

Teething Problems

Mark Fletcher

Copyright © 2006 Mark Fletcher

Smashwords Edition 1.0 September 2009.

Published by Smashwords.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

For Jason who got up and went to work one day.

Chapter One

I've got to tell someone. To make it real, you know. I have to. Sorry, I can't stop moving, it helps me, breathe. The phone call... it's the closest thing to a beginning to all this.

Two nights ago.

Fuck I hate roller coasters.

I rang her as soon as it happened.

I know now,...

*****

Chapter Two

It's my side of the conversation. Okay? You'll get the rest. Here's how it went.

"How dare you."

"Of course I'm angry, he was at my front door."

"Because you told me he was coming. You set this up remember."

"He introduced himself."

Through the door, before I opened it, he called out."

"I heard him say my name."

"No, I didn't look through the peephole first."

"It distorts things."

"Their heads look all fat. Especially if they peer in."

"This isn't about peepholes."

"Lies."

"You said he was dead. Or, gone to be with God, I think was your favorite term. That God needed an angel so he took Dad."

"We celebrated his anniversary, Mother, for years - or cried over it at least. We went to the grave a few times too. How do you account for that?"

"Great, so I get a refund on the tears?"

"Well don't you be smart either."

"Whether he was always alive or not, it doesn't matter. In my head, my father was dead. There wasn't a day I didn't think about him."

"Of course, I was pleased. A kid finds out that his father is not really dead and that he's been away for some yet to be revealed secret reason. I couldn't wait to see him no matter how screwy the story sounded..."

"He wasn't the guy in the photos. You lied to me."

"You told me he was alive and I believed you. I've always believed you. And now, now that I know, I'm just another fucked up bastard."

"I'll be angry if I want to be."

"That put on voice isn't going to help you."

"You are so."

"I'm not a kid reading one of your Walter the Wombat books."

"I'm not putting them down."

"This has as much to do with Walter as it has to do with you and me."

"Walter is not innocent."

"He's as real as you and me, Mother."

"To millions. You write wonderful stories. Pity you didn't keep some of Walter's wisdom for yourself. "

"No, I don't resent him."

"I don't resent you."

"I'm proud of your success."

"Fuck Walter!"

"You want to know the sad thing? No one would believe me if I told them what you did."

"Well, tell me about it then."

"Because I know, Mother."

"I know the truth."

"He was fucking standing at my door, practically beating it down."

"No, I didn't let him in."

"Because I didn't want to."

"I was in shock...once I realized... At first I thought it was someone else and that HE was still on his way. But then he told me. He introduced himself as my father. He knew me."

"He looked nothing like Dad, the man in the photo with me."

"So, which one is it, Mother? The man at the door or the man in the photo?"

"Don't! I know they're not the same man."

"I'm not blind."

"Stop this!"

"The door or the photo, Mother?"

"Door or photo?"

"So, who is the man in the photo?"

"I see."

"Well, at least in my fantasy world I'm not a bastard."

"He didn't know, did he?"

"God, you're a piece of work."

"My world Mother, because of a quick fuck you had one night when some navy was in town. You fucked your brains out and now you've fucked my life."

"You'd been married less than a year for god's sake."

"So I'm an accident then?"

"I'll feel what I like!"

"No, you didn't think. And with you such a paragon of righteousness now."

"You're lucky I look more like you than him."

"Forgive? No."

"No!"

"Well, don't ask."

"I'm not going to continue this discussion."

"Goodbye, Mother. No, wait, did you love him?"

"You know who I mean. Did you love him?"

"Just answer the question."

"I love my dad."

After she'd kissed me and turned off the light and shut the door, I'd crawl out of bed and look out the window.

Sometimes I'd just say good night. Other times I'd talk about what I did during the day. Other times I'd tell my secrets.

It was the best part of the day. Him and me. Perfect.

*****

Chapter Three

Like I said, it's _my_ side of the conversation. Him turning up at my door is how I found out. I knew my father was coming but I didn't know it was him.

No, you don't need me to tell you her words.

I'm not hiding anything. I know that with time things can get colored even though it's only been two days. You have to take it into account is all I'm saying.

She is my mother. It was always just the two of us. The bond, was, you know, close. Not unhealthy. But close. I trusted her!

Yeah, poor me. Fuck.

I never questioned her recollections of our time as a family before...

She created him - warm and lush stories. By the time I was six or seven he was a superhero. Perfect in every way.

If she was here you'd believe her too. What's not to believe? Worldwide bestselling author, good looking, witty, politically active, well dressed but not overdone, a widow who's had it tough and made good and a mother forever caring about her only child. Perfect.

People like her more than their own Mother. I've heard them say as much!

And thanks to her _Walter the Wombat_ books, almost everyone on the planet must know her. She's a star. I'll choke if another person asks me how she does it. What do I know? Okay, what _do_ I know?

Ever since she got famous, I've been the son of the wombat woman. I know that I don't look that great, not the 'part' for her. I'm not sidekick material.

From when I can remember I was told he died. It was a veil of sadness over us people would say.

Mother and I often talked about him until, one day, the subject was forbidden. " _Time to move on"_ she said. But that didn't stop me thinking about him.

Oh, secret memories... they're the best. Much of my dreaming was about what might have been if he were alive.

A favorite was the time he won an award for a life saving discovery he had been working on for years. I was six. There was a big ceremony with hundreds of important people in the city. Lots of people made speeches about how vital his work is and how much of a nice guy he is.

Politicians called him a hero. A lady told the story of how he saved her life. She hugged Dad when she finished. They both cried.

Next, he was presented with a gold medal and a huge framed certificate. Everyone was on their feet and clapping and cheering for ages. Mother and I were on our feet too in our front row position. Then the crowd hushed as he walked to the podium to speak and then when he got there and had put his speech papers out and looked up they clapped again.

In his speech he talked about his work and how it was a team effort and that the award was to be shared with everyone on the team. He talked about the importance of the work and his desire to help people. He thanked Mother for her support and blew her a kiss. And then he thanked me for his inspiration. He said I made the hard work worthwhile. He told them how I had the illness his discovery treated. He saved my life.

He called me up to the podium and put the medal around my neck. He picked me up. "This is my son," he said into the microphone. I gave him the biggest hug.

My eyes were blinded by the camera flashes going off and the TV lights. The hero dad and his son. We were swamped by a crowd offering congratulations. Never once did he let me out of his arms.

The next day, back home, we went out for breakfast as a treat and there we were on the front page of the newspapers. The headline was HERO DAD! People came up to us in the café and congratulated him. There was usually at least one person who told of how they knew someone who's life he had saved. That's when I felt the proudest.

As I got older he didn't hold me at the podium but he did hug me to his side. We always made the newspapers the next day. The feeling was the same no matter how old I was. It was a great way to put myself to sleep.

He was the best dad, even if it was my secret. But I'm sure Mother knew. Kids are obvious about such things I think.

I wanted the guy coming to my door to be him, I expected it to be him.

All day I was trying to keep my mind off it by studying. I had a uni paper due so I plunged into that to try and distract myself. But it wasn't enough so I decided to spring clean the apartment in my study breaks, all the while drenching the place in thumping music and for good measure a sports game on television. But I couldn't stop wondering... What would he be like? Would he like me? What things would we do together? What would he be famous for? What was the big secret about where he had been?

In between the cleaning and study and dancing to the music I changed clothes four or five times.

My heart skipped a beat when I heard a knock at the door. I dropped the textbook I was reading. Then there was another knock.

I froze at the door. I heard him call out my name

"Yeah, coming."

He looked nothing like I expected. Taller. He had a different nose and eyes to the man in the framed photo I had in my bedroom. He was younger, too, probably around forty. Dark hair. Cut short. Well groomed. A businessman look.

I compared quickly. Height, nose, eyes. I knew he was not my father. "Son," he said.

"This isn't funny."

"I can explain," The voice, no, the accent wasn't what I expected. It sounded foreign. Mother never said my dad was from overseas.

"I don't know who you are." My voice was wavering. "Let me in and we can talk." It was a reasonable request. He seemed friendly enough. He was smiling. And I noticed he had something, a present probably, tucked under his arm and a bunch of flowers in his hand.

"I, er, didn't know what to bring so I brought candy and flowers. Here." He reached forward and I stepped back. "No, " I said firmly.

"I don't know who you are. You're not the man in the photo. You're not the man in the photo." I cut him off each time he tried to speak.

He was happy to see me, grinning from ear to ear. He couldn't stand still. I was the prize he'd come to collect. It's another reason I was upset.

"You're not..." There was no point continuing.

I didn't want to make this discovery.

I didn't see it at the time but when I replay it I know he was upset. His tears were sad like mine. Victims.

After a while he said "You're right. It's not me." He looked away and then back as if he was going to speak again.

I shut the door. What, was I supposed to do?

I watched him through the peep hole. After a few minutes he said "Bye then." He pushed a business card under the door and left.

W. Patrick Richardson, Director. Some Defense organisation in London. That explained the accent. On the back he'd written a phone number and "sorry".

Things aren't black and white anymore. My heart was pounding. I was sweating. My body was twitching. Fucking memories and dreams.

I'm going to be sick. Shit.

That's when I grabbed the phone and called her.

He wasn't my dad and she said my dad was coming.

*****

Chapter Four

It's good to have a listener sometimes. Thanks for that.

So, I'm an accident. I AM.

That's what they call unplanned kids, isn't it? I've heard it used before at parties and places like that. Blah blah blah, and Freddy, he was an accident and then the story usually goes into how Freddy became an accident because of his parents screwing when they shouldn't have or something like that. Yeah, I'm one of those. Sort of like collateral damage. No, we didn't plan on killing the hundreds of civilians in the Red Cross hospital when we were bombing the baddies a hundred miles away. Collateral damage... hmmm... a crazy phrase that makes the innocent indispensable.

In this game, I'm the collateral damage and I'm guessing that my parents, my REAL parents and not my mother and the dad I had who I now find out was never really my dad, would have preferred not to have this collateral damage to deal with. But if that really were the case, I shouldn't be here. Too much to think about.

An accident... hmmm... not your "sorry, I spilt the salt" type accident, no, nor your "I knew I shouldn't have washed the red shirt with the whites" accident. No, this is bigger and better hidden.

Two people fucking is hardly an accident and that makes me no accident. They would know. You'd like to think that they would know that. I would. You would. The in and out dance of love or lust or being drunk, whatever it was... they should have known. They would have known if it was safe and the consequences of it not being safe. Even then. Even.

They knew what they were doing. Back then and a week ago. How fucked is that? Totally, if you ask me, totally fucked. Fucking accidents.

Maybe they're getting back together and that's why she wanted me to meet him? Well, that's what I'm thinking at this point. I mean, there are other options but they make even less sense. It's got to be something like that. Otherwise she wouldn't care, not after all this time. If it was a quick fuck that counted for nothing years ago, then why are they in contact with each other now? That's what I'd like to know. Maybe they've never been out of contact. Hang on; they can't have been, because otherwise he would not have known where she lives.

Let's see, we moved at least twice when I was a kid, as far as I can remember and she talked of a move not long after I was born too. So that would be three moves and they're still in contact. Hmmm. That's got to be it. They're together and they're either moving away together or he's moving in with her or something like that and they wanted to connect with me, so we could be a happy little family.

The two love birds and their little accident, the happy family. Maybe I could hit him for university fees? It would take the pressure off my loan situation. Let's think about this for a moment. Seventeen years of child support would come to, I don't know, tens of thousands of dollars, I guess. That, plus something for university fees. Hmmm...

No, I'm not a money person. I won't be turning this into a transaction. It does make you think, though. He wants something from me and that could have a price. He might consider offering some form of assistance, to make his entry into my life easier.

I hate the way I'm sounding.

Fuck them and their game.

Aarghh, why did this have to happen? I was happy with things the way they were. Life was going along just fine and now this. Shit.

Their behavior is juvenile! They're too fucked up about it to be able to communicate normally, so they play a game and leave me to deal with it, like a kid would dump a problem in the lap of their parents. I bet she's looking for my blessing that what she did was okay and that it would be fine for them to be together. It's how a kid would react, you know, by bringing things to a parent for their blessing. I left home to get away from these sorts of games.

I left home for other reasons, too. Independence mainly though. Got a small apartment almost an hour from the town where my mother lives. It's closer to university and my various jobs. I had the option of a dorm but the lure of independence was too great. I needed to do it, I know that. To learn how it goes, for myself. At least Mother was good like that, taking care of me: clothes and food and stuff. But I always wanted to do it for myself and two years ago was the right time.

This place I found was ideal. It's in a block of nine apartments in a small rural town fifteen minutes from university and like I said an hour from Mother. There are three apartments on the first floor and four on the top. Mine was on the top floor at the back. With the amount of snow we get in winter there was no way I would want to be sleeping on the first floor. Besides, being on the top floor gave me a bit of a view across the small town. I like views, especially in winter.

Anyway, the building is pretty basic but comfortable. The heating is good and they keep the property clean and everything working. Each apartment has big windows which makes cooling it in summer easy. It's large for a place occupied by a student. There's a living room cum kitchen, a bathroom cum laundry and a big bedroom.

I painted it before I moved in, the whole place that is. Red in the main room, blue in the bedroom and white in the bathroom. I furnished it with a truckload of character laden comfort from Goodwill. By the time I moved my clothes and things from home this place had the lived in feel I wanted. I planned to be studying for a few years yet so comfort was important.

I like it there. I've changed things over the last couple of years - more furniture, some art on the walls and a cool sound system.

The neighbors are good, they don't mind the odd party.

It's cheap and clean. It's home.

Mother offered to help but I'm the independent type. "Independent" is my label. Stubborn is the label mother would use. She's given up trying to talk me out of things. I think she only says that I'm stubborn to mask her own stubbornness. To back up her claim that I'm stubborn she always trots out the same story. Her New York story. It's one of her bigger stories about me. She tells it too often. A dollar for every time I heard it would make me rich. And it grows with each telling.

My version is based on the facts. Her version would go five times longer, have considerably more drama and end with her in tears, as she recounts how her stubborn son made her life a misery once again and that all she wanted to do was to give me the experiences in life she had not been able to enjoy when she was my age. Poor mother.

I feel that I have to tell you that I love Mother. Not the expected obligation love of a son, not that. What I feel is real. It's true, if that makes sense, yeah, true. I can't explain it. It's how I feel, that's all. No matter what she does or how fucked she is about things, I love her. And you have to remember that, no matter what I tell you in the next while.

Even in the light of recent events. I do still love her.

God, all the qualifications. What is it with that? And what is it with even needing to tell you that I love my mother? Hmmm...

Yeah I know, get on with it.

It was in my last year of high school and her first year of success with _Walter the Wombat_. Her first book had been an unexpected runaway best seller and her second, _Walter the Wombat Saves the Forest_ , was showing signs of overtaking the sales of the first. In the space of a year, she had become a major celebrity in our state and a minor yet growing celebrity nationally, with the promise of greater things to come once the Walter spin-offs kicked in, and she had plenty of those planned.

Walter was something she had been working on for at least five years. Writing and rewriting. It started with a short story published in the local paper which readers raved about so much so that she had to write a follow up. This was even more popular. It was after the fifth Walter short story almost a year later that someone at the newspaper suggested she write a book and mother being mother, she had the first draft finished within a month. Three years later she had a publisher and four years on her first book was out.

So the trip to New York was to put the Walter empire in place and farm her cuddly little creature for all it was worth. For the first time I could remember, we had a bit of money. Not lots, but enough for me to get some new clothes in advance of a new season and not from last season or charity places as we had done in some years. She had new clothes too and we ate out a bit and she replaced some of the furniture we'd had since I was a kid. The big thing was central heating which worked.

Yeah, things had been tough for us for a while. But we made do. It was good in a way, those pre Walter years, simpler.

Anyway, New York. There was a TV interview, a New York Times interview, a magazine photo shoot and some meetings. Her publisher was flying her out for four days and offered to fly me as well. I said no. It was my finals in two weeks! I had study to do! Yes, I wanted to go to New York! Even though it was only a three hour flight away it was far enough removed from our small town to be exciting and alluring. I loved it the few times we drove the two hours to Chicago and I knew New York would be more exciting for me. So I wanted to go! The timing of this trip was bad, that's all. Earlier in the year would have been fine. A few weeks later would have been better. But I had studying to get done and I know I wouldn't have done it in New York. So I didn't go.

She was all carrying on about the trip being a once in a lifetime opportunity since it would be our last vacation together because I'd be in college or university and then getting on with my life. She put a huge guilt trip on me. But I didn't budge. God, it was only four days.

For the whole two weeks before the trip, she was hassling me and begging me to go. The inducements stacked up. Tickets to a game at the Garden, tickets to a show. Spending money. My own room in the hotel. I told her that no meant no, but that didn't stop her. She worked out a schedule that gave me hours of study time in the hotel room while she did her thing. And the final push included heavy emotional blackmail that, if not for me, then I should do this for her, and that the two of us making this trip together would be the most wonderful present I could give her, ever.

Right from the first time I said no, I stuck with it and that pissed her off and, so she says, proves my stubbornness. I don't think it proves anything, if you ask me.

She didn't talk to me for a week after she got back, so I didn't talk to her. When she gave in and spoke first it was to call me the most stubborn person she'd ever met.

That weekend at home showed me how much I wanted my own place. I enjoyed the quietness and the space. It was just what I wanted.

I did well in my finals, by the way.

It was my first taste of real independence... well, as independent as you can feel in your family home. Because we hadn't had much money and because it was just the two of us, I hadn't explored much independence prior to this weekend.

I liked it, the feeling, the space.

I liked being away from Mother and I liked doing my own thing.

But there's nothing about the story that makes me stubborn. She is the stubborn one. She is!

Hmmm.

Okay I'll admit it. Never to her though. It sounds stupid now, years later, but back then it made sense. I wanted to go to New York, that's the truth. I desperately wanted to go. But I didn't want to go with her. I knew that once we got there she'd want me to go to the interviews with her and that there would be every chance she'd drag me into it or refer to me somehow. Oh, she'll tell you that she'd never do that but she did do it. For the whole previous year she was dragging me into her spotlight and I hated it. She had me sit with her for magazine photos and had them film both of us walking in the park for some TV story. Why couldn't she just get on and enjoy the glory for herself? She didn't have to involve me. Every photo made it harder for me to have my own identity. She didn't understand.

It was bad enough where we lived, being constantly reminded that I was the son of a local celebrity, the best selling author. With every television appearance the shadow I was living under grew. I was shy and this attention was unbearable. The expectation on me was awful. Going to New York would have made it worse. I didn't want to be a trophy any more. But I could never tell my mother that.

I'm not stubborn.

*****

Chapter Five

I know I'm avoiding the real issue. It's hard to face.

She must have thought about this every day and how it would be when the secret came out. Surely she knew the secret would come out. Someone else must know. You'd think!

Well, this accident is not going to play happy families. Not me.

Because I don't want to and because I don't have to.

In some respects, I feel like I lost both my parents when he came around the other night. Because of their lack of respect for me, the way they told me. I don't know what I'm saying... except that I feel very lost right now. Very very lost.

Don't have any pity on me. No, I'm okay. Really, I am. All right, I'm pissed off. But otherwise okay.

Pissed off and angry. How's that? And confused, I guess... because I don't understand the secrecy. Well, maybe I do, but then again I don't. God, I'm confused about all this. If only she had told me the truth from the start. If only...

I always knew something was odd. Can't explain that, though. Just did.

When I was a kid, ten or eleven, I thought I was an alien. I did! Really! Okay, so it's not an original thought for a kid, but I was certain. I was looking for signs everywhere and I was sure that I saw them. Things that didn't make sense I put down to not being from here.

No matter what I did, I couldn't shake the square peg in a round hole type feeling. It eventually passed, but it took a long while. I guess that the family photos of the three of us, the few we had, were enough to prove my real earthly connection.

I liked the idea of being an alien while it lasted, though. Made the world look more interesting.

Toward the end of the not belonging feeling I decided my mother was an alien. Yeah, stupid huh! It's a natural progression for any teenager to think this... that's how I justify it now. In fact, I am certain that there have been numerous studies about such thoughts among teenagers toward their parents and, if there haven't been, there should be. Some experts would call this phase I was going through normal. But I didn't know that at the time. It's like you had to experience the paranoia and live it for some time before someone says, "It's okay, it's normal for a kid of your age." But if they did that with stuff like this, the counselors and other people in their world of expertise would be out of work. So I can understand them not telling us.

I think the alien thing is a progression from the Easter Bunny and Father Christmas. Stay with me on this. When we are kids, we're taught to believe in mystical things and things we can't see. Some families go to great lengths to perpetuate these myths and there's sadness among parents and grandparents when their kids reach the conclusion that these things aren't real. So the practice of believing in something unseen is established and needs feeding. Hence the alien thing happening in my head. I did take it a bit far, though. Beyond the age one normally would from what I understand now.

I hope you keep this to yourself, this and the other stuff I'll tell you. I don't want the stories to get around.

*****

Chapter Six

Mother is so, well, I don't know. You heard what she's like.

Anal, that's what she is! Yeah, perfect description! We'd be having a conversation about one thing, and she picks up on something I say in passing and then find myself lost in quicksand for half an hour while I try and deal with her ever shifting focus on irrelevant detail. Trails leading to distant trails of irrelevance.

She says it's the writer in her, following every interesting tidbit to the very end. I say it's craziness. Her pursuit of irrelevant detail doesn't make any sense. I think it's because she's fucked in the head. Oh, that sounds harsh. Maybe not fucked in the head but, a bit soft at the very least. You'd have to be soft to make up the whole Walter scenario.

Anyone who has read any of her _Walter the Wombat_ books would be agreeing with me surely. Any thinking adult that is. That wombat has no logic to his thoughts. But then, the world loves her little irascible character. There's a breakfast cereal named after him and a drink and an ice cream and a line of kids clothes and toys and a new TV series started this past fall. I guess her stories are not a good example of the state of her mind after all.

I started seriously thinking about her mental state when I realized that she wasn't an alien; I was in my mid teens. When I was fifteen actually. I remember the day vividly. Up to then I'd put her craziness about things and scatty conversation, down to her being from another planet. Literally. I was certain.

Anyway she had gone to some hotel a couple of hours away in Chicago for a meeting with her editor who had flown in from New York to review the final draft of her first _Walter the Wombat_ book. She left at eight in the morning and didn't expect to be back until late in the evening. Before she left in the morning we had some crazy conversation that went nowhere which plunged my mind into the alien theory again. She seemed totally irrational at times and I couldn't explain the differences between us any other way. That morning I committed myself to finding the alien connection.

As soon as she left the house I started searching. All over. Looking for a hidden place where I expected to find an answer. I mean, I didn't really expect to find some high-powered transmitter connecting her with a far off planet. At least I don't think I did. But I wouldn't have been surprised if there was one there all the same. I wanted answers. I was looking for... something. I really thought there would be something. Some big secret. It was odd actually because it was like I was asleep and then woke to find myself searching frantically through the house. Like I don't remember that much about starting the search or even thinking about it beforehand. My memory starts part of the way through the search, like I'd woken from a dream. Anyway, there I am searching in a frenzy. Sweating because I'm going so hard at it! Looking everywhere and finding nothing.

I climbed up into the roof, the cavity between the ceiling and the roof proper and found nothing. Next, I went down under the floorboards in the cavity there between the floor and the ground. I had to go outside the house to get into the cavity. There was a small door type of thing that I had to yank open and crawl through. I didn't go too far because of how small the space was between the floor and the ground and I knew that if I couldn't get through then she wouldn't be able to. So nothing again.

Inside the house I went through each of the wardrobes and under the beds. All over the place. I looked everywhere. I pulled books out of the bookshelves one by one at first and checking to make sure that they weren't hollow and containing some intergalactic device. I soon gave up that approach for grabbing several books at a time and quickly flicking the pages. I checked hundreds of books this way. Hundreds. Still nothing though. I pulled drawers out of the desk, looked under the seats of chairs and explored every nook and cranny. I looked under stacks of clothes and stacks of towels. I was especially thorough in my room because it seemed logical to me that if you wanted to hide something from someone you would put it in a place that was most obvious to them. Good logic huh?

It took me over an hour searching my bedroom because every so often I'd come across something I hadn't seen for a long time and, well, I sat and reminisced about it. You know how that happens. I came across things like the half done crossword I found which, of course, I had to complete. It seemed much easier than three years earlier when I started it.

My room was stashed well with things like that. I'd start something and get bored after a time and put it aside. My mother used to speculate that I had some sort of attention disorder she heard about once on the radio years back. She was always complaining that I never seemed to finish anything I started. There was some truth in it, but it wasn't a problem.

I liked my bedroom, it was a warm home to my thoughts and secret projects. I flourished there. I know I felt safe, whatever that meant to me back then. Who knows now? It was a feeling is all. Then and now.

The room itself was bigger than usual. With only two of us in this house I didn't have any other family to argue with for the large bedroom. I painted it dark blue and brought in an old desk and a beanbag among other things. Furniture we could afford on our budget. After a few months of work on it I was done to the level I wanted. Mother, of course, thought that it was another unfinished project. I knew it was finished. Perfect for what I wanted. My own private cocoon. It's another reason the search of the room took so long. I enjoyed it in there. But I didn't find anything.

The only odd thing I found during the day of the search, well, I guess that it wasn't that odd, it didn't seem to be that odd, not then, but now that I think about it, in light of recent "events", it was odd... was a small stack of letters. They were at the bottom of the underwear drawer in my mother's dresser in her bedroom. No, I don't have an underwear fetish and I've never tried her underwear on. I said the search was thorough. I went through all her drawers.

Okay, so I lied about trying on her underwear. I was only ten when I did that for god's sake. Who doesn't do it when they are ten? Only once, and even then only for a minute if that. And I left on my own underwear. I couldn't do it naked, no way. That would be TOO weird. This time in her underwear drawer, when I was fifteen, the thought of trying anything on didn't even cross my mind.

Anyway, at the bottom of this drawer, it was, let me see, the second drawer down, on the left side of the dresser, under her neat stack of underwear there was a small bundle of letters, six of them. They were held together by string. And the thing I remember now which was odd was the postmark on the top letter. It was from overseas and it was postmarked a year earlier. Huh, I didn't take much notice of that when I found it, but now, well, now it takes on a new significance. I am sure they were letters from him.

After searching for another hour or so, the only thing I found of interest was a small shoebox. I found it by accident while searching in the hall cupboard, high on the top shelf. Up there with two towel and face washer sets that I'd never seen before. They looked brand new. And sheets too, there were sheets there too. I had never seen them either and they, too, looked brand new. It was like a secret stash. Pushed to the back of the shelf. You couldn't see them if you were standing in front of the open cupboard and looked up. No, these were hidden towels and sheets. Odd that. Definitely hidden. On the left side and at the back of the top shelf of the hall cupboard, in the part, the cavity, behind the wall and not right in front of the door where most things in the cupboard are stored.

In the bathroom, the house had one bathroom and we both shared it, we alternated between two towel sets. A blue one and a green one. It was blue weeks one and three and green weeks two and four. Like clockwork. It had been that way for years. We always had two and always alternated week on, week off, week on, week off. Mother liked order in her life. Secretly, I did too. The sets we were using at the time were years old. Not dirty, just old and well used. So I don't know why we didn't use this nice champagne set. I mean, we had guest towels, separate to the blue and green set. Champagne would have been a nice diversion, a thirty three percent increase in towel capacity.

Anyway, to the side of the stack of the champagne towels was the shoebox I mentioned earlier. It was between the wall and the stack, toward the back, hidden to the eye. The box was about ten inches long, six inches deep and five inches high.

So, here I am, standing on my tiptoes on a chair I had dragged from the lounge room and checking behind the things on the shelf looking for a secret panel that would reveal the technology my mother was using to communicate with the aliens on the planet she was from. Remember, that was what this manic searching of the house was all about. And instead I found this shoebox. I lifted it out from its hiding place and removed the lid and found me. Well, lots of bits of me at least. Packed neatly.

I smiled at the photo of me as a baby. It was on top of everything else in the box.

I knew it was me because my name and date of birth was on the back along with the stamp from the hospital photographer. I was wearing a pale lemon baby dress type thing, a cape thing and booties, all of which were also in the box, folded neatly under the photo.

There was also a card from my crib with my name, weight, date and time of birth, doctor's name and a print from my left foot. I made a mental note to myself to check the print one-day against my foot now, to be sure. Huh, never did though.

In this box there was also a small envelope with a handwritten note on the outside – "first haircut" – and inside, sure enough, was a lock of my hair, tied together with some wool. The hair was almost black even though now it is quite light in shade. There was a small notebook with measurements taken for the first couple of years and notes about other aspects of my development like when I started to crawl and walk and the first almost understandable word I uttered. It was sweet to find this meticulous chronicle of such things. Ah, memories. There was a silver spoon with my name and birth date and time engraved on it. And small envelope labeled "first nail clippings" dated almost fifteen years earlier and containing, you guessed it, tiny nail clippings. So tiny that they must have been hardly worth cutting. God, Mother and her obsessions.

I haven't told you the most amazing thing though. It was the smell. I noticed it the moment I lifted the lid. Oh, it was so sweet. It was me. Me! WOW! When I was a baby. Caught in the jacket and booties and other relics from the time. I smelt what _I_ smelt like to other people, fresh and innocent. It was a precious moment for me. Ahhh. After a few minutes the smell was gone so I poked my nose right into the box to try and catch a scent of me. I caught it and smiled again. Like I said, precious.

Past an assortment of rattles, a pacifier and an old band-aid in an envelope and labeled "first cut" - can you believe that my mother, any mother for that matter, would keep such a thing - there was one other thing in the box. Teeth. Yeah. My baby teeth. Four of them, scattered loose.

Everything in the box had been put there with some care, or so it seemed from the labels attached, except the teeth. Maybe that was a marker of a busying life or, less care. Maybe the novelty of the young baby had worn off by the time the teeth started falling out. I don't know why but it annoyed me that the teeth weren't better cared for. It's as if I was neglected in some way.

I picked the teeth out of the box and held them in the palm of my hand. They were like pearls. The whole experience with the box was exciting. I know I was acting like a kid about it, thank god no one was around to see me. I put a tooth in my mouth, I wanted to feel whether it belonged. You know, in MY mouth. I swirled it around with my tongue, bit on it and played with it. It was weird. Only teeth feel like that. I kept that one tooth and put the rest in the box and then the box back where I found it. Stopped the stupid alien search after that. Didn't seem to have a point.

Never told anyone about the shoebox. Until now.

I still have the tooth I took; it's in my pocket. I should have put it back in the shoebox. I wish Mother had never kept them.

But then, well, I'm here.

Those fucking teeth. I'll remember them every day.

God I hate feeling like this and what it does to me.

Fuck.

*****

Chapter Seven

I was on a date with Diane Watson, my girlfriend. Yesterday afternoon, Saturday. We've been dating for over five months so this isn't an early date, you know, where you're unsure of the person you're going out with or anything.

I met Diane through mutual friends a couple of years ago. We started mixing in the same crowds. I'd run into her in bars, parties, you know. I liked the slow and natural way the friendship developed. From when I first met her we would have seen each other maybe once a week until we started dating. Just so you know.

I knew her well. What we had was comfortable. I know it makes her sound like an old bit of furniture, but it best describes how it was. I do, did, feel comfortable with her, in her company. I can't speak for her except to say that I sensed a comfort from her toward me and our developing thing.

Having Diane in my life made me feel good.

Today, with Diane, wasn't a date as such. I'd called her and set it up because I wanted to talk about last night and my real father. I hadn't spoken to anyone since he came around except Mother. It's not something I could or would discuss with my friends. Diane was the only person I could talk about it with. I wanted to know what she thought. We were going to dinner and a movie that night but I couldn't wait so I called and set lunch up.

We met at the café we went to the most. It was in the town where Diane and I went to university and not that far from where each of us lived. There were other cafes and pubs in town but this was by far our favorite. This place wasn't hip but it was a popular student hangout. It was kind of out of date décor wise, locked in the seventies. But the food was exceptional. Tasty and cheap. And the music was current and eclectic. I guess we liked it more than any other place because it felt comfortable. I liked it a lot.

We'd been sitting at our table, our usual table, for fifteen minutes or so talking about nothing in particular when our food came. When I say "nothing in particular", I really mean that we weren't talking about what I was there to talk about. Instead we talked about general things and made plans to catch up with friends for dinner during the week. I liked talking with Diane.

Anyway, the food... Diane and I both liked burgers on the weekend. It was something we discovered in common even before we started dating. Weekends were for comfort food. Thick and juicy cheeseburgers. Fries. Cheesecake. She liked her burgers medium and I was a well done guy. You never can tell with burger patty meat.

We started eating our burgers. I feigned pain in my mouth as I swallowed what I had bitten off with my first bite. I spat out the baby tooth I had retrieved from the shoebox which I had found at my mother's place years earlier.

Diane believed my act that a tooth had fallen out. She put her burger down before she'd taken a bite and was instantly concerned for me. It was so sweet. "Oh my god, honey, are you okay? What happened? You broke a tooth? Oh my God. Are you okay? Does it hurt?" Staccato questions without an opportunity to answer. Pure Diane. It's an endearing quality. She reached across and rubbed my arm and then brushed her hand against my face. I loved the way she cared. Ah, Diane, it was all I could do to stop myself laughing.

I soaked up the sympathy as I held the side of my face and grimaced in pain. The moment was sweet, me in pain, albeit faked, and her full of comfort and concern. It ended when she realized the tooth I spat out was a baby tooth.

I'm not sure why she looked away from me and at the tooth. I don't think I gave it away, but who knows. It was obviously a baby tooth. No doubt at all.

"This didn't just break off!" Diane said pointing to the tooth.

"No, I..."

"It's a baby tooth."

"Yes, I..."

"You set me up."

"Diane it was a bit of fun. At least I thought it would be. Thanks for the sympathy anyway. It was sweet. It's one of my baby teeth. I carry it all the time." I told her about how I found it a couple of years back and how I felt when I first opened the shoebox. She seemed to like the story. Anyway, after the story, I put the tooth back into my mouth and tried to work out where it would have been positioned. I held it in place with my tongue and smiled at Diane. Look at me! Funny joke huh? I shrugged my shoulders and tensed my neck how you do when you want to let someone know that what you've done is funny.

I need to tell you that right at this point, right at this moment, I was feeling pretty good. I was confident that this was fun and that it way okay. You know, okay, between Diane and I. I wasn't worried at all. I was playing around because I thought I could, you know.

She flipped. Literally. Quietly though. It all happened in the look on her face, here eyes really. I reacted by revealing the tooth in my mouth for a third time, thinking she'd missed the joke. She continued to attack me with the stare; you know the one... where you can feel the pain being inflicted by the daggers. Ouch! Diane!

She slowly stood up. Almost tentatively, as if she wasn't sure how to react. She stood in her place and glanced around the café. Next, she tapped the freshly manicured and polished nail of the middle finger on her right hand on the Formica tabletop while she rolled her eyes. I could see she was thinking. I straightened up in my seat and realized that I still had my cheeseburger in my hand so I put it back on the plate.

Funny, my heart rate was increasing. I could feel it. Reacting to every reaction from Diane. I tried to relax but the heart rate stayed up there. I had to find a way to fix things so I decided to apologise. "Diane" I said, which was a mistake. A big mistake because I had momentarily forgotten that I had the baby tooth in my mouth, between my upper lip and my two front teeth. When I said her name the tooth fell, no, it didn't fall, it more like shot out of my mouth like from a gun. It hit the table top.

Oops. Didn't mean for that to happen. Seriously.

It was an accident. I forgot it was there.

I lifted my eyes from the tooth and looked up at her and did the international sign of 'oops', shrugging my shoulders, raising my eyebrows and raising my hands openly. I kicked the gesture up with a look of sorry across my face too. I don't think she understood the meaning of the gesture though. Her stare was intense. So I added a contraction of my face as if to say who would have expected that. Huh!? My gestures were part question part apology part acknowledgement of a 'go figure' moment.

Diane didn't get it.

I looked back at the tooth, and smiled. Unintentionally, mind you. I thought it was funny. The whole thing that had happened. It was! Silly, yes. But funny. And now this reaction. All from a tiny baby tooth. So I smiled with some irony at how it had gone. Not a big smile, but warm and genuine.

The fingernail tapping on the Formica table top started again but faster this time. Tap tap tap tap. It was joined by a sigh that was clearly exasperation and then a grunt. Okay so she was annoyed. My tooth was on her plate in a public place and I guess I can understand her being a bit pissed at that. It's not as if Diane and I have been chaste in our relationship. She's tasted where the tooth came from, and more I should say. So what's the problem? I don't see it.

I like to understand, clearly, what I am being told. The tapping and grunt were open to interpretation. Okay, there was the look on the face to go with it. But that, too, could have been more mock horror at the humor of the moment. Diane can fake things. No I couldn't be one hundred percent sure. At least I could convince myself that I was not sure. I liked words better because, usually, there was no doubt about what was being communicated. But this tap tap, sigh and grunt cycle of hers meant nothing. Diane knew it. I'm sure she knew it. It was too vague. I think she was trying to piss me off. But maybe she didn't have any other response she could give me. Who knows? All I know is that the tapping is wasting time. The food is getting cold. I was hungry.

CAN'T WE JUST GET THE MEAL DONE AND THEN YOU TELL ME OFF? I picked up my burger at this point and motioned for her to sit and do the same thing. I didn't want to say anything because I thought it might draw attention to our situation. My thoughts were screaming at her but she couldn't hear me, of course. Ugh. I put my burger down without taking a bite. Come on Diane.

Waiting. Waiting.

In the moment of waiting I made a mental note to myself to talk with Diane about her tapping. There are some things you shouldn't do when you've been going out with the same person for five months and you've been to some family things together. She owed me more respect than the tapping showed. I should say something but I wouldn't because I was a pussy about things like that. No, not a pussy, I let things slide that others get in a knot over. I never seemed to have the ability to vent audibly what I vented internally. Usually, making the mental note and venting to myself is satisfaction enough. Look, it works for me.

Can you believe that? Making a mental note about something which has really annoyed you is satisfaction enough. It's pathetic. I sound so weak. But I better not go down that road right now because I'll only get more pissed at myself.

Fuck I've got to snap out of this.

*****

Chapter Eight

Daydream over. I can hear Diane's tapping again. It probably never stopped. Argh mental notes.

Stop the fucking tapping would you?

There, I said it. Stop the fucking tapping with your fucking manicured long fingernail of the middle finger on your right hand. Loud and clear.

By staring at her and jutting my jaw and narrowing my eyes. I didn't need to verbalize the feeling. The look was enough. Surely.

Another look and I'll wait for the response. She knows what I am saying.

I could tell from the way she shifted her weight between her feet and sighed, she was ready to respond. I'm not saying she's a big girl by that. No, Diane's quite slender. Above average height and slim in build. She was moving to respond, that's all.

Another few taps and a grunt ... then Diane smoothly reached across the table and with both hands picked up my plate of cheeseburger, salad and fries and tipped the contents into my lap and returned the plate to the table. "You're a freak" she said as she tipped my meal into my lap. Shit Diane!

When she did it, her head was close to mine, I could feel her breath on my face. She hissed it at me. "You're a freak." With a squeal on the EAK of freak. The sound echoed in my head. Squawk squawk like a bird. Screeching even. Freak. Eak. Eak. I'd never heard that whiney tone in her voice before.

I was stunned. With the food in my lap and with her verbal attack. This was unwarranted. She didn't get my joke!

Her words and the nasty tone took what she did out of the joke context I had established. You blew it with the freak thing Diane. Your big chance to have some fun and you blew it.

I was so shocked at what she did that I didn't move. Somehow I couldn't, I was paralyzed. For a few moments at least.

Once I think about it I guess I know she'd be pissed at me.

Make that really pissed. She didn't like the baby tooth trick. But god Diane did you have to turn it into this scene?

All right, I see how it is. I'll fix it. Yeah, it's up to me. Shit the food's hot!

I shifted the look on my face to serious and leaned toward her. I wanted her to hear me. No games. No fancy gestures. Just words.

"Diane, it was a joke." Delivered straight. No anger. No sarcasm. I spoke loud enough for her to hear but not loud enough for our fellow diners to hear even though I guessed they were party to the goings on at our table by now. How could they not be? We were like the car crash that drivers slowed to take a look at for no other reason than voyeur value - their talking point for dinner that night.

Nothing, no response from her.

Leaning in a couple of inches now and with my head raised to reach closer to her standing position. Soft voice. A smile, with a hint of pleading. Opening my hands a little too which had, until this point, remained turned down on the tabletop. "Diane?"

No physical reaction, except for a slight red flush to her cheeks and, I think, a stronger look of anger on her face.

Uncomfortable silence except for the sound of juice occasionally dripping to the floor from my lap.

Why won't she say something?

All she does is stare at me. And people around our table are staring at me too. I can feel it. There is nothing from her to underscore the staring, not a thing. It's like I want to scream out 'WHAT?' at her. Shit.

I feel that I have to fill the silence in some way. I want to let out a huge sigh but stifle it. She could take it the wrong way. I can't think of what to match her staring with, so I just stare back.

I have to break the silence but don't want to draw attention so I whisper in a gentle tone. "So I have a fetish for playing with my baby teeth?" Good. Wait. Then, "It's not as if I'm into necrophilia or some other weird fetish. Be thankful for that." Nothing from her. "Diane?" Panic like laugh followed.

Still nothing. "Diane? Sweetheart." With the sweetheart I lifted my right hand off the table and extended it toward her, palm up. An invitation to peace or at least détente.

Nothing from the other side. No room for negotiating a settlement.

Frustrated, I leaned back, suggesting an air of confidence. It was time for me to take control of the situation.

Well, if the peaceful approach isn't working I obviously have to try another approach don't you think? And I am more confident. I am. I made a joke, it didn't work, she didn't get it, I apologized, she didn't get that. What else could I do? It wasn't my problem anymore. It was time for me to be assertive.

"Can't you take a joke?" She ignored my accusation.

And then she relaxed, yeah, the look on her face changed – definitely more relaxed. Ah, this could be over. At last!

I wondered if I would offend anyone if I retrieved the still quite warm burger and fries from my lap and enjoy them without having to wait. I like to eat when I feel tense. I was starving! If I were alone I wouldn't order, I'd pick it out of my lap and eat. My clothes are clean. Why waste good food? For Diane's sake I will have to order again. I can wait to keep the peace. They don't take too long here. Hmmm, thinking through the menu. Maybe I could go with the deluxe cheeseburger this time. The extra extra cheese and crispy bacon would go down a treat right now.

I was dragged from my menu considerations by a rasping sound from Diane. She was breathing heavily and one of her nostrils sounded blocked. I guessed from the breathing that a reconciliation was off. I smiled about the consequences of the obstruction. Oh, Diane...

I imagined that her hard breathing would dislodge the obstruction and send it flying in my direction like a missile, making her nose a weapon of destruction. I was ready to duck for cover if it let fly. Rasp, rasp. Careful Diane. You're sounding dangerous! Every second rasp sounded different and I think this is due to the obstruction becoming dislodged and ready to be released. Each breath brought it closer to becoming a missile.

I thought about announcing to the other diners that they should duck to protect themselves from Diane's snot but said nothing. I mean, what if it landed in someone's food and they didn't realise. Crazy thoughts I know, I can't stop them! No, I'm not going to protect her. Diane will have to live with the consequences.

Rasp. Rasp. Louder now. I have to help her some way.

While trying to quell the smile I took a napkin from the dispenser on the table and held it out toward her. Diane grabbed the napkin, screwed it up and threw it back at me. She either was prepared for the risk or had no idea what I was trying to protect her from. We didn't understand each other today at all.

Okay, so she didn't want my help. She can rasp away. Just don't let your snot loose in my direction I thought. And, then, as fast as it started it stopped. The rasping was gone. There was a rasp from the inwards breath and then nothing. She'd sucked it back in. Surely she felt that. Yuk Diane. I looked away to stop myself from laughing and noticed my baby tooth still lying on her plate and without thinking, grabbed it and put it in my mouth to clean it off before I put it in my pocket. I did it without thinking. Okay!? Yes, I should have thought about it. Obviously. But I didn't. Diane reacted with daggers from her eyes.

This short scene between us was showing signs of getting worse.

"What?" I didn't know what else to say to her. "What?" What I didn't say to her was 'what, you want me to leave the tooth in your plate, next to your cheeseburger?'. She was supposed to get all that from the 'what'. There was no sense in leaving the tooth there. I had to take it. And that required me to clean it. It was such a small and fiddly thing that cleaning it in my mouth was the only option. Sensible thing to do if you ask me. "What?" I said again, louder this time.

"You're pathetic." The two words she spat as she sneered. Killer sneer. Killer words. Diane!

"Okay, so my joke was stupid." It's the truth and I said it to her.

"And disgusting." She wasn't letting go.

"That's taking it too far." No.

"You're sick." The dismissive tone hurt.

Another try from me. "Look Diane can we forget this and start the meal again?" It was a genuine request from me.

"As if." She sneered back.

Our eyes were locked on each other. Neither giving in.

My mind wandered ...

*****

Chapter Nine

The warmth from the burger made it through my jeans and boxers and deep into my crotch as the oil and burger juices were pulled by gravity. Mmmm.

Ohhh. That's the sound I made internally. A deep sigh of satisfaction and even excitement.

Ohhh. It was a warm moist feeling in my lap, quite unlike any I've had down there before. Very pleasant. Yeah, very pleasant. Huh!

I slowly arched my back and pushed down into the seat a little so that I could feel the thick warm moisture deeper. My seat wasn't like a usual hard café seat, no, I was sitting in a soft and well cushioned seat that allowed me to push back and down with ease. And in pushing back, I got to work my legs together a little and work the juices in. Squelch. Yum. This felt good. Squelching my thighs, the warmth, the moisture. Nicely erotic. Nicely? No. Amazingly erotic!

Deep breathing, in and out... moving slowly, rhythmically.

I think I must have made a noise of some sort because a couple of people reacted. I'm sure I heard someone on a nearby table say 'gross' or something like that. I didn't hear them at the time as such, more afterward when I replayed it in my head. I don't care what they thought.

Burgers and fries. Ohhh... warm and moist. Yeah I know I've said that already. Fantastic! It wasn't too hot on my skin. Just nice and warm. And it felt thick oozing down on my skin.

There was the smell with it too. I was so zoned out by the whole sensory thing. Amazing. I'm sure I was moving more than I thought I was. Not writhing, but certainly moving my legs quite a bit to extend the feeling for maximum value. Yum. This was fantastic.

Don't knock the feeling of burger oil and ketchup drizzling through your jeans and boxers and over your genitals in a café unless you've tried it first.

Thinking about it, the public situation I mean, and moving like I was, well, it made things happen. Things were getting tight in my pants. I was lost in my foreplay; oblivious to the world. I'd like to tell you Diane's reaction but I have no idea. Ah, selfish foreplay...

Breathing heavy, heart rate increasing, blood pumping. This is more sex than half the population has had in a month I'd think. Just me and a burger and fries. Sex without strings. This burger doesn't care. And I don't have any guilt, not at this point at least.

Right now I'm, oh god, I'm getting so turned on by this. But hang on this isn't me, not in public like this. Fuck, go with it! JUST GO WITH IT! Everything is fuzzy. Ahhh, moving around. Forward and back, sideways. The circular motion is the best. Yeah! Squelch. Soaring! It's so... I could, yeah, I...I... could...

"Want a refill of coffee" the words from the waitress somewhere behind me were like a frozen spoon to the ecstasy of my dream. In an instant I was back in the café with Diane standing opposite me. Staring. The look told me I wasn't dreaming as did the feeling in my pants. Thwack, the spoon hit hard.

I felt the warmth from the rush of blood to my face. Embarrassment. I smiled sheepishly at Diane.

The mistake was closing my eyes again. Foggy feeling. Gyrate. Swivel. Squelch. Breathe. Ecstasy. And repeat the circuit. Gone again.

Looking back, this could be an interesting fetish, a discovery. My discovery! It'd be nice to be famous for something. Makes me an explorer of sorts. Fetish explorer. Mmm. Better than discovering a star because you know they're there. With fetishes, who knows what could be one? And now I have one. My own fetish. Yeah!

I'll have to check it out, do some research. If I am the first then maybe I could milk it for all its worth. Ha, milk! I'm so funny sometimes. Milk! I'll laugh about that for years. And as usual with my best lines I'll keep it to myself.

Hmmm, a burgers and fries fetish. Who knew?

I'll create a web site to introduce the world to this self-serving erotic experience. www.burgerandfriesinyourlap.com. I'll be the guru guiding people to enlightenment.

You need the right café, one where the seats are soft and that you have room to maneuver and the right food. Based on my experience it has to be a burger, cheeseburger preferably because they tend to be oilier. And one made fresh in the café, the thicker the better. Don't even think of a burger substitute. It wouldn't be the same with a tuna melt or a hotdog or salad. Yeah, cheeseburger is my recommendation. With extra cheese. And with fries. Not the thicker potato wedges. And not the shoestring kind. The usual café type chunky fries. With ketchup!

By the way, my burger was the Elvis as was Diane's. She would say she liked the Elvis because it was thick and juicy like her men! Anyway, the lunch menu of this café offers celebrity named meals. There's the Momma Cass tuna sandwich, the John Candy double cheese and bacon burger with fried onions and a fried egg, the Karen Carpenter salad which is always good for a laugh and another fifteen or so dishes to choose from. Ah, eating disorders...

The extra large burger patty is what made the Elvis special. Thick and juicy especially when cooked medium. The more juice the more lubricant in your lap and the more pleasure you get from your gyrations. Oh this feels good.

I was yanked back to reality by Diane when she grabbed her purse and car keys from the table. Can't she leave a man in peace to enjoy his burger?

I looked down at my crotch for the first time in this 'incident' and saw the burger surrounded by ketchup-covered fries. I looked up at Diane and then back at the food because it was more interesting thanks to the erection underneath.

A waitperson came toward our table and into my line of sight. They were behind Diane and were about to say something when they must have thought the better of it because they turned and walked away as if in retreat. It would have been good to be saved by them.

I was happy about the fetish experience but by this time I was ready to be rescued. Who wouldn't be by now? This can't be easy for Diane either. Having someone else take care of this for both of us would have been good. I looked for another café staff member but no one caught my look. No one was going to take care of this for us.

Please! Anyone! 'Burger overboard' 'burger down' call 911. Bring on the burger rescue van. Maybe I could have yelled that out and made fun. Maybe maybe. Who knows if it would have helped? In hindsight, yeah, well, we all know how good that is. And unrealistic. In hindsight maybe anyone else would have handled the situation differently. Who knows? In hindsight, the 911 call for burger rescue might have been the best approach. At the time I had a better response.

"Hey Diane, honey, you've made my crotch warm."

I said it with a nice syrupy almost whiney voice that was bound to show that I was making light of the situation. I felt good. Nice adult humor.

Diane didn't smile – she gave off a condescending grunt as if to say 'fuck you!' She wouldn't swear, not publicly at least, but the 'fuck you' sentiment was there, I have no doubt about that. I know Diane. The grunt was certainly a mild strength 'fuck you' stab at my very funny line. Well, fuck her. I didn't say it but I certainly thought it. Fuck her!

Does this woman have no sense of humor at all? Two funny moments and she's missed each one. I'll have to talk to her about this and see if she thinks that anything I say or do is funny because I'm laughing at myself inside all the time and I assumed she was too. Maybe it's me. Maybe my humor is fucked up and she's the normal one? Doubt it. I could do stand up comedy I'm that funny. Tell me that my 'you made my crotch warm' line isn't funny. It still makes me laugh even now. Ha ha. No, I'll talk with her and we'll sort it out. No problem.

Tap tap tap. Diane was at it again. I had to act fast. I was losing her. Think! Seconds were left. Not that I was worried by the thought of losing her. I mean, I was and I wasn't if that makes sense. This wasn't a 'forever' relationship. At least I don't think it was. I wasn't ready for it to end... not with her doing it this way.

I had the track record of ending relationships, not her. I wanted to end it when I was ready. If only she got the joke. That's all she had to do. Get the joke. Laugh. But that's not something you can tell someone. An explained punch line is no punch line.

I was in a dreamy state where time slowed while I thought about my next move. Sounds were stretched. Movement exaggerated. I looked to my left, blinked and then to the right and blinked again. I was getting ready to respond.

Ignoring the burger and ketchup covered fries in my lap, I stood up. Hmmm, that's not quite true. In the seconds between deciding to stand and actually standing I took one nice looking fry and ate that and then a second, this time dipping it in some of the ketchup splattered on my jean leg. That second fry was about three inches long and thick and golden, more rectangular in shape than square. They made their own fries at this café. Did I tell you that already? I can't remember. I'm losing track here a bit. Yeah, from whole potatoes and promote the fact on their menu. 'Hand made right here in our kitchen from local potatoes – the best fries you'll ever taste'. They sure were. I like well-cooked rectangular fries. They have to look golden brown and be warm rather than hot. I don't like hot fries. This second fry was perfect. I'm sure there were more like this one in my lap. Ah, such a waste. But I didn't have time to eat more right now.

I stood and let the burger and fries fall to the linoleum dejected and uneaten. Splat.

I reacted to my waste by curling the corners of my mouth downward. The sad face look. Part humor part seriousness at the loss of good food.

The burger, when it was in my lap, was still edible. Now it's too far gone.

Oh well.

*****

Chapter Ten

Having stood and wasted good food I was determined to give it my best shot.

Here goes.

"Haven't you ever looked at your arse hole in the mirror?"

Okay so it was a long shot.

I had to shove a rod into the spoke of the wheel spinning out of control in her head! It was funny for god's sake! It was a stupid thing to say, utterly stupid. And that's what makes it so obviously funny.

The tooth gag was funny. My line just now was funny. It's only come to this because she decided not to see the humor. It was her choice to create a scene. For a moment I thought I should say my line to her again. To make sure she understood the irony of the situation because the look on her face suggested that she didn't understand. Nah, she didn't get it, not at all.

A few seconds after I gave her my best-shot line she turned and started to walk away. Panic. She was walking out on me. All because of a lousy joke. Jumping in quickly. "Like, because you can... you know..." Nervous laugh. Another step away. Okay it didn't work. Something else. Anything.

Strong voice yet gentle sounding. "I'm sorry, Diane." My face screaming a beg for forgiveness. Difficult thing to do, apologize like that publicly. I was proud. It had to work.

Her face didn't change. Shit. My contrition was wasted. Hmmm.

"At least I don't eat snot." Yeah, that's what I said next.

Not satisfied that I'd hit hard enough. "Yes, I've seen you. I've seen your secret move. Finger up the nose, pick pick, munch munch. Yuk. Diane! It's disgusting."

I know it was a stupid thing to say. I know! Dumb and stupid.

Stupid fuck. Stupid stupid fuck.

I don't think that anyone else around our table heard me. I mean, I didn't say it that loud. I didn't hear any reaction.

I finished the line with my trademark punch line smile – it helps people to know when to laugh. It's the same smile which usually worked with Diane. In fact, I think it was on our first date that she said she liked it. Said it was cute.

Laugh Diane, it's your cue honey. It's something we'll laugh about years down the track when we're old and gray with too many grandchildren or when we see each other in the street after decades living separate lives. Have some fun.

We could both come out of this looking pretty cool if she played along. We'd be the new hip couple in town and our story about the tooth and snot and burger in the lap would become legend among the diners at the Formica tables in this café. I'd like that, to be part of such a story, to have people talking about you like that. Yeah, it'd be good. We'd be minor celebrities for a while.

All you have to do, Diane, for it to come true, is come back with a funny one. Anything really, you can do it. My snot line was a good feed. Use it baby.

I think it's a real test of a relationship – a couple feeding lines to each other in search for the perfect sarcastic yet funny rejoinder. You don't have to be a world class comedy act, but at least in tune with each other to know the plane you are traveling on and to show that off to the world.

This was Diane's moment to show we're in tune. Not that we'd ever talked about it because we hadn't. I don't think it is something a couple should discuss because if they did, then who could know if the other side was giving you a real and spontaneous response, or one of the rehearsed responses they have been working on with their private trainer, so they could remain an equal in the relationship with you. God that sounds arrogant.

I was staring at Diane through this wondering, not meaning to, but staring all the same. Willing her to respond and daring her to have the guts to.

Ah, Diane, you could come back against my "at least I don't eat snot line" with 'anymore' or 'what, and pass up a good minerals shot?'. And they're just off the top of my head.

She continued her silent vigil.

Fuck. Maybe she hadn't heard me. "Diane. I don't eat snot." I said again and again without thinking. I lifted the volume a couple of notches and ended with my trademark quirky smile again. Nothing. "Well, not since I was five or six at least. I think that was the last time I tried it." The last few words were delivered to her back. She was walking away from me.

I called out. "Diane, it was funny. Meant to be at least." She stopped. "It was one of my baby teeth. I thought you'd like the joke. Diane. I even did the quirky smile you like" I let out a nervous laugh at this point. Don't know why, just did. I know it was probably a weak thing to do but I did it anyway. Involuntarily actually. The intimidation of silence you know...

I sensed that she was softening. "Honey?" You should have heard the sincerity in my voice. I was becoming serious now since I could sense that the joking approach wasn't working. Okay, anyone else would have sensed that a while back but I eventually got there.

My voice was soft yet not overdone. "Honey?"

She turned to look at me! Smiled, I think. Maybe she was going to laugh at the joke after all. Maybe this anger was all an act, her own joke even. Clever. But taken a bit far if you ask me. Not the food in the lap because... well, you know. Oh, when I move my thighs at this point...

I could see her getting ready to speak. She was several steps away between our table and the front door and that made me nervous because the distance meant she would have to raise her voice to be heard. I motioned for her to come back to our table.

Oh, our table. That it was. Diane and I first ate at this table on our first real date and many times since. She always sat in that seat and I always sat in this one, an unspoken ritual. We liked to face each other. From my seat I could see diagonally across the café to the front door and from her seat she could see to the back wall and in the mirror up to the front door. We liked that we could see everything.

We had a secret game of talking about other people, you know, making up their stories. This table was perfect for that. The drawback of the table in this situation right now though is that the whole café could see us too.

Maybe that's why she looked around before speaking. Her head swung once to the left and then to the right before facing me. She opened her mouth and took a couple of deep breaths, exhaling the last one as if sighing. It sounded like a surrender sigh. Diane had realized that I was right and that this was a bit of fun. Yeah! We were going to have the memory for our old age after all. I was ready. She was going to make us legends! I was smiling in anticipation.

Even though I had no idea if a memory for the grandkids with Diane was what I wanted, it could be years before I'd even consider that, I did know that I wanted this scene between us to end up that way, you know, as a happy memory, a story to recount, embellish and laugh about, maybe together, for years.

So, I'm standing at the table smiling, Diane has sighed the sigh of submission. This was going to be okay. It's at that moment that I had this overwhelming desire to let her know how I felt. She looked beautiful.

But...

She held both of her hands up toward me, at the wrist like a traffic cop would to stop the traffic, as if resisting me in some way. She wasn't surrendering.

Shit.

All I wanted to do was to tell her about my father. That was the whole idea of meeting here. This scene started, if you remember, because I didn't know how to start telling her about it. Doubt I'll ever get to tell her now.

This wouldn't look good to anyone. Me with food stained clothes, her with those sympathy generating flushed cheeks, the spiteful words between us and her walk out. But knows? It's hard to predict how these things go.

If only Diane...

*****

Chapter Eleven

One winter afternoon, when I was twelve, I was walking home from a movie and about four blocks from my house there was a tap on my shoulder. It was one of the twins who lived in the house next to mine. Identical twins they were, May and June. Always thought it odd, their names. Whatever happened to April? I mean, why not start with April if you have a calendar fetish for girls names. It's one of life's mysteries. Anyway, my story is only about June. I knew May but never really got to know her that well, not as well as June.

Ah, June...

June was my age; they both were, of course! Anyway, June tapped me on my shoulder that day when I was walking home from the movie. I looked around and there was no one there.

I'll explain... she tapped my left shoulder and was hiding on my right. I turned my head to my left and couldn't see her. Then I caught her laughing. She thought it was a great joke.

She ran into the vacant block we were walking past at the time and I chased her. I grabbed her as she was about to jump over a three feet wide water puddle and pushed her in. She ended up sitting in the middle of this thing with water up to her waist.

"That'll teach you" I said to her laughing at her in the mud. I didn't let on I was annoyed she'd tricked me.

In hindsight I realize that this is where it's important because she could either freak out or go with the flow. I expected her to freak. She had nice clothes on, like the twins always had, and now they were muddy and wet. Plus she was a girl. It was the moment for her to decide how to respond. And she responded instantly and with commitment. She started laughing, so loud that I thought the people in the house on the block next to the vacant one where we were, would hear and come and see if she was okay. I crouched down to where she was sitting in the puddle to apologize. "Quiet" I said and made a shhing sound. She laughed even louder and pulled me into the puddle with her. Now we were both wet and muddy and laughing with each other. As easy as that. She got me good and proper.

See what I mean by not being able to predict? If I had predicted that June would pull me in do you think that I would have crouched down by the puddle? No way! So we were both wet and dirty and laughing and splashing each other.

We sat in the puddle for a couple of minutes. Enjoying the, well, I don't know what you'd call it. I know that I felt a kind of fearlessness about it. Almost like I could do anything and get away with it. Being wet and muddy and having June laughing about it made me feel invincible.

Eventually we stopped laughing and I apologized. "Don't worry about it - hey you wanna come over and dry off." They were the first words she said to me. Exactly. She said that her folks and twin sister were out for the next few hours so we could go there and wash our clothes and save getting into trouble. Seemed to make sense. Thinking of mother's reaction to my dirty clothes had me quickly agreeing.

Once I got to her place I realized I had to take my clothes off to wash them.

Two twelve year olds. An empty house. Hormones. I was a total virgin. In every way. I'd never even kissed a girl. Hey, I was a nerd at school and enjoyed study more than anything else. I preferred science lab to sport and the girls liked sports types. So, yeah... virgin!

June put an end to that. The two hours while our clothes were washing and drying was more fun than I knew existed on earth. The things she did to me and the things we did together! Wow! That's all I can say, even now. I'm blushing I'm sure. I always blush when I think about it. Ah June, the master – or mistress or both.

June and I got ourselves dirty once more before we realized that we didn't have to play that charade out to get together. We went straight for the gooey dance as we called it. In school she'd walk past me and whisper "gooey dance, my place, four" and move on before I could answer. She had stealth type abilities like that. From the start we agreed to keep it secret. We had very different friends. And my mother and her parents wouldn't understand. So our secret it was.

Our gooey dance got gooier and gooier and went on for the best part of a year, reaching new heights in pleasure. She was always the leader and I the happy pupil. We tried more fetishes in that year than most people wouldn't get through in ten lifetimes. I look back in awe of our ability to play outside the square. I don't know where she was getting her inspiration from but it was amazing. And thank god for their basement. It provided the perfect playground.

I got the best lesson ever about the female body that year. It was like a master class. I had to hide my body in gym many times because of some of the things we tried. Bruises, chafing, swelling. Amazing! I don't want to go into specific details because I'm not like that. I don't need to tell people about it for the memory to be real. It's between us.

At the end of the year, June and her family moved away and while we wrote dirty letters to each other for the next few months they stopped once she told me she had found a new recruit. I didn't mind. Knowledge like she had was there to be shared and I knew she took this mission seriously.

So, who can predict how something will go. June. Huh!

I was thinking about June as I was looking at Diane in the café. It's the same situation, almost. The push in the mud could have been a horror and instead it was 100% pleasure and happy memories because June allowed it to be.

If only Diane would reach up and pull me into the mud puddle with her? It's a simple step for her to take.

Reach up Diane, reach up. I'd let you pull me in. I would!

One move is all it would take. It could change everything here. It would be so easy, honey? Reach up, please...

Oh, June...

*****

Chapter Twelve

"It's over."

"Huh?" What was she saying.

"Us. This thing. It's over." Exasperated tone. Arms folded. The stare of death. Silence.

"Just like that?" I was surprised.

"I don't date snot eaters." Louder. Ouch! Another pause.

"You're gross and disgusting." Louder. Long sneer. Pause again. Bitch. "I don't know what..." What? What? Another pause mid-sentence leaving me guessing - and then under her breath... "gross!".

I thought she had finished because she turned her head as if she was about to go to leave again. It wasn't too bad. Not the understanding I expected but all things considered not too bad. Actually, the way she said it made her out to be, well, uncool, and that made it acceptable at least. I took it as a points victory for me.

Diane took a couple of steps toward me and leaned in, sneering more as she got closer.

"You think it's funny. I know that. And some of your friends might think it's funny too. Well, it's not. It's not funny. You're not funny. Not now and never before." Pause. "This wasn't funny." She grandly gestured to the table and my lap. "And your gross personal habits aren't funny."

What gross personal habits? I have good personal habits. And what's this about me not being funny? "I'm never funny?" I overemphasized the never for her.

"I only know to laugh at your jokes because of the stupid head thing you do on the punch line when you say something which you think is funny." She did the head thing - overdone compared to the natural flick I give my head though. Talk about a dramatist. Oh, Diane. What does she mean about gross personal habits?

"Oh, Diane." I said it out loud for her and with a tone of genuine sadness saying – you don't get it!

"You're not funny." Blank look. No room to move on this.

"What, and you are?" Stupid response I know but I couldn't believe she didn't think I was funny.

"Funnier than you." And she did my quirky head thing again, way overdone this time. She was mocking me!

"Diane..." I extended her name as if pleading for her to understand.

"This isn't funny. It's just not." She pointed with her right hand index finger at the table and my crotch again.

"It is funny Diane." I was exasperated. "And I..."

She cut me off. "It's sick, that's what it is. You're sick".

"I'm not sick." Quick defense.

I didn't understand why she was saying this.

"Why anyone walk around with their baby teeth in their pocket is beyond me."

Now that I had thought about it, I want to know why she never told me about the quirky head thing I did. She had told me she thought it was cute the one time she mentioned it. Why say it's cute if you don't like it? And why tell a friend about it when you hate it? Because that's what she did. She told one of her friends that 'my cute face thing' was their cue to laugh. I heard her. Doesn't make sense. If she wasn't going to be honest with me...

She was also wrong, I only had one tooth in my pocket, not 'teeth', plural. But I figured what was the point in correcting her? I'd only found the tooth the day before when I was cleaning through my apartment, remember, before he knocked at the door. Anyway, I found it and put it in my pocket. I was wearing the same jeans the next day at the café.

"Thank god I never saw you eat your snot." She really punched YOU and YOUR with her delivery She'd turned away from me so I can't tell you about the look on her face.

"Huh?" I didn't understand what she was saying.

"You know what I mean." I thought I heard a lilt in her voice, like she was having fun with this so I went along with her joke. "And I'll miss your fetish too, sweetheart."

If I'd thought about I wouldn't have said it, I didn't want a tit for tat argument with her. But, too late, my mouth got in first. "And I'll miss your fetish too sweetheart." Those words gave a promise of great things to come and I wasn't about to let the audience down. Yeah, we had to have an audience by now. Voices raised a bit. Accusations. This was becoming a good show in this sleepy café. There was no way I could not respond

My words stopped her walking toward the door. She turned her head back toward me.

"Yeah, Diane, I'll sure miss your fetish... for urine. Not!" Pause for it to hit. Pow! Then with a smile, "I never could work out why you had to drink your first piss every day." Pause again. I mimicked gulping down a drink and made a loud swallowing sound for effect and then wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and let our a refreshing "ahhh.." I had a big smile across my face. Bam! "Talk about a pissing fetish huh Diane? Drink up honey?"

Body blow! Yes!

"And, no, it's not something I want to share with you. I'll drink your beer and your coffee but I won't drink your piss Diane. Okay? No matter how much you beg." On a roll. Adrenaline pumping. "Still carry the hip flask with you Diane?" Yeah! "Never know when you're going to get the thirst." Ha! "I love the way you get your piss in the thing." Yeah, I did a squatting motion.

Always underlining too much I went on. "The truth's out now isn't it Diane?" Looking around the café for support. "Yeah, last week she even asked me to piss on her. I refused. I'm not into that. No way." I couldn't stop. I felt like they understood, in a voyeuristic sense, the humor of the bizarre picture I'd painted. It was for them really... part of the routine. Taking it that far I mean.

Diane lurched at the door while still a step away and stumbled through it, almost falling. I think I could hear her sobbing but it might have been the coffee machine behind the counter gurgling through a new brew. It's one of the reasons I liked to come here – their brew was always fresh.

Yeah, the aroma told me that the gurgling was the machine and not Diane.

I was mid thought on my attack and had more to yell at Diane but she wasn't here anymore. I was like a fighter who's opponent had been taken away, looking for somewhere to direct the energy. I had slurs I needed to get out of my system.

Looking around the room. "The first time she drank her piss I thought it was a joke." Nervous laugh. "I did! The next time I thought it was a bit weird." Pause. "As you would." Someone snickered which I took as agreement.

"But then she asked me to do it all over her." Another snicker. "True!"

I remember feeling satisfied at this point. I was standing still looking out of the café at Diane slumped by the door.

I'd trumped her and felt proud.

*****

Chapter Thirteen

Everyone was looking at me.

I don't like being noticed like this.

I shuffled my feet in what would have looked like an uncomfortable move.

I wish they'd stop staring at me.

My looking away from them and feigning interest elsewhere didn't help.

Stop!

More shuffling.

I realised I had to try and convince this audience that my fighting with Diane was reasonable. A big ask given that I had driven my girlfriend out of this place sobbing and by way of a "story" about her piss fetish.

To no one in particular... "Don't worry, she'll be back. So I'd hurry up and eat if I were you, this could get ugly." Nervous laugh but I don't think they noticed. "She's got a fierce sense of humor. You'll see." I looked around the café.

"Yeah, she'll be back as the say in the classics." Pause. "Yeah." Smiling and looking for acceptance in their faces. "This was all... well... this was." Faltering. "She'll be back."

It was like they were waiting for something else from me, those who were still looking at me that is. Many had gone back to eating and their own conversations.

I shrugged my shoulders and sat.

I hated this situation and how I was handling it. None of the people here understood what was going on and how it made me feel. Ignorant bastards. The dated yet somehow hip geometric pattern in the faded red Formica table top was luring me into the depressing thoughts of Mother, Dad, the man at the door, Diane and memories. Ah memories. The train wreck continues.

Fuck.

I reached across the table and picked up Diane's burger and ate in silence. Small bites. Deliberate chewing. Lost in the thoughts.

Once I started eating a couple of staff from the café worked around me cleaning up the mess of my burger and fries on the floor. They offered to clean my seat but I said no thanks. They also offered a cloth to clean my jeans and I said no to that too. I wanted to reduce attention rather than attract it. I gave them a sheepish 'I'm sorry' look. They smiled in return. They knew I had been joking. Surely? I could tell from the way they were with me... who knows?

Diane's burger and fries disappeared in a matter of minutes followed by the salad on the side of her plate and both of the beers which came with our food. I was starving and thirsty and pleased to have something to do.

Things had calmed down in the café. The usual sounds of orders being taken, food being eaten and conversations told me that. I felt almost invisible compared to ten or fifteen minutes earlier when Diane walked out the door. Relaxed even.

I'm glad that's over. Not Diane, but the incident, the whole thing. It's a relief. Don't know what to do next though. Like, do I visit her or what? Do I leave it for here to make contact with me? My sense is that there should be a day or two break for us both to fume about it a bit and then, maybe, a call. Yeah.

I'd have no problem making the first move. I know I should. And it should be a straight up and down apology too. See what happens from there eh? An apology and wait. Hopefully she'll be laughing about it by then and we can get everything sorted out. So that's what I'll do. Make the first move and apologize.

What I said before about her was said in the heat of the moment. I like her in spite of everything. What's happened here will give our relationship some character. More than I can say for some of the other relationships I see around me. We're not a bland couple people don't notice. No, we're the wacky two who put on a scene. After today, that is. Yeah. This'll be fine.

Daydreaming.

Huh? Do I want to order something else? I think for a moment. I'm still hungry and don't feel ready to leave yet, so I order pie. Their homemade Apple Pie. My favorite. "With ice cream thanks. I'd like it with ice cream." I like this server. She has the look of compassion. "And cold, I don't like warm pie."

"Me neither." She was really nice.

"Yeah, cold pie and cold ice cream."

"Perfect for a cool Fall day."

"Yeah." And as I said that I looked out the window to the afternoon drawing to a close. She was right about cold pie being perfect for a day like today. Ah, comfort food.

I looked back and she was gone in search of my pie.

If Diane were here she would be annoyed because I rarely ordered dessert. She's won't order unless I do. Even though she would say that she didn't really want anything, she would ask me enough times for me to know that she really wanted something. She says she doesn't like eating in front of someone who isn't eating. For the first few months I played along and ordered but now I don't and she reacts by going quiet. It pisses me off. If she wants dessert she should order it. Insecurities...

It never bothered me. But now...

It was as if the events had unlocked suppressed thoughts about Diane and 'us'. In my thoughts I was seeing a different Diane. I can live with that though. I know her better now. That's what's good about something like today. Clarity.

Wish the desert would hurry. I'm hungry.

Actually, I'm ready to leave. I want to get cleaned up.

It's only a slice of cold apple pie and a scoop of ice cream. A minute and it should be here.

The pattern on the Formica table top is screwing with my head.

I feel funny sitting at the table by myself.

*****

Chapter Fourteen

My daydream was of how I might approach reconciliation with Diane in a few days, playing out the many scenarios. Weighing up the pros and cons. Trying to be fair in my assessment of what was right. Going over things in my head too many times to be objective about anything.

I didn't have anything else to do since the apple pie was taking forever. I was sucked into the dream vortex of 'what if...'. I'd say my opening words and she'd respond and then me and then her and soon we'd be in each others arms and reconciled. No matter which scenario I followed I reached reconciliation. Nice.

I didn't see the server put my dessert on the table in front of me. He was already steps away when I looked up and saw, over his left shoulder, Diane entering the café through the front door. The shudder this vision caused in my body shook the remains of the daydream from my head.

What now? I've moved on to reconciliation is what I wanted to tell her. But I didn't say anything. Maybe she was thinking the same thing so there was no need to jump in first. It was too soon but I'd accept reconciliation now.

She walked to the table with a confidence, confusing me.

I stood - it was a reflex action.

Not wanting another scene took my time. I exhaled, relaxed, breathed in and spoke... "I said I was sorry and I meant it. Seriously. What I did was a prank, a silly prank, that didn't work. I am sorry Diane."

No response.

Half smile from me. "There. I've apologized again. It was silly and I'm sorry. I didn't mean any of it."

Nothing this pause either.

"You have every right to be angry."

The only response is her smile. Nice smile too.

"Okay, Diane?"

We stared at each other in silence. Her smiling and me questioning. Maybe that was it. Smiling accepting the apology. Maybe we were moving on. Yeah.

"Sorry, I ate your burger." Genuine, sheepish, look on my face at this point. "I was hungry." I smiled.

She smiled broadly back. Good. "That's okay" she said, "I got a sandwich down the street." I gave a slight nod of my head to that. "I was hungry too."

"Oh, good" I remember thinking this is okay.

"Yes, around at the deli, you know. We've got food from there before. You like their California Rolls."

"Sure." I did, too.

Détente, maybe. I relaxed some.

I was about to take our small talk somewhere else when I noticed a package in her left hand. Unease replaced the feeling of comfort. What was this thing? I realized I was staring at it. I hate my irrational tendencies. No, this would be okay. It was nothing, I brought myself under control. Breathe. Relax.

"Diane, I ordered apple pie. Would you like some?"

She gave me half a smile.

"Or maybe order something else?"

Trying harder I say... "I'll wait for you while you do that."

Silence. "Maybe a beer? Yeah, a beer."

I gestured for a server and with a couple of dexterous hand movements ordered two beers without saying a word. Skill!

Silence. Panic again.

Fuck, Diane, why can't you be normal with this? Give me something honey, anything. Let me know where I stand. It's driving me insane. I hate games like this.

I worked hard and got myself under control. "I'm really glad you came back Diane. Once I finished here I was going to..." Her gesture, as she sat, for me to sit too, cut me off. There was an audible squelch as I sat in the wet patch on my seat.

Remembering, I offer, "they have the dessert special on that you like." I gestured to the specials board. "The cheesecake. Lemon and passion fruit."

"No thanks, the sandwich was enough. You know I'm off sweet things at the moment. Silly!" I think she emitted a giggle at this point.

Huh? Since when was she off sweet things? Before I could think...

"This is yours sweetheart. You left it in my car. Remember?" On to the table she lifted the package she was carrying.

The brown paper loosely surrounding the package fell away.

What the paper was covering was mainly plastic. A cylinder it looked like. I leaned intoward it. There was a hole in one end and a power cord coming out of the other end and a product label up one side.

"Mine?" I blurted it out.

She leaned across the table but didn't speak as quietly as she could have. "Your Big Pete. Sweetheart" She picked it up and handed it to me and I foolishly yet reflexively took it.

"Big Pete?" I echoed. Stupid!

"For your Little Pete."

"Little Pete?" Echo again. Really stupid!

"Big Pete... for your Little Pete." Her voice was normal as was her manner yet I didn't understand.

"I've got no idea what you're talking about." I didn't.

"Sure you do sweetie." She said, smiling. "I'll have the dessert special thanks." She was ordering dessert from a nearby server.

"This isn't mine." I still had the thing in my hands. Anyone looking would have hardly been convinced.

"It is." She had a playful tone. "You know it is honey." I hated this time. "Along with this." She put a half empty bottle with the brand name Silky Lube emblazoned up the side on the table.

I put the plastic thing down. Next to the Silky Lube bottle.

The Silky Lube next to the Big Pete took on a stronger presence. One plus one equals three in this scenario. They were a beacon drawing wandering eyes to our table.

Shit.

I grabbed Big Pete and moved it to the other side of the table as if it would dilute the power of their collective presence.

Fuck Diane.

She moved it back.

Check.

I moved it to the seat.

She moved it back. "Come on Diane."

Check again. "Come on yourself." She spat it at me.

I give up. "This is stupid." I said with a sigh.

"Yeah, stupid." She wasn't sighing, she laughed. She reached over and turned the tube of lubricant so it's name and the Big Pete name were next to each other again.

Our chess game drew more attention.

The voice in my head was clear. Stay cool. Don't engage. Be truthful. "Diane, I have no idea what these things are."

"Yes you do. You pumper you." The laugh again.

"What?" I shouldn't have said the first thing that came into my head.

"Pumper." She pointed from the exhibits on the table to me and back again.

"Pumper?"

"I never minded."

"What."

"Anyway, I knew you'd miss Big Pete here so I thought it only fair to give it back since we've broken up and all."

"We haven't broken up." I heard a small sounding voice say.

"You know what happens if you miss him for more than a couple of days." No laugh. She wasn't joking. She used her index finger and thumb to give the universal sign of small dick to me and everyone watching.

"I'd hate you to miss your workout." Now she laughed.

Frustrated. "It's not mine."

"We have broken up and this IS yours." She oozed confidence.

"Can't we talk about this somewhere else?" I didn't want to talk about this in the café. "I'll talk with you about this anywhere but here." Pleading with my eyes. "Please."

"Here is fine."

"Please Diane."

"Honey there is where we broke up so I thought you'd be okay with..."

"This is crazy." I could feel beads of sweat on my neck and forehead.

"That's what I said when I first saw you put your little willie thing in there." The show and tell was more humiliating because of her girlie laugh. "This is crazy!" She faked mimicking what she never said to me. "Don't you remember?

"It didn't happen Diane."

"You were embarrassed."

"No I wasn't"

"Yes you were. I begged you to show me." Another laugh. "And you did."

"No." Another sigh.

"You put your little thing in here and..."

"Stop please."

"This thing made your little Pete."

"It's not my thing."

"Stop with the denial." She was on a roll. "I thought it must have hurt sucking that hard on your, thing. But it did the trick. Little Pete liked it. He came out bigger than he went in every time." I opened my mouth to interrupt but she continued. "I liked the sound it made when you first turned it on each time." She ended the sentence by sticking her tongue out slightly and making a short guttural sucking sound as she closed her mouth.

I was frozen, trapped in the humiliation of it all.

The café was quiet. No one was eating. The servers weren't serving. The kitchen was silent. I felt the stares piercing me.

The show at table sixteen was more interesting than anything else going on in that place at that moment so why would they look elsewhere? Dirty linen and dark sexual secrets made for good viewing.

"Big Pete". I heard someone say with a laugh from behind me.

"Yeah." Someone else.

"That's what the label says." The first voice again.

"For his little Pete." A new voice this time. Male. More laughter. His at first and then others from the same general direction and then from table across from my right shoulder.

I was drowning. My thoughts too incoherent to respond with.

I didn't say anything.

How could she do this in front of all these people. And in such a humiliating way. It's one thing to bring these things in and embarrass me but to do it so loudly was uncalled for.

This has turned into a major fuck up. I don't understand. What did I ever do to her?

I reached across the table and wrapped "Big Pete" back in the brown paper and put it on the seat next to mine in an effort to reduce the interest of others. I looked up at Diane and she was still in her moment of glory. I didn't want to say anything because who knows what she would come back with. I didn't know her any more.

Fuck Diane. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

A crashing sound interrupted me, I looked where the noise came from and I could see Big Pete, loose, rolling on the floor. Shit.

Before I could engage in the reality enough to move, someone at a table behind Diane picked it up. But rather than passing it back she had a look at it and showed the others at her table. Of course, they looked my way and laughed. You would wouldn't you? I'd like to think that I wouldn't laugh but I know I would. It's what happens in situations like this. The pack mentality and all.

Then, and I still can't believe this; she passed it to the next table away from our table where they looked at it and laughed even harder. It was passed to another three tables before it was back at our table. All along the way people were reading the label aloud and saying "little Pete" and stuff like that. Someone else said 'Oh, I see how he does it. It goes in here and the suction..." Their laugh was the loudest yet.

The last person in the relay said "Don't throw it away. Not after the pleasure it's given you. Here, you keep it." As they placed it, standing upright, on the table in front of me.

I watched the baton passing slumped in my chair with both of my elbows on the armrests and my head resting on my crossed hands. I was powerless. Diane relished it, she even outwardly cheered at one table's reaction.

It was as if touching the thing made Diane's story real to each of them. It was her proof that I used it and they soaked it up.

The journey this thing went on in the café was like one of those waves in a sports stadium. But instead of a roar and raised hands here laughs and accusing stares toward me accompanied Big Pete around the arena.

"Don't throw it away honey. I mean, what could I use this for? And I don't think my next boyfriend would want to use something which has been used by you. You need it anyway." I couldn't believe that she was still milking it. Yeah, I get the humor of "milking" but I'm not feeling that anything is that funny right now if you don't mind.

Big Pete stayed on the table. There was no point in trying to be discreet about this. I decided that silence was the only way to stop this getting worse. Nothing more from the defeated. None.

Eat the apple pie. Yeah. Fork in hand and eating. Focus on eating.

Don't want to eat. Seething. Embarrassed. So embarrassed. Eating my pie off a table which is also a stage to her Big Pete fraud. I pull my plate to the edge of the table, close to me. I hunch down over it.

No matter what I say, people will think I have a small dick. Anyone I show myself to in defense, not that I would do that, would think I pumped it up. I lose either way. The cunning bitch trumped me.

I eat the pie in silence.

I'm not worried about size. I've never worried about size.

No.

Never, I said.

But if people who heard about this thought about my size or joked about it, that would bother me. I'm sure it would bother anyone in my situation. And people will hear about it. For sure they will. There are enough Uni people in the café for the story to be getting around quickly.

It's easy for anyone not in my shoes to say don't worry about. They're not the one the Big Pete/Little Pete jokes are about. It's not their crotch being looked at by all and sundry. They're not the ones... they're not me.

This is so humiliating.

I'm not what some might call a size queen okay?

Can't even remember the last time I looked at myself naked in the mirror and thought about size. It's not me.

For the record and so that you know, I've never bought any sexual type of device ever. There's no point in telling anyone here that.

It's awful knowing that everyone around me is thinking about me and sex and my dick size. Everything they are thinking is wrong and there isn't a thing I can do about it. FUCK!

As I put another spoonful of pie in my mouth Diane hit again. "Get over it would you? So you pumped your dick up. Who cares? It worked and that's all that mattered." She doesn't want to claim victory and leave it alone.

"Oh, here, don't forget these." She put a small bottle of blue pills on the table.

"You've had your fun. And I concede defeat. We're even. Diane? Even."

Whispering she said, "Oh, no, we're not even. Not by a long shot. And this isn't about getting even, honey." Then, louder, "When you break up with someone it's only right to return their stuff. I'd give you back your other 'special' medication but that's back at my place so I'll mail it to you. You'll have to find stimulation some other way until then."

Diane's dessert special arrived and she tucked into it as if she hadn't eaten in a week. I resisted the temptation to pick up the pack of blue pills. I recognized the label, they were the latest medication for guys who had trouble getting an erection. The publicity the wonder drug had received was enormous.

My thoughts were mush.

Through the fog I thought that, maybe, I could redeem the situation. I had to choose my words carefully. I fixed a smile on my face and picked up Big Pete and held it in both hands. I looked it over and tried to work out how something like this operated. I looked from Big Pete across at Diane and back a few times and smiled even more. I held it out toward her and was about to say something when I noticed that now she wasn't looking at me – her eyes were looking above me, behind me and to my right. Instinctively, I turned and looked up... and into the face of Mother.

My mother!

Fuck.

Here I am holding a Big Pete Penis Pumper in my outstretched hands to my girlfriend as if I'm asking her a question about it and with the sticky remnants of a burger and fries visible on my jeans and mother is standing behind me watching.

I slowly put Pete down on the seat and opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out. I couldn't think of anything to say. Without waiting for me, mother picked Pete up off the seat and sat and looked it over.

"Darling you don't need this." Genuine concern.

"I know, I..."

"No. I am sure that there are better options than this awful thing." She held it up as if it were a prize.

"I don't ..."

"You could injure yourself." She was getting louder with each sentence.

"It's not mine." I sneered at her.

"Doesn't it hurt?" She pulled a face.

"I said, it's not mine." Anger obvious now.

"Oh." Knowing glances between the two women. "It's okay dear." Her hand on my arm, patting me. I was screwed.

"It's not okay."

"It's not okay then." She smiled again.

"Mother, you don't know what's going on here."

"It's obvious even to me I think, dear."

"No. You don't understand. This isn't mine, the tube of lubricant isn't mine and the tablets aren't mine."

"Yes, I'm sure they're not honey."

"They're not!" I raised my voice.

"If you say so ..." She paused. "I can't imagine Diane buying these for her own use? These are male devices. She has no use for them. That's all I'm saying dear." Her delivery was matter of fact and motherly. Everyone listening in would have taken it as care from a Mother for her son. "There are other remedies you know."

"There is nothing wrong, Mother."

"I know." Her hand was patting my arm again.

I yanked my arm away. "You don't know."

"I am your Mother." She was using her gentle voice now.

"Huh?" I really meant to say 'what's that got to do with anything?'

"I know there's nothing wrong darling." At least when she pointed down to my crotch she was reasonably discrete. But I don't think it stopped people noticing what she was referring to.

"God, Mother, you haven't seen me naked for years."

"So I don't know there's nothing wrong then."

"Sometimes I wonder about you." I hated the way she twisted things I said.

"You wonder about what?"

I felt my embarrassment showing. "Sometimes I wonder, is all." I lowered my voice to reduce attention.

"And I'll wonder more about you now that I have seen what bizarre things you are into."

"Don't you call me bizarre."

"What?"

"You heard me Mother."

"You, with the Big Pete Penis Pumper and a tube of Silky Lube lubricant and some exotic drugs of some sort, call me, your mother, bizarre."

"Yes."

"Yes? Is that all you can say?"

"You're strange Mother." This was such a juvenile argument.

"Tell that to the New York Times."

"Stranger than they could ever understand Mother."

"You're not back on the alien thing are you? Because if you are, you should revisit to Doctor Sorensen. Remember, he said if those thoughts ever returned you should see him immediately."

I was screwed. Hit me and make it hard, maybe I'll wake up from a nightmare. I wanted it to be a dream so bad but knew that it wasn't. No café. No girlfriend. No penis pumper. No lube. No mother.

If it's not a dream then let me die.

"Maybe Doctor Sorensen could help you with your 'other' issues too." Is there no end to the public humiliation that I'm supposed to endure? My cock up didn't deserve this public mockery from my mother.

Mother ignored the humiliation which must have been showing on my eyes and the trembling of my lips. "All I am saying, dear, is that if you feel inadequate in any way then you can attend to it with the help of a medical professional. You don't have to resort to doing harm to yourself with this thing." Syrup tones flowed from her. "God! It must hurt." Unnecessarily loud. "I can't see how it wouldn't."

A grunt was all I could manage as I folded my arms and looked out the window at the rest of the world.

She was holding the thing toward me and stuck her finger in the open end. "When your thing is in here and then you plug it into the wall socket and turn the power on." She made a suction sound followed by a lame attempt at a cry of pain. Bitch.

"I wouldn't know if it hurt Mother." I jumped out of my seat and hissed down at her. "What do you care anyway?" I wanted to move but my feet felt glued in place. "I do not feel fucking inadequate?" I yelled that last bit at her motherly smile.

"I don't." Agitated.

"It's okay dear." Her hand touched my arm.

"I don't feel inadequate."

"I know." Hand on my arm again.

"You don't know."

"I'm trying to understand." Her left hand took my right hand.

"Thank you." My best sarcastic tone.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"I am not ashamed."

"No, dear."

I yanked my hand out of hers. "Fuck!" I spat at her. Second time if you're counting. I wasn't at the time. My brain was sidelined.

"Fuck you." To Diane.

"Fuck you." To Mother.

"Fuck the lot of yous." Sprayed at everyone in the café as I swung my head around.

Yelling now. "I don't need this. It's not mine." I threw Big Pete against the wall. "Nor this stuff." The tablets and lube followed.

"I don't NEED any of it!"

I was seething. Hands shaking. Heart racing. Breathing heavy. Sweating.

My hands roughly fumbled open the food stained buckle of the belt on my jeans followed by the top button of the fly. I paused for a second before grabbing the top corner of the left side of my fly and yanking open the other buttons. One or two buttons broke off with the force.

"Take a look at this and see for yourselves that I don't need it." My voice said as I shoved my jeans and my underwear down. My right hand grabbed my penis and held it for them to see, as if they couldn't see it from what I had already done. Stupid.

Diane laughed. Mother held her mother look.

I let go of my penis and swung around so the others in the café could see that my size was okay. Then I turned to face the girls again.

"See." Louder. "See." Stumbling over words now. "That's a penis in no need of any device like that. That thing can't be mine." I'd call it a cock but to my mother, for some reason, I use her preferred word of penis.

"Sure sweetheart." Diane spoke for the first time since Mother arrived at the table. "Little Pete's looking really good."

"It's not Little Pete."

"Well, no, not since you and Big Pete hooked up." She was perfectly calm.

"Put it away dear, no one wants to see it." Mother almost whispered to me.

"Yes, put it away." Diane joined the chorus. "Please." Then she laughed. People around the table laughed too.

"Only if you agree that I don't use it."

"Don't be silly."

"You're the one being silly Diane with your games here."

"Let's forget the whole thing. Just put it away." Mother was sounding stern now.

"Only if she agrees I don't use it."

"You're holding us to ransom with that?"

"You fucking bitch."

"That's uncalled for." Mother was harsh and loud.

Before I could come back at her, Diane sighed and said "Oh, all right. If that's what I have to do to get you to put it back in your pants. You didn't use it."

"If I was using that thing I'd expect it to be red or something. Look, not a blemish on it." I remember looking down to see my cock in both my hands as I carefully looked it over.

"Maybe you should use it." I don't know who said that but someone did. I didn't actually hear it at the time, more of a memory that came back later.

"It's a good size." I wish I hadn't defended myself so much.

"Yeah, now." Another faceless participant.

"I don't think it's that good a size." Don't know who said that either.

"There's nothing wrong with it." I said swinging around to the room again.

Mother interrupted. "Put it away and sit down. No one is interested in your thing."

I ignored her. "This hasn't been inside anything except you Diane." I glared at Diane. "Oh, and Rachel and Lois and Flick and Gemma and June... you get my drift. It's never been in anything that wasn't human. And wasn't female."

I jerked my right hand, the one holding my cock, with each name and it reacted by filling with blood.

Fuck I'm an idiot.

Jerking off in a café full of people and in front of my mother.

When I let go everyone saw my growing erection. There was a crowd around our table so when I say everyone I mean everyone.

All I could hear and see was laughter.

"I don't use anything to make it big."

"Sure." "Right." "We understand." These responses came from the crowd along with more laughter.

Shaking, I pulled up my underwear and forced my cock in. I finished dressing and sat back in my chair, tears trickling down my cheeks. The crowd around the table slowly moved back to their seats whispering among themselves.

I sat still for a time and then spoke in a quiet voice. "It's not mine, I've never seen it and I've never used one."

"Can't you take a joke?" Diane squawked at me followed by a quirky movement with her face. "A joke, that's all."

"Sure it was a joke." A guy from one of the nearby tables said it. I'll never live this down.

"You've really got to get out more and work on your sense of humor sweetheart." Diane curled her lips with the 'sweetheart'.

"Fuck the both of you." And then straight to Mother, "is he my real father or not?"

"Yes."

"The man in the photo who's grave we visited, he's not my father?"

"No."

"Did my original father know?"

"No."

"And you've been seeing him all along?"

"Off and on."

"And what now?"

"We're to be married."

"I knew it." I breathed deeply for a few moments. "Fuck."

"Thanks for the best wishes dear."

"What do you expect me to say?"

"Not much based on your performances today son, not much at all."

I turned to Diane. "This was why I wanted to meet with you today. I had to tell someone about my dad, you know, to sort out my thoughts. But once we sat here I was nervous and I remembered the tooth in my pocket and used that as an ice breaker anecdote, sort of."

"I already knew about your new father. Your mother told me a week ago." And as an afterthought. "We met up yesterday for lunch. The three of us, that is. He's a nice man"

"What?" I was shocked.

"I met your real...Walter ..."

"The wombat?"

"Your father."

"Walter?" To Mother.

She named her wombat after my real father?

"He's a nice man." Diane repeated.

"Walter." Mother confirmed.

"You named your wombat after him?"

"He was the inspiration."

"He's Walter the Wombat?"

"No, dear, he's your father. Walter the Wombat isn't real."

"Fuck."

"I thought it was best this way." Yeah, she knows best.

"Didn't you think ..."

Mother didn't wait for me to finish. "Didn't _you_ think, for one minute, that no matter what I did or how I did it, it wouldn't be right for you?" The motherly lady was gone.

"I don't know what you mean."

"You do know what I mean. We're just bit players who drift in and out to be part of your fantasy. You make up everything you know. Based on past experience you'd create your own sophisticated story around the news no matter how you found out. It's what you always do. Fantasy is reality and reality is fantasy to you."

"What would you know?"

"Nothing." I've never seen Mother like this. "I know nothing, of course."

"Mother..."

"Don't mother me."

"You've stolen my dreams."

"I've stolen nothing from you."

"My father."

Mother's response was softer. "Your dreams are still your dreams. Walter is Walter and not there to touch your precious dreams. We don't want to intrude on your life." She paused for a few moments. "It's time for you to leave the past behind Son. Move on. Your dad, in the photo would agree."

"I can't believe you told her first." I sounded like a ten year old, I know I did.

Diane stood and hit me with venom. "If you don't leave us alone I'll tell them the rest of your fucked up pathetic little boy soap opera." Pause for effect. "Take your toy and go have some fun with yourself." She paused again. "Try it. You'll probably like it."

I stayed still trying to stare her down.

"Don't test me."

"Why don't you run along and leave us alone. You've given me enough material for one day." Mother was in control as always.

Well, fuck 'em.

*****

Chapter Fifteen

My head was pounding and my stomach churning. Breathing was difficult. My world was fucked and stolen from under me. I had to get out of there.

I used every ounce of energy I could muster to move.

I pulled out a couple of bills from my pocket and dropped them to the table and headed for the door. Each step was a struggle, my legs were like jelly.

"It was a joke." Diane said to my back. "A joke." She put on a laugh.

Mother chimed in, too. "Yes, dear, we were having a bit of fun with you, that's all." They both had the 'all is forgiven, come back' type sound.

"We didn't mean anything by it." Mother again.

A voice said "Can't take a joke." It wasn't Mother. It wasn't Diane. Even though I only wanted to sigh at their intrusion I mumbled "go fuck yourself" toward them.

"Go fuck yourself, yourself, pin dick." Different voice this time. I sighed. The crowd was voting.

During the walk to the door I realised that the entire café was silent. No one was doing anything except watching me. I wanted to say something but had no idea what might make sense of it all.

As pulled I open the heavy door and swung it back my eye caught sight of a man sitting on a stool at the counter. Like everyone there he was watching me. I wouldn't have noticed him except that he looked familiar. Huh, he must have come in with Mother and seen the whole thing. Fuck.

I got through the door and out on to the sidewalk. I was shaking so hard now that I could barely stay upright so I lent back on the window and closed my eyes and breathed. Gulped is more like it... as if I'd been choking. My whole body was freaking me out with its reaction. Unable to stand any longer, I crouched down.

No one came out to see if I was okay. No one in the street stopped.

I slowly settled down.

After a while, I don't know how long, I looked back into the café. I think I was looking to see what I should do next. I was out of ideas so I was hoping that something might come to me by looking back in there.

Huh, the futility of hoping.

No one was looking at me, not a single person. Beyond the rows of tables near the window I could see Diane and Mother. They were at our usual table. Eating and talking. He was with them. My seat was empty.

If they were looking my way and if there was even a hint of concern on their faces I would have gone back in. But they weren't.

Making a decision about what to do was a struggle. And then I saw my reflection in the window. I looked like shit. I couldn't sit here slumped on the footpath so I got to my feet. It took a moment before I felt steady.

Without purpose I turned away from the café and started walking up the main street past the fifteen or so shops. I kept my eyes to the ground for risk of seeing someone who might know me. My slow shuffle eventually grew to a faster walk once I decided I wanted to be as far away from the café as I could get.

I walked out of the town and along a back road to the next town.

The cool afternoon air was calming but it was a while before I noticed that. Even though I was away from the place, my head wasn't – it was spinning, playing everything on repeat. I couldn't stop it. Every so often I'd stop walking and crouch down with my head in my hands and my thumbs pressing hard into my temples to try and massage myself out of it. It didn't work so I'd get up and keep walking.

After going through three towns night came. The scenes in the café still hadn't stopped playing in my head. It was like they shifted to a different plane with each playing. Soaring then freefalling, like my walking - frantic one minute and wandering the next. I know I felt that if I stopped moving I'd be consumed by this rollercoaster.

I was scared.

My feelings were fucked. My relationship with my mother was seriously damaged and my relationship with my girlfriend was dead.

Who knows how fucked friendships would be?

I'd lost control and it was freaking me out. And I couldn't stop it.

I've never felt so lonely in all my life.

Some guy at a dumpster in an alley behind a café offered me food in the middle of the night but I wasn't hungry. Sweet though.

Never stopped walking the whole night until now. Couldn't.

That's it. Everything.

A crazy two days. Day and a half actually.

I was such a prick.

*****

Chapter Sixteen

God, it's freezing.

I can see the sun beginning its crawl across the valley so I guess it'll warm up soon.

Not sure if I'm ready for daylight though. I've grown to like the darkness, particularly along the narrow back roads. It got so dark in some places I could barely see to walk. And quiet too. I found the lack of stimulation relaxing.

By the time I got here I was so cold I could barely make it over the fence.

It took me ages to find this spot... I only vaguely remembered.

I didn't want to go home. I couldn't. And anywhere else people would find me, if they were looking.

Half way through the night I realized this was where I was headed. That's when I picked up pace. I couldn't get here fast enough. I must have covered over sixty miles walking. I'm sure I've got the blisters to show for it.

Yeah, I was wondering what I would say, you know, whether I'd tell you the truth or make something up. The other option was to ignore it altogether and just come and say 'hi'.

The truth is such a hard thing to tell. For me it is, to myself I mean. I'm surprised I've done it actually. Being here made it easier if that makes sense. It seems right in the light of everything.

I'm sorry, Dad.

I wish you could talk to me. I could use some wisdom. Mother used to tell me how wise you were...

I wish... I wish. The magic words, huh. I was going to say that I wish it never happened. I do wish that in some respects. But, then...

It happened and wishing changes nothing. Now I wish I knew how to handle it. I want to tell you that it's not me and that I was on some substance that made me act crazy but I can't. I did what I did and said what I said. I was an idiot.

I don't know if I can face it. Not the small dick taunts – I can deal with them. And NOT by flopping it out to show everyone! I don't know if I can face Diane and Mother and him.

The whole thing is a huge fuck up. I started the game and didn't finish it.

From when he came to my door I was fucked. It took away everything I believed in. It was like you never existed. I can't understand being treated like that.

You're my hero, Dad, and no way was I going to let them take that away. No way. I resent what she did.

I hope that she and Walter are happy together. I do!

He'll never be my father. I accept that he is in a biological sense but not in here. He could never be. Something tells me he's not after that anyway.

I'm sorry it's taken so long... Twelve years...

Hey, here comes the sun.

God I'm tired.

Wish I could hug you. To know you were as real as my dreams.

I sound like a kid. Yeah, well... These last two days...

Thanks for listening.

I'm going to get some breakfast and, ah, clean myself up and, well, go home.

I'll be back soon, I promise.

Still got the tooth.

Hey, keep this for me, would you?
About the Author

Born in Geelong, Australia, Mark Fletcher's plays _Chasing Rabbits_ , _Dating Joe_ , _Sunset BBQ_ and _Cocktail_ have been performed in Melbourne, Adelaide, Perth, Minneapolis, New York, Sam Francisco, Dublin and Canada.

A theatrical version of _Teething Problems_ had its World Premiere at Chapel Off Chapel in Melbourne in February 2003. His first short film, _Chasing Rabbits_ , took awards at the Empire State Film festival, Cinevue International Film festival and 4th Bare Bones International Film festival.

A musical version of _Dating Joe_ ( _Joe Starts Again_ developed in collaboration with Martin Croft and dean Lotherington) took out the Green Room Award in Melbourne in 2006.

Email: emef@ozemail.com.au

Website: www.offthepage.com.au

