Need For Speed

Those things can go fucking fast.

Faster for some than others, obviously; I managed a couple of laps quicker than average, but on balance was basically a debit to my team. We finished 12th of 14; on his own, my partner Ben would probably have managed 9th or so.

In a place like London, there is no need to drive. Possession of a driving licence is a positive disadvantage. All the same, there are times...

Fifteen minutes racing around the longest indoor kart track in the country -- a distinction achieved mostly by dint of tight and tangled topography -- at speeds of up to 65kph -- really takes it out of you; knuckles most of all. The whole company will be crippled tomorrow, hands seized up, quaking, keyboard-incapable.

Or something.

Afterwards, drinking; first at the track, then at a nearby bar; on stand-up night. We only caught the final stages. One act was desperately laboured, one very funny. Not a bad hit rate, all things considered.

Walking home, iPod earphones in, it took a minute to notice her.

"Do you speak?"

"Sometimes."

"You're handsome."

"Thanks."

"I'm sorry. I don't normally do this. I've only been on the streets for two days. I had a shower at the centre. I'm clean."

"I'm sure you are."

"I'm not like most of those girls, doing anything with anyone. I never do this."

"It doesn't matter. I'm not going to do anything with you anyway. This is what money I have on me."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"I feel embarrassed now."

"There's nothing to be embarrassed about."

"It's only been two days and now look at me. I'm so stupid."

"It's not stupid. You were just desperate."

"Would you believe I'm 32? I've got a son."

The crappy truth be known, I just want to put my earphones back in and be left alone. I acknowledged her when she came up to me because, despite everything, I do my best; I try to be a nice guy. But I've emptied my pockets and what more does she want from me? A bit of company, maybe; and I can relate to that. Jesus fucking Christ can I relate to that. So I listen.

"I got sent to prison."

"What for?"

"I nicked some food. Just a sandwich. It was a first offence. They always let you off the first offence. But I got four months."

"Jesus."

"I got really scared. I heard about all the dykes up at Holloway and what they do to you."

I could challenge the homophobia of her statement, but where would that lead? A better world? What is the point, really? Can I say for sure that Holloway's bulldaggers are not fearsome? We're not talking about the lesbians next door. Even vicious crims can be queer, and it ain't no saving grace.

"I never lied to my son, my daughter. And now here I am, two days out of jail and look at me. I was always so down on the girls who did this -- how could anyone do that? -- could never conceive I'd do it myself. I'm so ashamed. No-one ever gave me anything without wanting something in return, and now you... I'm so ashamed."

Fuck. Look, woman, I didn't give you the money because I'm some kind of saint. I was just buying you off, buying off my pathetic bourgeois guilt. I was paying you to go away. Must you keep on so?

"You don't need to be ashamed. It could happen to anyone, in the wrong circumstances. It's okay."

You condescending prick.

"It's not okay."

"Sorry. I'm sorry. It is bad. You shouldn't have to be put through this. But you shouldn't have to feel guilty about it either. It's... it's..."

"It's okay. I'm sorry. Fuck, I'm so sorry. Thank you. I'm so embarrassed about what I..."

"No. Don't be embarrassed. It's okay. I mean... No, it's not okay, but..."

"Do you have kids yourself?"

"No."

"Have you never wanted them? A child of your own?"

"No."

She doesn't get it, really. And shortly after, somehow, we part.
Posted by matt at June 7, 2005 01:14 AM