this nonsense first appeared in issue 17 of Open Wide Magazine
… He gives in all to easily though. Throws in his hand, like he know he’s beaten, takes a big breath and draws himself up to his full height, opening his mouth wide and singing in a beautiful, if slightly fragile voice. I don’t recognise the song but it has a sort of jazzy after hours feel and is something to do with trees and fruit. It is the most jaw dropping, heart wrenching sound I’ve ever heard. His eyes are shut and his head tipped back and the sheer clarity of Benson’s voice rocks me. He finishes on this really long note and as it fades his eyes go all sort of watery and stuff. Benson wipes his eyes and nose on his sleeve and stares ahead silently. Now I want to tell him stuff, to let him know how much he’s hurt me and how I wished it had been me who’d mangled his leg on the football field all those years ago. If he only knew how many times I’d murdered him in my dreams and how I’d rehearsed aloud in the cab what I’d say to him if I ever came across him. If he knew how much I hated him for ruining music lessons and making me feel so useless. So here he is, in the cab, staring at me and making me feel useless all over again but he has this amazing voice, managing to hit every note perfectly and now he’s just waiting … waiting to see what happens next. Waiting to see if I’ll hit him, swear at him or throw him out onto the road or lock him in the boot whilst I cruise around town like some sick maniac. The door clunks as it’s released. Benson is free to leave but doesn’t. He just sits staring at the back of my head before announcing, “I do remember you now … quite clearly in fact. You stand out as one of them most unpleasant kids I ever taught and you disrupted my class. You’d no right to do that young man. You’d no right to ruin it for everyone else.”
He won’t leave and just sits and for some reason I can’t turn around. Benson didn’t like me because I’d misbehaved in his precious music lesson and it is as simple as that. Perhaps he hated me because I knew that he couldn’t cut the mustard. I could see the Emperor was naked. I knew he was musically impotent!
Today in my puck ridden cab he auditioned. A moment in the spotlight as he sang for his supper. Today he was a star and he’d proved it to himself and his audience of one.
“Leave now!” I gulp.
“Thought you’d got big plans. You and your mates were all going to do great things. You’re how old? No don’t tell me you’ll make me feel ancient … and you’re driving miserable old cripples like me to the hospital. Really showed me didn’t you?” Benson then kicks the door open with his good leg and gets out, clinging onto the side of the cab for support. And, yeah, before you ask, I did think about it – putting my foot to the floor, leaving him a sprawling crippled mass on the concrete.
Upright and dignified Benson hobbles up the pathway to his front door and I watch every limping step … can’t take my eyes off him in fact. He turns to salute me before lurching inside.
* * *
After I clock off I go straight to my room to wash the two mugs which have been on my draining board since Gill left, scrubbing really hard to remove the tea stains. Don’t want her thinking I’m dirty stinky, Then I tiptoe downstairs, in the dark and leave them outside her front door. When I get back I’m on the phone to Philpot.
“Alright Philpot! Watcha’ doing?” I ask.
“Sleeping,” he replies groggily.
“Let’s start rehearsing again at the weekend.”
“Got a drummer?”
“Nah, let’s get a computer or something shall we.”
