They came out of nowhere, and I mean nowhere. It wasn’t as if there was an abundance of snow on the ground. You’d have been hard pushed to form a proper snowball from the stuff that remained.
I filled up my iPod with some winter music and skipped off to school. Usually I met Rosie on the way, but this morning she was off to an art gallery with the rest of her advanced higher art class. I was flying solo. Or so I thought.
Twenty yards from the school gate.
Swoosh!
These things were frozen solid like ice. As I said, I didn’t see them.
Bang!
Back of the head, just behind the ear. Surge of pain. Hand goes to the hit zone, head turns to the direction of the thrower, my oppressor.
Swoosh!
Another missile in full flow, slow mo. Too late to duck.
Smack!
Direct hit in the eye socket.
Both hits demonstrating an accuracy and skill of a master marksman.
Compliments.
Bent double holding the eye, thinking the most horrid thoughts. Snot escaping from my nose, something seeping out of my eye. Hopefully just the water from the ice ball. It feels neither hot nor cold, which leads me to believe it’s blood. Or worse, a pus-like liquid. Danger juice. Don’t take the hand away. Leave it on there, press tight on it, keep the eye in place, don’t let the little bugger fall out. If you let it fall out you’re done for.
Forever.
Hold it in place. Don’t bother looking to see if it’s blood or water, just concentrate on holding it in place. Don’t concern yourself with the throbbing pain in your head either, the stinging and throbbing ear, the continuous ringing sound, the wet collar of your shirt.
Is it water or blood?
Hold that hand on the eye. Hold tight.
Don’t let the little bugger fall out and roll away. It’s not a ball, it won’t bounce back to you. It won’t bounce back into its home. Don’t let it roll away down a drain or onto the bumper of a passing car.
Listen to the song and stay calm. I’m sure it’s only water. M. Ward sings lovely songs. Soothing to the ear on a winter’s morning. A touch of brightness to an otherwise dull day. Embrace it.
Sing it M.
It’s hard to hear through one earphone with the ringing sound going through the other. Cars and voices and laughter as well.
Who’s laughing? Who in their infinite wisdom is laughing at my misfortune?
Step forward; state your name, your aim.
This is the devil incarnate, the ice launcher himself. No sympathy for him. The creator of this mess can be heard out of my ringing ear. A compendium of noises now plays M.Ward, continual ringing and this wacko’s voice.
Sneering. Sniggering. Snarling.
KEEP HOLDING THAT EYE. I told you.
‘Howz yer eye?’ Scum 1 asked.
‘Ye need tae watch oot fur snowbawz roon here,’ Scum 2.
‘Aye, kood take yer eye oot way wan ay they things,’ Scum 3.
Laughter. Lots of laughter. Waiting for the kick. Waiting for the punch. The finale. The dénouement. The crunch. The slap on the jaw. The head-butt to the temple. The knee to the ribs. Blood or water?
‘Ya English cunt,’ some other scum piped up.
‘Up here stealin oor fuckin wimin,’ another scum quips.
‘Shaggin oor teechurs,’ the final scum says.
Footsteps on the move. Then they’re gone. Blood boiling. Let the good ear breathe.
Take out M. Ward, no need for a sprinkling of sunshine anymore. Revenge music is required. Hardcore stuff. Get yourself in the mood. Get yourself back to an upright position. Take deep breaths – in…out…in…out. In through nose…out through mouth… Take your time. Hand on eye. Hand shaking like a terrified leaf. A little leaf lost in a fairground.
Alone.
Hand hot from holding the eye in its house. Locking the door. Mind petrified to think about the consequences.
The revenge. Fearful of the reprisal. The reprisal of the monster with one eye and dodgy hearing.
He’ll come. Disabled or not. He’ll come.
Monsters can only take so much you see. Keep knocking and the monster will come out. Hibernation is over. The dormant will soon dominate.
Can feel eye rising. Swelling. So big it’s about to explode.
Like a boxer after going the distance.
My distance is away from the school gate.
Got to get home. Anywhere but here. Anywhere but here. Hand on eye. Hold tight.
Earphones dangling. Good ear pulsating. Head bursting. Sweat streaming. Good eye drowning. Blood boiling. Brain simmering. Got to remain calm, focus. Focus for the future. Who was laughing at me? Was Fran McEvoy laughing at me? Did he take aim? Did he lay in wait and take aim? Did he tightly fashion two balls of ice together, lay in wait and take aim? Did he tightly fashion two balls of ice, together lay in wait, take aim and launch the snowballs at my head?
Did that McEvoy engineer to cause me pain and humiliation? Did he want to see me hurting? This goes beyond name calling, beyond pig-ignorant behaviour. Goes beyond what I’m capable of doing. Beyond what I want to do. Beyond what I imagine in my head, my poor head, of doing. Time to hand out my own form of punitive justice. Can’t let the bastard get away with that. Taunts I can take. Two ice bullets and degradation I can’t. Would be seen as impertinent to recoil from this, an invitation for more?
What next for the whipping boy? Got to show them I’m not afraid. Greater figures than me have made greater stances, taken greater strides. I shall not be perturbed.
Glasgow with its ‘No Mean City’ tag. Secretly proud of its tag. Wears the tag on its sleeve, on its collar, on its socks, on its arse. Surely No City Means to dish out this?
Glasgow, I didn’t mean to step on your toes. I didn’t mean to infiltrate. I didn’t mean to steal yer wimin. I didn’t mean to befriend yer teechurs. I didn’t. I didn’t.
Glasgow.
I didn’t mean to be here.