Four Letters, Beginning With L (Ch. 1)

22nd June 1993

         I know it’s a bit namby-pamby for a bloke to write a diary. Even as I’m writing this, I’m in two minds whether to tear the page out and just forget it, but, I’ve got to get out what’s going on in my head, because if I don’t, it feels like it’s going to explode.
I would talk to Mum, but she’d just snap at me, I know she would. She’d just say “Oh, for godssake, Chris, not this again! It’s not the end of the world, you know!”
But that’s where she’d be wrong. That’s exactly what it feels like; the end of the world.
         A couple of months ago, my Dad was told the company he works for - a big advertising firm that handles campaigns, and all that bollocks, for well-known companies - was moving to America! Poxy New-fucking-York!
I don’t want to move to bloody America! Americans annoy the living shit out of me! They’re loud, they’re arrogant and they’re whiny! Fran’s been to New York, and she says that New Yorkers are decent people; anyone would think she wanted rid of me. But she’s a big reason why I don’t want to go. I love her.
         That’s what Mum and Dad can’t understand. They say that because I’m fifteen, I don’t know what love is. Of course I know what love is! And I think it’s fucking patronising of them to assume I don’t just because they think I’m too young, like only their opinion counts!
Apart from that, I’d miss the others like mad. We’ve been in each others’ lives every day for three years; they’re my best mates and I don’t know what I’d do without them. Well, I suppose I’ll find out soon. It makes me want to cry.

25th June 1993

         Tried to talk to Dad again today. I suggested that when he and Mum go to America, I could stay with Uncle Rob and Aunty Sheena. He wasn’t having any of it; he said I was being selfish even considering it. That led to a massive row. He said “You’re just proving how much growing up you need to do!”
I called him a wanker. I told him he had a swinging brick where his heart should be, and I said “You’re the selfish one! You don’t give a fuck how I feel!”
I don’t know if he took any of it in, because, after the ‘wanker’ comment, he just spent the rest of what I had to say shouting over me, telling me to get to my room.
         I regret swearing. They say, don’t they, that once you swear, you’ve lost the argument. Well, they, whoever they are, have obviously never met my Dad, the stubborn bastard! It’s impossible not to lose it and swear when he’s like this. Even Mum would agree with that, but, this time she’s decided to take his side; for an easy life, most probably, which is all very well, but this is my life they’re fucking around with! Grow a backbone, Mum, for fuckssake!
         So, as it stands, I’ve lost yet another argument and I’m in my room writing this, lying on my bed, with a horrible knot in my stomach, working out the days until I lose Fran and the guys. It’s fifteen days. Fifteen days, and then it’s over. No more friends, no more girlfriend.
 
         Oh my God! I’m so miserable!

27th June 1993

         Yesterday, Fran told me I should go to America. Straight away I said “You do want rid of me, don’t you? There’s someone else, isn’t there?”
I regret saying it. It started a row. She said “Don’t be so stupid!”, and tried to explain what she meant, but I was upset, and I stormed out.
This morning I went to see her, to apologise, and she handed me a note she’d written. It said:

Dear Chris,
                   I hate this situation as much as you do, you know? I don’t want to lose you either. I just think, if you go to America, so you can say you tried, when you say you hate it and you want to come home, your Dad will have to take notice, or risk looking like a complete dickhead. Even if he doesn’t listen to you, your Mum will, and she’ll work on him for you - you know what she’s like.
As for losing me and the guys, you won’t… Ever. We all love you, especially me, and we’ll always be here for you, no matter what.
I swear to you, Chris, there’s no-one else. I love you very, very much. I don’t want you to go, and I’ll miss you like mad, but I just think it’s for the best, and when you get back, I’ll be waiting. We all will.

Love you always,

Fran

xxxx

I read it, and I cried. Buckets! What she said, though, made a lot of sense. So, I’ve decided to play the game by Dad’s rules. Looks like I’m going to America. I’m not going for long, though. As soon as I can, I’m coming back. I’ve given myself a month.


28th June 1993

         Now that I’ve sorted out, in my own head, that it’s a definite that I’m going to New York, the idea doesn’t seem so bad, especially considering I fully intend to come back ASAP. And now I’ve stopped arguing with Fran about it, things are back on an even keel there too.
The only thing I don’t like is my Dad and his swaggering about the place, all pleased with himself, like my going with him was a foregone conclusion. I could quite happily punch him sometimes.
         Anyway, life’s pretty much back to normal, for the time being, and it’s quite cool, too, because my Mum’s feeling crap about forcing me to go with her and Dad, so she’s giving me some slack. For instance, I would never normally be allowed out with the guys on a school night; usually they have to come home with me after school if we want to do stuff together during the week, but tonight we’re going bowling at Pinnacle. It might not seem like a big deal, but it is.

         I’m back from bowling. Didn’t win, of course, Mark did. No surprise there! He’s one of those total cocks that can pick up something in an afternoon and is really good at it. He says he only learnt to bowl a couple of years ago when his Dad started a pub team with his mates, but I think he’s bullshitting. I don’t know how long it takes to get good at bowling, but, to me, it looked like Mark was born holding a bowling ball.
         Anyway, tonight was cool. We had a laugh, which has been a rarity since this whole New York thing. It must have been shit hanging about with me lately, with me going around with my bottom lip dragging on the floor, and talking about New York this and New York that. If I’d have been the guys, I’d have punched me in the mouth by now and said, “Shut the fuck up, you boring bastard”, but they haven’t done anything like that. It just shows what awesome friends they are.
No-one’s going to see this, I hope, so I guess I can write about this. Fran and I talked about our first time tonight. We said it’d have to be soon, in the next few days, before I go; and it’d have to be in a hotel or something, as both sets of parents would go nuclear if they found out. I know for a fact, though, that my Dad would be being a hypocrite if he went into one; he lost his virginity at the age I am now. Don’t know about Mum. She was probably a virgin right up until I was conceived, knowing her. Anyway, I’ll get off the subject of my folks doing it, it’s making me feel queasy.
         So, Fran and I decided that we’re going to save up as much as we can for the next ten days, and then, the night before I have to go, (Friday 9th) we’ll book a hotel or check into a B&B somewhere.
I’m really excited about it. Mark being Mark, though, had to turn it into something smutty. Kept talking about getting my leg over and giving Fran ‘a good seeing to’. The wanker almost fucked the whole thing up at one point, too. He started talking about all the kudos I’d get at school for banging the hottest girl in year eleven.
         Fran, quite understandably, got the hump and went outside. I followed, of course, and she gave me a warning.
“Don’t you dare show off!” she said, pointing her finger in my face, “I thought this was gonna be something special, but, if this is gonna be some male ego trip for you, you can forget it!”
I promised her that it wasn’t an ego thing, and that it’d be romantic and special. I really mean it, too. I know now, right this second, while I’m writing this, even before we’ve done it the first time, that the only person I ever want to make love to is Fran.
         I know John and Mark (especially Mark, the tosspot) would totally rip the piss out of me for calling it “making love”, but that’s what I want it to be. I don’t want it to be giving her a ‘seeing to’ or shagging or fucking, or any other phrase that’s going to cheapen it. And I don’t care if that makes me sound namby-pamby either; it’s just the way it is. I really love Fran. 




30th June 1993

         See how I’m counting the days? I’ve got a calendar, and I was marking off the days until America, until my life was over, but I’m not anymore. I couldn’t give a shit about America at the moment. The guys have said no matter what, we’ll stay in touch. Claire said she’d always be on the end of a phone. Dad had to try and put a downer on it. He said, “No you won’t! think of the time difference. You’ll be five hours ahead of us. That means if you try to ring Chris when you get home from school, he’ll be in school. It’ll be quarter past eleven in the morning!”
“Well, then,” said Claire, pissed off that Dad seemed almost smug, “I’ll just have to wait ‘til he’s home, won’t I?”
I smiled at Claire for that, and she smiled back, and winked at me like she does to tell us ‘it’s alright, I’ve got you covered’, and I felt protected. Dad and his way of making me feel stupid and childish and selfish for having feelings didn’t matter anymore; someone was on my side, and actually had the guts to say so.
         That’s the thing about Claire, she’s ballsy. She doesn’t give a shit! If you piss her off, she’s telling you, it doesn’t matter who you are. I’ve even seen her give it, both barrels, to her Dad! And, what’s more, he took it on the chin! If that were me and my Dad, he’d be all ‘I AM YOUR FATHER, AND YOU WILL NOT SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT!’, and he’d probably follow it with ‘AND YOU WILL RESPECT ME!’ or some equally unfair bollocks like that.
         Claire’s parents are a different kettle of fish altogether from my folks. The Hippy-Dippies, Dad calls them. It’s only because he’s scared of the way they bring up their kids. He doesn’t seem to understand why the hell kids should be allowed minds of their own, and the concept that even if you’re a parent, you have to earn respect, even from your own kids, is totally beyond him.
         Anyway, so, Claire said the thing about waiting for me to finish school before phoning me, and Dad smiled and said, “‘Course you can phone! I was winding you up!”
Yeah, of course you were, Dad.


1st July 1993

         Nine days to go. I know I said I didn’t care, but I do. It’s all I can think about again at the moment. Fran says I should focus on other stuff, like our night away, and I try, but I still keep coming back to the same thought: come next Saturday, that’s it. No more friends, no more Fran.
Dad keeps saying “I’m sure we’ll have the Internet, so you can e-mail everyone”.
I know he’s only trying to help, but, e-mailing people isn’t the same as having a conversation, is it? And besides, I know, for a fact, that Fran is the only one of the guys with an Internet connection at home, and that’s for her Dad’s work, and I’ve never seen her use it, so she’s probably not allowed. Plus, it’s Dad’s fault I’m in this fucking situation, so I’m pissed off that he’s trying to help, truth be told. If he’d have let me stay here with Uncle Bob and Aunty Mags, none of this would be happening! It fucks me off!