ALL TIE AND SHORT TROUSERS

by Weirdmonger

The cracks in the broken lounge window were a frightful sight to the small boy in the garden who had created them.  Merely one lapse of concentration had caused THIS?  He couldn't quite believe his bad luck.  The ball should never in a million years have bounced so awkwardly in that direction, by all the laws of the universe known to man (or boy).

Suddenly, but not quite so abruptly as that word usually implied, he noticed the little girl from next door staring at him:  in fact, her round face had been poking above the dividing hedge for quite some time now, he had suspected from the corner of his mind's eye.

"You're going to get into REAL trouble."  Her voice was nerve-racking.  More a whine than a sneer, but worse than both put together.

He shrugged.  He wasn't going to waste breath on the likes of HER.

Still, if it weren't for her obvious status as a material witness, he could probably fob off the whole matter with, at worst, a fib but, at best, a winning smile.  His aunt DID have a soft spot for him, after all, and would want to give him the benefit of any doubt.

His great goal in life, even if it wasn't articulated properly, was, indeed, to surround himself with as much doubt as possible.  Doubt, for him, represented wreaths of cloudy mis-doing which prevented all heroes and villains alike from receiving their just deserts.  Even on his good days, he raised the dust of doubt about him so that on his bad days it would look no different.  It was a philosophy deeper than the meaning of life itself.

At school, his exercise books were full of crossings out and blots, most of which were designed to confuse the teacher.

If he ever managed to grow up, he would probably have posters of ALL the political candidates in his window during election campaigns.

Which brought him back to this PARTICULAR window on this PARTICULAR childhood campaign for grown-ups' votes, when, with the beady eyes of that girl upon him, all doubt had flown from both.

Unless, he could do something about it.

Suddenly, and this time he WAS taken unawares, he heard his aunt's voice immediately behind him.  He swivelled on the balls of his feet at the same time as removing the startled look from his face.

"Hello, Auntie Win, did you enjoy your trip to Marley?"

"Yes, dear.  Have you had a nice time playing in the garden?"  She glanced up at the little girl who was by now smirking from ringlet to ringlet.  "Why don't you invite Marcia in to play?  You would like to play with Philip, wouldn't you, Marcia?  You could get out your prize marbles, couldn't you, Philip and have a proper game for once, with someone else to play against."

Marcia nodded, her beaming even broader.

Philip nodded, too, his mouth set in a determination to disown any emotion whatsoever.

Then, suddenly, there was stony silence, even though Philip's wishful thinking had not anticipated this expected turn of events.

Aunt Win was staring straight at the crazed pane of glass.  To Philip, the cracks spoke volumes in every formulation of their shape, almost depicting a caricature of his own face.  He tried desperately, by squeezing his eyes open and shut several times, to redesign them into a childish map of Marley and its area, but each time they settled back into his own ugly chops.

The game was over.

Until Marcia piped up: "I saw who did it ... one of those gypsies from the common."

This was probably the most unexpected event which the laws of the universe had ever allowed or is ever likely to allow, he thought, without even one revealing blink of surprise.

The earlier bounce of the ball and now this new turn up for the books ... this was indeed a STRANGE day ... one in which history would record  that Philip fell in love for the very first time (but not the last) ... except he did eventually learn to cover his amorous tracks in clouds of billowing doubt.

Broken hearts and broken windows would, however, all be counted up on Judgement Day.


Published ‘Momentum’ 1992