A collection of poems and other writings...

Tuesday 14 October 2014

Ryan and Kenny

He was sat on the wall when I first saw him, hugging his knees to his chin.  Like a cat in the sunshine, I thought – but actually, no.  As I came close I saw the furrows in his brow, the slight pallor in his cheek.

He watched me approaching from the corner of Peel Street; his gaze focussed, demanding.  But it was only after I had passed him that he spoke.  Quite softly.

             -     He will be all right, won't he?

It seems we had been conversing all the time – in his head.

I turned to look back at him.  He was evidently close to tears, or at least as close as a ten year old boy would allow himself.

             -     Sorry?

I had missed the rhythm of my step and had to allow him his say.

             -     He'll be all right, won't he?

It was a genuine question.  He sought reassurance but the tone of his voice implied that I should actually know the answer.

             -     Who?
             -     Kenny.  I didn't mean to hurt him, he said.

He so needed me to pick up the thread.  His lip quivered.  But then sudden fury.

             -     But he was being such a fucking twat!

A tear spilled down his cheek.  He angrily pushed the ball of his thumb into his eye to stem the flow.

             -     Did you have a fight? 

Brilliant deduction.  I was all over it.

             -     He was asking for it!  So I give him a tap.  He was asking for it.

Poor kid, I thought.  He's frightened himself.

             -     So I hit him…
             -     I expect he'll be fine.
             -     ...then the ambulance came and they picked him up, but they couldn't wake him.  Fucking twat.  Why wouldn’t he wake up?  It was only a tap.

An ambulance?  Blimey!  Maybe I should shut up.

             -     … on his head …with a bit of brick.  He will be all right won't he?
             -     Er… They know what they're doing.

I floundered for words.  He needed something to cling to but for all I knew Kenny was dead.  I couldn't just make it up.  Hit on the head with a brick. Death was not unlikely!

I could just see him stood over the limp boy, bloodied brick in hand.  Perhaps a passer by raising the alarm – 999.  Then him, just stood there, while yellow-vested paramedics busied themselves dressing the wound; trying to revive their comatose patient; asking questions: 

             -     What's his name, son?
             -     Kenny.
             -     Kenny?  Can you hear me, Kenny?

Nothing.

             -     We're taking you to hospital, Kenny.  Kenny.

Nothing.

             -     Who are you, son?  You his brother?
             -     Yeah.
             -     What's your name, son?
             -     Ryan
             -     Well, Ryan, can you go and get your mum?  We'll need to take Kenny in to treat him straightaway.  Your mum'll need to know.

They must have disappeared off leaving Ryan struggling with the enormity of knowing nothing.

             -     Did you tell your mum?  I asked
             -     Mrs Webb went.  Me mam's at the hospital.
             -     Who's at home then?  Maybe you should go home and wait.  Where's your Dad?  Will he be home soon?
             -     Christmas.
             -     Sorry?
             -     He's on rigs.  Oil rigs.  He won't be home while Christmas.
             -     Oh…

Nothing else came. 
Reluctantly I succumbed to the silent fog invading my brain.

I stood there looking at Ryan. 
He looked at me – waiting for me to become of some use.

Nothing.

After a dumb, eternal moment, a police car drew up on the other side of the road - no siren but the lights were flashing.  The back door opened and a woman with untidily bleached hair got out onto the pavement.

             -     Ryan, she barked.  Get here now!

She scowled at me.

Ryan slid from the wall, rucking his track suit bottoms into the crevice between his buttocks.  He stepped into the road pulling at the cloth.

             -     Watch the bleeding traffic!

Ryan hesitated as a van volleyed passed him.  Then more carefully he stepped off the pavement and ambled across to his mother.  She grabbed his shoulder and pushed him into the car.

I stepped back and leant against the wall, and watched the vehicle speed away.



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