’s; totally oblivious of all that was happening around me. Punk, the miners’ strike, the Cold War –all of that passed me by. To me it was ‘Stig of the Dump’, ‘The Adventure Game’, ‘Doctor Who’, ‘Star Wars’ and the best comics that pocket money could buy. I look back on those days now with fondness; it was the last of the innocent fantasies before the oppression and cynicism of the ‘90’s swept in.
One character loomed brightly during that era and even though I only knew him for a comparatively brief time he will always be intrinsically linked to those times and has greatly coloured how I see life.
Even at 10 years of age I was a loner, which is harder than it seemed in a small village where everyone knew each other. People flocked together, even then they had a need to take solace in group neurosis rather than strike it out on their own. But like my father and grandfather before me I was always looking for that path less travelled.
I was a reluctant Indiana Jones; a squeamish Alan Quartermaine –I had the desire to perform daring-do (and in my dreams I performed these fantastical feats with aplomb) but in reality there was a recalcitrance as I was far too much of a coward, and thought too much of the pain and consequences should things go wrong.
One day however I threw caution to the wind and finally got the nerve up to climb a tree. My first and only attempt, I might add. It could so easily have been a disappointing endeavour (not to mention a dangerously abortive attempt to meet the grim reaper) had it not been for one thing –it was through attempting this feat that I met Moonpie and my life would become so much more magical –for a while at least….
Climbing the tree was actually no problem in itself; it was far easier than I thought it would be and I actually found it quite exhilarating! I climbed almost to the top in no time at all (admittedly it wasn’t a tall tree, just an old oak) and as I surveyed my newly found kingdom and the surrounding wood I made the mistake of looking down; and then everything suddenly became very real. I suddenly realised how high up I really was, how far there was to fall and how much it would hurt… To say that my legs had suddenly become numb and useless was an understatement; how I managed to hold myself up for so long I have no idea. There was no point in shouting to anyone for help, there was no one around… all I could do was shut my eyes and hope for the best.
It was then that I heard my ‘saviour’ somewhere below me; his voice was gruff but, in the circumstances, angelic nonetheless: “Ho there, young fella! What goes?”
“I’m trapped up this tree… I can’t.. I can’t get down!”
“Right.. thought so! I could see you as soon as I walked into the wood.. Let’s see if we can’t get you down.”
I was too scared to do anything but nod my head, my eyes were tightly shut and all I was aware of was the precariousness of my situation, and just how stupid I’d been to climb this stupid tree.  I started to cry, which shook me more than anything. I wasn’t prone to histrionics but I think it was the first time I’d been aware of my own mortality –as strange as that sounds.
“Don’t cry lad; it will all be over in a jiff!” The voice came from nowhere; I never heard the sound of his approach up the tree but there it was, as if he was standing right behind me. “Keep your eyes squeezed shut, count to seven and we’ll be on the ground again.”
It was a strange sensation, I felt him standing behind me, his hands holding me under my arms and then it was as if I was travelling through a dark tunnel; extremely fast, like a bullet from a shotgun, even my ears popped.
“5..6..7!” He said, “Go on –open your eyes then!” I was almost afraid to, just in case I was still atop the tree. Adults lied –that was a truth that I’d learnt some weeks before. My Granddad had a wicked sense of humour and once told me that stinging nettles only stung people during the day and that if I grasped the nettles at night then they wouldn’t sting me.
However, upon my eyes that day I was shocked by two things: I was not only standing on the ground but right opposite me was the most bizarre, amazing looking man I had ever seen this side of comic books. He looked like a mad time traveller from another reality (which was exactly the way he described himself, I might add). His coat was a mis-match of styles, cloth samples and colours and everything clashed with everything else, but strangely worked as a whole. His dungarees had so many pockets, all bulging with stringlets and toys and sweets… his white t-shirt was the most normal thing about him.
He had an amazing mop of straggly ginger hair and a black bowler hat with two vibrant peacock feathers sticking out of it. He also wore the most audacious set of goggles I’d ever seen –a mixture of John Lennon granny spec’s and world war two aviation goggles. One eye piece even looked as if it had been taken from a child’s microscope! This was Moonpie.
“Safe and sound, backs on the ground, eh?” His voice was deep and warm, slightly cracked as if it had been broken long ago through overzealousness and enthusiasm and put back together with blu-tac and bubble-gum.
“Yes… thank you, Sir!” I replied.
“Sir…? Call me Moonpie, young Master –never Sir or Mr… or even Ma’am!” With this he mock-curtseyed. “It’s Moonpie… or Moon for short.” I liked him immediately, how could I not? To me he was a real life hero, a cross between the wackiness of Dr Who and Robin of Sherwood.
“Ok; thanks for getting me down again, Moon. But how did you know where I was?”
“I could see you, Danny boy; even from the far side of the wood… with these! The Great Moon sees all and knows all!”
“So how did you know my name?”
“The great Moon sees all…”
“..And knows all?” I replied, whatever he was on was contagious; I could feel my own ebullience rising again and all thoughts of being trapped atop of the tree were long gone. We walked back out of the wood.
“You going to be alright now, kiddo?” He asked.
“I guess so..”
“And you’re not going to go clambering on any more trees any more?”
“Nope –for sure.”
“Your feet were meant to stay on the ground, Danno.” This struck me as funny as I happened to look down and saw that Moon was walking barefoot.
“What about your own feet? Why aren’t you wearing any shoes? What if you tread on something?”
“Your feet might touch the ground but mine don’t.”
“Get outta here!”
“How do you think I managed to get you down from the tree so easily?” I must admit, he had me there and I started to ponder. “I could fly to the moon and back and you’d be none the wiser, but I’m not gonna! I could turn myself invisible and you’d never know any different .. but I’m not gonna do that either! Where would be the fun in that? The fun is in knowing you can do it NOT in the actual doing, Let everyone else believe what they like –what’s it to me?”
This guy was rapidly becoming my no. 1 hero!
We got to the edge of the village and we were about to go our separate ways when he stopped me.
“It’s probably best if you don’t say too much about meeting me, especially to your parents, Danny boy. I’m not seen in too much of a good light around these parts, chum. People think I’m a little strange, would you believe?”
“Really?” I wasn’t being facetious or sarcastic. I mean, sure, I could see it on a superficial level that people might think him odd but you only had to speak to him; spend any amount of time with him to see how cool he really was.
“No accounting for taste, eh? Thing is, people tend to fear the strange…. And I don’t want that any more, kid.” I just nodded and we parted our ways right there and then. Upon getting home I said not a word about my encounter with Moon, but I did tell them about my adventure climbing the tree. When they asked me how I managed to get back down I just replied:  “Very care-fully…”

I didn’t see Moon for weeks afterwards, though I thought about him often. Part of me actually wondered whether I’d imagined the whole thing; maybe I’d actually fallen out of the tree and this was all just a fever dream!
I was fishing at the local pond and it was there that I saw him: he was bent double, searching for something and I swear I could almost hear him make strange snuffling noises. At no time did he look up from this strange behaviour so it wasn’t long before he was sniffle-snuffling right up to my knapsack, where I kept my sandwiches and snacks. Only then did he look up at me with a vague expression as if I was the one who didn’t belong there. Then he winked at me and said one word, as if it made all the difference in the world: “Truffles.”
He straightened up and made elaborate motions as he dusted himself off. Surprisingly I could now see that he wore exactly the same outfit as the last time. He noticed me staring at him.
“If it worked for Einstein then why not me?” I just raised my eyebrow. “Einstein…. Pint-zized genius; patent clerk come inventor of ze big bank? Anyways; he bought seven sets of the same clothes so it would be easier for him to choose what to wear each morning. The way he saw it: the few choices he had to make, the more brain power he had left for his great theories. I mean, you got to hand it to him… “ He pondered this for a bit and scratched his bristled chin. “’course…. His clothes were plain… plane, plaiine, plaaaaane!! I could never stoop so low! You know how hard it was crafting seven sets of the clothes as original as these? How much thought went into picking the exact colour combination you see before you?? I mean…”
“I can’t imagine…” I replied, checking out my float for signs of activity; just as before.. nothing. Moon noticed this and smiled.
“Want a hand?”
“As long as you don’t start clapping..”
“I knew there was a reason why I liked you… it certainly wasn’t your comic timing.” Patting his multitude of pockets he eventually found exactly what he was looking for: a very long, thin plastic tube with two s-bends on the ends. I was reminded of watching sword swallowers as he produced this… gizmo. One end was shaped more like a whistle and this piece he placed in his mouth whilst the other he plonked in the water. 
“Behold!” He suddenly remarked, “the fish-whisperer!” He looked at me and winked. “The trick is not to suck…” he then blew down this tube and… nothing happened. “And now we wait…”
As luck would have it we didn’t have to wait long; barely five minutes from the time Moon blew his extraordinary whistle till I was getting the first enthusiastic bite…. Which, of course, I lost; probably through my relative inexperience… And I lost the next one as well.. and the next after that. Moon looked at me and shrugged: “One can only do so much.” He gave me the ‘Fish whisperer’ and I’ve still got it, but it’s never worked the same way since.
He then attempted to sit down next to me. What I mean by that is that, out from those myriad pockets he managed to cobble together a rather rickety stool. We sat there for some time. I can’t remember what we talked about, but I know that it must have been meaningful in the way that most conversations are when you’re young and impressionable. (So full of meaning but easily forgotten when then next incredible conversation comes along)
The mist was starting to rise on the pond and the bats were now skimming the waters edge. I hadn’t realised how late it was or how dark it had become, looking about I could see there was a mist all around us now.
“Cripes; I’ve got to get back home. Mum & dad will be worried sick by now.”
“Don’t worry, kiddo; walk into the fog and you’ll be there in no time.”
“Are you crazy?”
“When have I ever led you astray?” he looked a little hurt by that comment, but I just raised an eyebrow at him. “Let’s put it this way -  you don’t have an awful lot of choice now.” He was right. I hated mist and fog; it was the stuff of nightmares and cold-sweats, but Moon was right, damnit, I didn’t have any choice now. “You worry too much. Just walk into the fog and picture where you want to be. You’ll be there afore you know it!”
He punched me lightly on the forearm and I did what I was told: walked into the fog, with my eyes closed, I might add. I walked into the fog with my mind set on my home; the inviting lights of my own front door and the angry love of my parents acting like a beacon.
“Open them now, kiddo.” Came a whisper in my ear. So startled was I that I actually bumped into my own front door. In less than five seconds mum and dad were there, door open with their “what time do you call this” and “we were worried sick”.
I was so relieved that it had actually worked that I almost told them about Moon. Instead I spun stories of the amount of fish that I almost caught; of the behemoths that got away. (is it any wonder I became a writer? All those tall tales I spun from such a six pence…)
I went to bed soon after and stripped all my clothes for wash day. What I hadn’t done was empty my pockets and, of course, dad found the ‘Fish whisperer’, but I never found out until later.

Things change –time has a way of affecting people; children more so. Some people call it maturation of the spirit, others growing up; a time of putting aside childish things and leaving awe and wonder behind, joining the rank and file of the spiritually undead.
When I next saw Moon I was with a group of ‘friends’. About three months had elapsed and I had moved into a new class at school and somehow gravitated towards people my own age. Somehow our relative insecurities affected us less when we hung around together. We could pretend that they didn’t exist, especially when we took them out on some other poor soul. It would be fair to say that, despite my original naivety, I had grown into quite a bully. I take no pride in saying this; I look back on that part of my life with shame, but it didn’t last long, thankfully. And, in a very sad way, I have Moon to thank for that as well.
 There were about six of us, of varying ages, that hung around together. The eldest was called Alex and because he had just read “Clockwork Orange” saw himself the leader of his very own gang of Droogs. Thankfully, he wasn’t violent and saw himself more as a mischief maker than a psychopath. Consequently he only harassed people by shouting at them rather than beating them up.
Yes, it all sounds very infantile and inexcusable and there’s nothing much I can say to make it better or explain it away. All I know is that my home was no longer the sanctuary I remembered.
In those few months my parents were no longer speaking to each other in the same way and my father seemed embarrassed to talk to me –almost as if there was something he wanted to ask me, but couldn’t bring himself to.
On this particular day we had it on good information that a tramp had been seen in the local playground. (I say playground, but this is not a representative description.  It was a dilapidated collection of broken swings, peeling and rusted slides and a very questionable sandpit.) We had to investigate. A tramp? In our village? It was almost obscene to think of such a thing.
I didn’t recognise the man… I mean, how could I? The last time I saw him his clothes were so bright and bold, like him. This man’s clothes were in tatters; dirty and worn, no colour left in them at all. He was lying, huddled up in the corner of the playground, his head turned away from us, almost as if he was trying to lose himself in the hedge.
Alex started nudging the man with his foot so he’d turn around –far better to insult someone when they’re facing you. Eventually the man turned round and garbled obscenities and even then I didn’t recognise him. His voice was broken; his beard was matted and streaked in mud, and caked blood there were livid contusions on his cheeks and forehead and it looked as if his nose had been broken recently. But it wasn’t until I saw his goggles –the cracked and warped goggles- splayed on his forehead that I realised with horror who it was.
I snapped; terror and incomprehension blinding me; I lashed out at Alex and the rest of the gang, driving them off; screaming at them to leave him alone. They walked off, jeering; calling me a tramp lover. I didn’t care; I was left alone again… cradling the dying fragments of my childhood.