Another Day

Another Day

The porridge was burnt, the coffee was made undrinkable by the inclusion of sour milk and the toast, the toast was an acceptable cremation. Breakfast? More like blitzkrieg! I had had enough and stormed out of the house leaving her silently weeping.

Out marriage had been a big mistake. It’s true that once lust is out of the way nothing remains. She had been a superb bed mate, but out of it, well less said the better.

Love? I don’t think Cupid was involved in this experience. Maybe Old Nick, but nothing amorous. Marry in haste, repent at leisure.

The day didn’t help. It was wet and not a crashing rain either, a wetting, effete mist that was neither one thing or the other. I turned up my collar and made my way down Summerfield Street. Huh, another misnomer. The street was full of rusty wrecked cars, broken glass and dirty, snottery nosed kids. More like Dumpfield Street! The odour of boiled cabbage, faeces and smoke permeated the atmosphere. Another local attraction!

I headed for a McDonalds. There at least I would get a decent cup of coffee and maybe a bagel. There was one on the corner and getting out of this rain would be a bonus.

As I approached I could see a procession of cars at the Drive By. It seemed as if a good proportion of the world had decided to eat out. I hoped that at least the inside would be fairly empty to allow me to savour the silence as I consumed my belated breakfast.

Fat chance! The local kiddy care group had brought their screaming kids in for a McD’s hat, balloon and colouring competition. I seethed as I stood in the queue as mummies asked their children what they would like for their meal.

“Fun Bag? Cheeseburger? Oh you want a big Mac? No you won’t be able to eat a whole big Mac! Have a Cheeseburger? Oh don’t cry, Mummy will order a big Mac and I will eat what you can’t manage. Now, do you want ice cream? What do you want in your ice cream? Smarties, Yorkie, Cadbury’s Flake…?”

I take a big deep breath and hold it, feeling my temper rising steadily. I try and remember what I was like when my parents took my sister and I out for a meal. My dad wouldn’t set foot out of his car before we had decided on what we were eating. Even mum had to make her mind up before we de carred. It wasn’t that he was a power freak but he liked order and attempted to create it wherever he expected chaos.

Suddenly a miracle occurs; one of the childrens’ mothers turns to me and loudly says.

“Let this gentleman to the front of the queue, we have all day!”

I am so astounded that I momentarily glanced behind. Gentleman? No one behind me, so it must be me.

“Aww thank you,” I blurt out. “A big Mac meal and white coffee please.”

“Are you sitting in or taking away?” The eternal question. To be or not to be? Ahh! The agony of choice!

“Sitting in,” I mumble after taking another very big deep breath.

So at last, serenity. I have my untainted coffee and a gorgeous smelling meal.

I eat a couple of french fries and carefully pick up the bun with intercalated layers which immediately begin to slide out in opposite directions until I am left with an empty bun and a polystyrene box full off various components from the big Mac.

Another deep breath and one by one I consume the integral ‘bits’.

I am fast becoming hyperventilated and may possibly faint. Fat chance, but why is everything stacked against me. Life puts the pressure on and then just when you feel everything begin to crack; it comes off momentarily followed by double pressure when it comes on again. If I couldn’t manage the stress the first time, how can I withstand double stress?

Micky D’s door opens and in walks an old man. He looks as old as Noah and I wonder why he isn’t in a home or something. He comes right over to my table and stands there looking at me.

“What?” I say. “What do you want?”

“Any chance you could buy me a drink mate?” he asks me in a deep phlegmy voice.

Milk shake, Coca Cola, Slurpy, Tea, Coffee…..I think as he just stands and looks.

And if slurpy or milk shake, what flavour? I suddenly realise that I better pull myself together or it will be me that will end up in the home!

“Yeh, sure my friend. Will coffee do?” I ask cordially.

“Aye coffee will do. Two sugars and milk.” he grunts.

When I bring back the coffee he grabs it and begins to chug it down.

“Watch out,” I yelp. “It’ll be hot!”

His coffee is drunk and still he sits and looks at me.

“You are an intrinsically unhappy man and you exude unhappiness,” he says after a few minutes contemplation. “What are you unhappy about?”

“Apart from having to shell out money for you coffee?” I facetiously start off. “Personally I think the World has dealt me a shitty hand!”

There, I had said it. I had often thought it but putting it into words effectively carved it in stone.

“You are very lucky you know,” the old man says. “So lucky that I can feel the beams of luck pouring out of you.”

“Yeah?” I say. “I’ll remember to put my Lottery numbers on this week.”

The man puts his hand out and lays it on mine. I feel a sudden homophobia, but I realise that his touch is relaxing. I feel all the tension in me go out and everything around become fuzzy.

“The fields of France were marshy bogs by the time me and my mates arrived. We met on the train before we got the boat over the channel. How smart we looked in our new uniforms with shiny belt buckles. We felt like gods and how we would charm the French ladies.” he says as pictures begin to appear.

We’re no longer in McDonalds, I can see a tortured horizon with the blackened stumps of trees standing like skeletons. The wind blows and I can hear the cries of injured men and smell faeces and blood. An explosion over to our left sprays stones and sand down upon us. I look across at the old man, but he is standing with a group of young men. They look keen and excited.

“Oh yes,” he continues. “We were excited and keen. We had seen the pictures portraying the Tommies beating the sausage eating Hun. It would be like taking sweets from a baby.”

I am standing in a trench. My feet are wet and I can see the bodies of dead soldiers lying about like litter. “Can’t we bury them?” I scream, but no one pays any attention, they are all looking at the bank of earth in front of us. A whistle sounds far away and is echoed and re echoed up and down the trench as the men scrabble over the top and go off towards no mans land.

“The guns cut us down like wheat. My pals from Blighty all dead. The Clark twins, Berty and Colin, Johnny Carter, Bill Farne and dear old Smithy Collins all lying dead in that mud. Always mud, it haunted you, it coated you, never left you alone!”

I am running holding a rifle with a bayonet sticking out. The shells are screaming overhead and exploding. The earth moves when one of these ‘bolts from the blue’ comes down. I have never, ever felt so alone. I feel I am the last man on Earth. And at any time I could be disseminated, destroyed or vaporised, or all three simultaneously.

“The guns are blazing from the slope above. The Jerry’s helmets are visible and offer some sort of target - if you could stop. But you go on and on becoming less and less as you get nearer and nearer. Till you are alone and it is you that everyone is relying on. It is you that must climb up and destroy the field gun post. It is you that must kill the foes – or be killed.”

I was looking down at four men in German uniform. One is firing a machine gun; one is feeding and endless belt of bullets into the gun. The other two are preparing themselves to defend the post. I have a grenade in my hand, I pull the pin out and drop it amongst the men. Suddenly they are all dead and I am triumphant. I look back across the meadow that has been sown with the bodies of my comrades. My pride turns to ashes in my mouth. Triumph, glory? Surely just a waste of men.

The old man removes his hand and McDonalds reappears. I realise that I have been crying for there are tears on my face.

“Where were we?” I mutter. “How did you do that?”

He looks into my face and says, “You are very lucky, don’t waste it.”

I have her in my arms and I kiss her tears away. The little soul is so cosy and warm and I know that deep down I do love her. And if I nurture her like a delicate flower the love will grow and blossom.

She leaves me for a moment and then returns carrying a plate with two bits of bread perfectly toasted and covered with butter as golden as her hair. In her other hand there is a cup of steaming hot coffee that smells like heaven.

She tells me she is sorry that she will try harder, but I kiss her excuses away and I say I’m sorry and that I will try harder.

The old man pulls the old blanket round him and prepares to sleep under the stars for the umpteenth time. He remembers the man who bought him the coffee and he hopes that what he gave him back will last him for a lifetime.

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