Shielding Words by Jack Charter
It happened a year ago now, in the last few weeks I was living with dad. We lived in South London, on one of those side roads no cars bother to go down. The rows of houses were attached, some painted a different shade of mauve or cream or beige to make them “stand out”. Dad liked going to boot fairs. There was one at the local hospital, each Sunday of the summer months. He’d go to the boot fair at 7am. It was just about the only thing he’d wake up for, since mum left. Then he’d come back, park his dirty white truck and haul out whatever he’d bought. Always stereo equipment: vinyl records, speakers, and lots of dirty old wires. I’d be up by the time he got back, eating my breakfast at the table as he came in. I had to look down, or I’d catch the expression on his face. Delight, delight at the things he was dragging into the house, like a big bald cat with a half-dead rat in its mouth. Before mum left, the piles of electronic muck stayed in the basement. It was a cave of junk, the floor and walls trailing with wires, and stacks of grimy speakers were about to tumble from the walls. When mum left, these ancient electronics erupted all over the house. My room was the only clean place, a little one at the top of the two-storey house. Mum always acted surprised to hear me vacuuming, or to see bags outside my door to take to Oxfam. I think she did it to praise my neatness. I wanted to keep it up, even after dad infested the house with junk. When mum left she gave me some money. She used to give me pocket money, and I guess she thought dad wouldn’t remember to when she was gone. Anyway, she ended up giving me quite a lot, and what I really wanted was a new computer. I was interested in electronics, but not dad’s old stuff. I ordered one online, and it came at just the right time. I was being bullied at school. It was partly because of my hair. It’s kind of long, down to my shoulders. This girl in one of my classes said she thought I was a girl when she saw me
from behind. That got to me. But that wasn’t the worst of the bullying- I won’t go into it. The computer was a good escape. I’d play the newest games- with the newest graphics card- and I played a lot, all evening after school. Sometimes I’d even play before school. I was kind of obsessive, I admit. During half-term my play sessions were longer than ever. Those times, I could barely tell what day it was, I played so much. I started to feel a little sick with myself, to be honest. Especially after playing all night, when the birds started tweeting and light came through the curtains. One of those nights, I noticed something was wrong with my computer speakers. It must’ve been four in the morning. A weird sound was coming from the speakers, a news reporter’s voice announcing something with static between the words. Some kind of radio interference, I guess. Soon it was school again. I lurched over my desk, barely half-awake in class, everything in me wanting to get home to shut myself up in my room. When I was left alone with the computer, I didn’t have to think about anything else. Coming home from school one day, eager for the computer, I found the door of my room half-open. That annoyed me, as I kept it shut to keep out the electronic garbage. I opened the door a crack, and dad was sat at the computer desk. His head was bobbing, making the back of his shaved neck wrinkle. His head turned as I opened the door. He clicked the mouse, and fumbled with something on his lap. I could see his elbows moving. Then he twisted round again and said: “Ah, how was your day?” I didn’t reply. A grin stretched up the corners of his mouth. He looked so awkward. His eyes gave him away too; they looked to the side before looking at me. I didn’t say anything. I went down the hall and into the bathroom. I decided to sit on the toilet a while with the cover down, looking up at the ceiling light. A translucent dome curved over the bare bulb, and a fly buzzed around inside, making a clicking