Tom Boys Last Summer

Tom boys last summer

We lay there amongst the grass lazily absorbing the sky; I was absent mindedly picking clovers with one hand and twisting the leaves off one by one. I had long since given up trying to find the elusive four leaves, we had all found one at some point anyway so we felt lucky enough.

Julie was doing what she called her opera singing, it was annoying and nothing like those fat women I had seen on the telly anyway, to me she sounded like those chickens at the back of her neighbour's house when they thought you had food in your pocket. I told her to shut it and for once she did. She had her jewellery box at her side, the one with the pretty shells on top, some of them missing, a brown crust beneath that had at one time held them tight. I knew she had only brought it out so that she could show off. She was saying I could borrow anything I liked but I knew that if I agreed, the offer would vanish like a mosquito you are certain is trapped in your hand, evaporates as you give it light.

I wasn’t really interested in jewellery anyway; my Mum had a box at home, a Chinese one. It was black and had brass corners. In the middle was a picture of some sort of shed and a bird with long legs beside it. I used to enjoy looking in there when I was younger. The chains were always tangled up together in a knot with earrings hanging off when I lifted them out, like a crazy jumble sale of a charm bracelet. I liked to untangle them, felt like I was doing her a favour, though she rarely wore any of them. She had other things in there too, in between the dividers I would find hair grips, safety pins and some sort of seeds all covered in fluff and tobacco dust. It smelled a bit like her handbag but not as sweet.

I had always been fascinated with my Mums boxes and the things she kept inside, she had so many and over time I found out what they all held. I would do that when she was not around though, it’s not that she would have minded but it was more exciting doing it without her permission. Similar to when you pinch a chip off someone, it always tastes a lot better than if they were yours in the first place.

To me, each box was a treasure trove that may contain a dark secret, or a glimpse of the life she had before me. One box I looked in, one of her smallest, had a sort of mosaic of shiny stones in the shape of a flower on the lid. It was hard to open which to me meant whatever was inside it must have been very important, or very secret indeed. Not that I could hear anything rattling around inside. When I finally managed to prise it open I found inside a lock of golden hair, it was soft and shiny and held in place by an ancient piece of elastic band that now resembled a worm that had dried up in the sun. I wondered why my Mum had somebody’s hair in a box, I thought maybe she was a witch but that didn’t seem quite right.

We watched the others as they raced up and down the bumpy dirt track on their bikes and I wondered why everything had to be a competition with human beings. It was rare we played any games that didn’t involve one up man ship. Even my favourite game of making dens down the woods ended with a prize for the best den. The prize being whatever we could steal from our kitchens while our parent’s backs were turned. I had to admit that when I had won and had gone home with my winnings, that walk had been the easiest of my life, my pride a hovercraft beneath my feet.

I laid them out on my bed, one carrot, one mostly red apple that Pete had shined on his t shirt for me and best of all, a bag of space raiders, which I took quickly outside with me, up the old tree and into the tree house to feast on. It was nearly tea time and Mum would have gone mad had she seen me.

I could hear it now- Where’d you get ‘em? Who gave you the money? You better not have been stealing again madam! You wont want this lovely food I been slaving over a hot stove for then? She was always like that my Mum; ask ten questions before you got to answer one.

Now the boys had joined us on the grass, their bikes thrown down uncaringly to the ground, their jeans and shoes looked like they had been painted by Jackson Pollock with a limited palette. Tim had mud all up his back too cos he always rode through puddles too fast. My Mum said his mum must love washing.

The wind rose a little, shaking the Big Beech trees like paper rattles. The clouds drifted by above, the boys only seeing boobies and shitting arses in their forms. Julie tried again to gain some interest in her jewellery box but got even less response for her efforts this time and so wandered off to get lunch, her red curls bouncing sharply, showing her annoyance from behind.

As soon as Julie’s front door banged shut, Pete turned to look at me, giving me one of his long stares that he seemed to do a lot these days. Julie’s tits are bigger than yours but her arse is too big he said. I felt the heat rising from my neck and up into my face, prickling as it grew. I let my head hang forward so my hair would hide my shame. He let out a sadistic yet fake laugh and Tim joined in, although apparently unaware of what was funny.

My chest hurt, I mean it really hurt, worse than when me and Tim had fought and he had kneeled on it to pin me down. I hated the fact that my once flat chest, not unlike both Tim’s and Pete’s was now marking me out as different to them. My Gran had even brought up the subject of bras last weekend, though I had quickly escaped to the garden to play with her dog. I came in to find a catalogue left open at a page full of coffee coloured boob scaffolding. I had seen my Nan's bras and they were similar to those, as far as I knew all of them were like that cos my Mum didn’t wear one. When I asked why she said well you don’t need a shopping bag if you are only buying a strawberry. I had no idea what she meant but thought her nipples looked more like raspberries to me, though my Nan called hers cherries. I had no interest in wearing a bra and didn’t want to think about what fruit my nipples most resembled anymore so I quickly found the page that held remote control cars and the robot with the flashing lights and voice I had been seeing adverts about on Saturday morning. Now that, is seriously cool I thought. I didn’t hold out much hope of ever getting it though, last Christmas I got my little ponies! What an absolute insult, I was disgusted. This is why I hate opening presents in front of people, if they choose such an unsuitable gift, I feel insulted and then my face insults them.

Pete starts throwing grass at me, first little bits, then manically pulling great big clumps out, and hurtling them towards me while making the noise of a bomb falling. One hits me right in the mouth, earth flying onto my tongue and teeth. I roll away furious and quickly get up, Pete is still laughing, clutching his belly, when I kick him full force in the shin, he pulls his knee up in agony and hits himself in the lip. Now he is squealing and me and Tim are laughing, this time Tim being in no doubt about the joke.

I spit out my muddied saliva, Pete spits out a bit of blood, we’re even now I thought.

For the rest of that day I was part of the boy’s crew again, Pete refrained from any talk of tits and no more mountains were made out of my molehills.