The pace of the afternoon was slow, but the heat made slow the only possible choice. As with all times like these the second hand did it’s best impersonation of the minute hand and the mind began to race.
Jamie stood there staring at the group of his fellow climbers and wished his mind would stop, I suppose the constant inputs from the boredom machines, the social sites and the constant comparisons had trained the mind to move fast. Removed the ability of the mind to go slow or encouraged the mind to constantly evaluate. He shook his body like a dog shaking his fur after being told off by his master, literally shaking the anxiety from his body.
‘So what do you do for money?’ The tall blonde man said to Jamie, surprising him. Jamie looked around the cliff checking that the question was directed at him.
‘Ummm…’ Jamie stuttered, not entirely sure how to answer. ‘I have an apartment I rent.’
‘Perfect’ the tall blonde man replied ‘That’s great, I mean that’s all you need’.
‘Yea… But it won’t last forever. I mean at some point I will have to do something else.’
The blonde man smiled at Jamie and stood up. ‘Well when you need to you will. And at that point you will be rich, rich in rocks.’
It sounded like he was going to continue, but he didn’t, he just walked away clasping the hand of his daughter. Jamie stared at the back of the couple confused but finally the second hand slowed, his shoulders relaxed, the race was run.
We sat next to each other, our shoulders touching, it was intimate but somehow distant at the same time. It was not the ‘first time’ feeling, that electricity, those nerves, but it was exhilarating in its own way. Neither of us moved, nobody pulled away or became uncomfortable, we just sat there enjoying the bodies connected.
Then, after a while, I began to feel the rise and fall of her chest, up and down, relaxed, calm, but excited. I listened with my shoulder and my body followed, my breathing matching hers. I focused on the tempo of her breath and my body relaxed into hers. My heart smiled.
The car passed through the gap in the mountains and then they saw it, in all its vastness, the ocean, drawing the eye away from the rugged, arid landscape all the way to the horizon, to the blue. To the edge of the earth where you where unsure what was sky and what was sea. It was magnificent.
They continued along the coast road for ten minutes hoping for a glimpse, hoping that the stories heard for years over countless numbers of pints would be true. The story of the dragon. How when the winds changed direction and blew up the side of the cliff, out from his cave would come the creature, out from his hibernation to stamp his footprint back on the earth.
Up and down the valley they searched, their eyes desperately following every movement in their view and then… they saw it. The air changed, became cold, the sun brightened piercing the eyes of the travellers making them squint for a moment. The Dragon roared, the sound boomed across the valley and out to the sea, the cliffs shook with the vibration and the Dragon soared into the sky, twisting, spinning and stretching its every limb. Then it was gone, as it crossed from one blue to another, it vanished, gone… as if it were just a cloud.
Winter was his time. The leaves had fallen leaving branches to hop along everywhere. The air was clear and the gentle winds picked him up and carried him through the gardens. But more interesting than the cold weather were the people. It was so different from the summer, when crowds of children and merry makers strolled through the parks, with footballs or bikes. Dogs racing around barking or hunting cats, the summer seemed too complicated, everyone was distracted or drunk on the sunshine, but the people in Winter, Robin seemed to see them and they saw him.
Robin would be taking his shortcut through the woods heading to the bird feeder on Westgrove Lane, but before he got there he saw the old man in the garden starring down into the pond. He banked left below the wall, landed and then hopped along and into the bush that covered left hand-side of the pond. A perfect entry point to say hello, but still be able to fly away.
Robin popped his head out and the man stopped, paused and then slowly sat back on his haunches. Robin hopped back into the bush, but the man stayed still and a smile grew across his face, so Robin confidently bounced forward.
‘Any digging in the garden today?’ The Robin asked
It was hard to describe, it spread fast, captured the attention, but still maintained its secrets. Perhaps people in love should follow its example, show everything, but hide something.
Anyway it was effective and after several years it had a strangle hold on the people’s lives. The population needed the blossom to survive, petals provided protection from the sun, pollen the support for the immune system and the nuts, nourishment for life. It hadn’t taken long for all the farmers to dig up their fields and plant the blossom once its value had been proved and it meant that the landscape was now, well it was pink.
The landscape looked amazing, beautiful, a sea of pink, but people did not realise that the plants that grew were sucking the life from the earth. The secret to the humans survival was actually what would kill them in the end. I guess that is the danger of beauty.
The stage banked up, hit the apex, then dipped back down to the crowd, thousands of them standing calling his name, waiting with a nervous energy. For some this would be the first time, for others they had seen him many times before, but his level of fame was extra ordinary.
He walked from his dressing room up the stairs to where I stood, his daughter on my shoulders, as he approached his dressing gown was removed, the cup of tea taken from his hand and a guitar placed over his shoulder. He approached, smiled, kissed his daughter on her forehead and walked towards his fans.
They had been chanting his name for the last half an hour, but as his head appeared over the banked stage the energy switched, from a noise it became a physical force, a wind, a power. A power I had never experienced even from a physical object and it was generated purely by the screams of his adoring public. Their voices, chanting in unison, created a wind and it blew me away.
I staggered backwards, he raised his hand to the sky, clicking his finger, then stood motionless for a moment absorbing the energy, lowered his eyes from the crowd and strummed his guitar.
Things moved fast, life didn’t change much, but there never seemed to be a moment to pause. There was always someone to chat to or laugh with, and you were always close to them, parked up next door or across the road. You could drive somewhere else, but inevitably someone would turn up and then play would resume.
The funniest times were when crews with children turned up, two little rat-bags running around the wild, covered in dirt, but beaming with smiles. It was great to see them play, their imaginations were alive, their toys broken but ingrained with evidence of many stories.
It made me think about our own family, maybe we were all just a bunch of big kids and moving fast wasn’t such a bad thing, maybe it kept our own imaginations alive.
The boys hid in the reeds watching through the mist. They were pretty certain the hunters had gone, but there was no guarantee that they would not return.
‘So what’s the plan?’
‘We need to get the shotgun cartridges.’
‘How do we know where they are?’
‘We don’t that’s why we have to go and have a look.’
‘So they might not even be in the hut, they could have taken them with them.’
Joseph and Andrew had been set another task, this time however it wasn’t part of the initiation it was part of what they did, causing chaos. Out on the lake there were a series of huts on stilts for the duck hunters. The lake wasn’t fenced so the boys could get to the hut without ‘trespassing’, but out in the open, on the lake, there was a high possibility of being spotted and perhaps shot at, deliberately or by accident.
‘Why do we need the cartridges anyway?’
‘Look it’s not our job to ask questions, you have to wait a few years before you can ask questions. Robin will have a plan.’
‘You think he has a gun?’ Joseph asked, Andrew paused letting the words bounce around in his head.
‘I don’t know’ he answered honestly, thinking about the repercussions of getting shot gun cartridges for a real gun. ‘That’s not for thinking abut now, we got to get what we have been told to get and then… Well then we think about the next…’ He trailed off.
Joseph frowned unsatisfied by the answer, but wasn’t brave enough to challenge any more. ‘Shall we swim?’
The boys took off their shirts, trousers and lowered themselves into the water. It was August, but the lake was still cold, the cold ran through their bodies as they tiptoed into the water, clay oozing up in-between their toes. Taking one last breath Andrew lowered his chest into the water and started swimming. Quietly Joseph followed.
It didn’t take them long to arrive at the hut, they circled the building weaving in and out of the pillars in the water looking for some steps up. The poles were slippery, coated in green slime, but at the back Joseph found some steps, he beckoned to Andrew and they hauled themselves onto the platform.
Shivering the two boys scanned the lake’s perimeter, the mist was thick and their movements seemed to have gone unnoticed. Andrew knelt down by the entrance, pressing his ear to the door checking for signs of activity inside. Joseph flicked his head toward Andrew as if to ask if he could hear anything. Andrew shook his head in response, stood clasped the handle, paused, twisted and burst into the room.
It was empty, well, uninhabited at least. There was a sigh of relief and the boys set to work looking for shotgun cartridges.
‘Anything?’ Joesph asked
‘It’s all fishing stuff, bait, rods, tins of meat, look at this’ Andrew held up a tin of smoked sardines, ‘this box is full, I think whoever comes here has a bit of an addiction. You?’
‘Nope, petrol cans, blankets and cooking stuff.’
‘Any shot guns?’ The boys laughed. ‘Joe hold on, come here.’ Andrew had pulled back an old tarpaulin revealing a crate. Joseph crossed the room.
‘What you got?’
‘Shot gun cartridges’ Andrew replied looking at his mate and then back to a red box with ammunition written on it and a drawing of shot gun cartridges. Joseph reached down picked it up and opened the lid.
‘Watch them closely… and listen it’s a very interesting form of communication’
Jeremy was teaching his favourite class showing footage from the beginning of the digital age, it was a time when the power of internal conflict was not fully understood but was being used very effectively.
‘But it doesn’t make us any money’ Sasha demanded while pointing adamantly at the pool of ideas spread out across the table. ‘We need to focus on the sales in the bar.’
‘But it draws people into the bar in the first place, without the events we don’t attract as many people’
‘We do, the climbing attracts the people and we don’t have to have any investment in that, it’s here already’
Elizabeth laughed, but it was a sarcastic laugh, meant to impose her intellect. ‘We have invested thousands in the climbing’
‘And made money back’ Bernard added smartly.
‘Yea but times are changing.’ A row was simmering.
Jeremy stopped the tape and turned back to the class. ‘Okay can anyone tell me what what’s going on?’
Lucy raised her hand, ‘Yes Lucy’
‘Well the Co-op has made it’s money from the the climbers coming to the village and Elizabeth wants to diversify but Bernard thinks she is just spending the money made from the climbers on her own arts events.’
‘Great that is what’s happening on the face of things, but what is going on internally?’ The class took a collective breath, some bums shuffled in seats the eyes turned away from the professor back to their tablets. ‘Shall I continue?’ The class nodded in unison, Jeremy pressed play.
‘The main reason people keep coming back is not because of the climbing, it’s because of the people.’
‘You mean the climbers’
‘Shut up Bernard, stop being such a pig headed fool. The community is what makes it, you admit yourself that the parties and the bar create a cool atmosphere in the village.’
Bernard was quiet he agreed with her but wasn’t about to admit it. He just wanted more routes.
Elizabeth continued ‘If we want to keep the profits in the bar, we need to keep our audience hungry.’
Jeremy paused the tape again. ‘Okay internal conflict anyone?’
John raised his hand ‘The more they eat in the bar the more money they make?’ The class burst into laughter.
‘Very amusing John, can anyone expand on John’s words of wisdom?’
Joe put up his hand
‘Yes Joe’
‘Elizabeth wants the knowlege of the experiences in the bar to act like the social media frameworks.’
‘Good, quickly explain the social framework’
Joe paused for a moment… ‘You keep your audience by showing ‘the hero avatar’. Posts show your best life, so followers buy into you.’
‘Good so how is that playing out here?’
‘I am not sure if they are doing it digitally yet, but Elizabeth wants the the public to know about parties and art as the hero avatar. Perhaps she believes the diversification is more of a hook than just climbing.’
‘Okay good, that sounds like a hungry audience and what about the internal conflict? Yes Lucy.’
‘There are two, Bernards refusal to believe in Elizabeth’s art community makes her more adamant that it is right, Bernard effectively keeps her hungry. And the people coming to the village see or hear about the parties and climbing and want to be part of it.’
‘Great so what do we call that?’
The class answered in unison, ‘positive internal conflict and negative internal conflict.’
Joe sat there staring at the lampposts not really thinking about the question.
‘The reflection, it’s pretty isn’t it?’ Clara reiterated just in case Joe hadn’t heard.
‘Yes’ Joe replied softly and then took his eyes from the water and looked at Clara, his heartbeat accelerating. He wanted to kiss her, he wanted to say something cheesy like not as pretty as you , but his throat was dry and he could only muster a low grunt. He cursed at himself cleared his throat and looked back at the ocean. Silence returned.
‘My father always said that good art should make your eye race around the image, following the lines. It’s a bit like a painting really isn’t it?’
Joe didn’t know what to say, he felt so awkward, why did he feel so uncomfortable? They were never uncomfortable, they were always together having fun, but now, now he realised he wanted to kiss her it was different, what if she didn’t want to kiss him? That would kill him, best not to try, he coached himself.
‘I like that, my eyes are definitely running around the lines.’ He cursed himself again, what was he talking about. His words sounded so stupid, just think normally, speak normally.
‘Hmmm’ Clara murmured an air of disapproval in her tone.
Joe leant back defeated, but as he placed his hand in the sand to support himself if fell on Clara’s. He flinched, but she did not withdraw, his heart sped up, their fingers interlocked, his breath quickened. Their palms twisted together and their eyes met. He sucked in some air and leant towards her. Their faces were now close he could feel her breath on on his cheek, their breathing accelerated and harmonised, their lips met, discomfort gone.
Life From the Dirt 