Cousin Andrew

I went to visit my cousin Andrew down in England when I was eleven. I was so excited to spend a week with him and his parents that I could hardly sleep the night before. My mum put me on the train and gave me twenty pounds, telling me not to let them pay for everything. After a couple of hours of watching the countryside go by the conductor came by and told me my stop was coming up.

At the platform I looked around and saw Auntie Jane beyond the turnstiles, smiling and waving. Andrew was nowhere to be seen.

‘Hello love!’ Auntie Jane gave me a big hug.

‘Where’s Andrew?’ I asked.

She said she couldn’t find him. This made no sense to me. Couldn’t find him? He was her son, wasn’t that her job? I got over my initial disappointment in the car as we drove to their house.

When we arrived Auntie Jane called up to see if Andrew had returned. An ominous thump from upstairs suggested that he had.

‘Andrew!’ She shouted again.

‘What?!’ Came the outraged response.

‘Come and see your cousin. He’s just got in from up north.’

The thuds of Andrew’s feet trudging down the stairs managed to eloquently express his utter disdain and lack of enthusiasm for my presence. He gave me sarcastic smile and said ‘Alright’.

‘Why don’t you take him out to play?’

‘I don’t fucking play Mum.’ He spat back, obviously disgusted. I was shocked by the use of profanity and the total lack of parental respect on display. Auntie Jane was lovely as well. She seemed unfazed.

‘Okay well, why don’t you take him out skateboarding then?’ She replied, a thin smile straining to hold back whichever emotions she was really experiencing.

Andrew looked me up and down contemptuously.

‘Can I have money for the bus?’ He asked. I saw this as my opportunity to chip in with a helpful gesture of generosity.

‘I can pay for the bus. My mum gave me twenty quid.’ I chirped. They both stared at me for a moment in surprise.

‘There you are.’ Said Auntie Jane, politely. ‘That’s very nice of you. Off you go you two.’

‘Come on then.’ Mumbled Andrew.

I had to run to keep up with him as he rumbled down the street on a battered old skateboard. He glanced back at me occasionally with a smirk on his face. I was red faced and puffed out by the time we reached the bus stop.

‘Do they give change? I’ve only got a note.’ I asked, breathlessly.

‘Never mind that.’

I didn’t have time to ask why I shouldn’t mind, as the bus pulled into view at the nearby junction.

‘Quick, make yourself cry.’

‘What?’ I was confused.

‘Make yourself cry. Come on.’

‘I can’t.’ I protested.

Then Andrew grabbed me roughly by the shirt and slapped me hard across the face. Despite my efforts I felt tears running down my face as my chest began to heave. I manage to hold in the sobs, mostly. The bus pulled up, and Andrew adopted the air of a mildly panicked angel.

‘Excuse me mister my little brother has just been attacked by some big boys and they took his money and we don’t have any and we need to go home and we’re afraid they’re going to come back can we come on the bus please?’ The story poured out of him in a single breath.

The driver took a long look at us, Andrew casting suspicion with his skateboard and baggy jeans. My red, tear-streaked fair however lent some credibility to the story. With a jerk of his head he directed us onto the bus. Andrew led me upstairs and deposited himself onto the back seat with satisfaction. I sat down warily across the aisle, my emerging sense of manhood stung at having been made to cry so easily. I couldn’t help but also feel impressed at his ingenuity and quick-thinking.

‘Well done mate.’ Andrew said, obviously sensing my anger and embarrassment. ‘Good acting. You really sold it to him.’

This cheered me up. It was only acting after all.

At the skatepark we were met by two of Andrew’s friends. They both looked incredibly old to me, one of them even had facial hair. They were as cynical and dismissive of my presence as he had been.

‘Who’s your boyfriend?’ Asked one of them with an evil grin.

‘Fuck off.’ Replied Andrew. ‘He’s my little cousin. Just ignore him.’

I spent the following hour sitting at the side of the park watching Andrew and his friends throw themselves over concrete ramps, risking life and limb at every opportunity. Every now and then one of the weird older men hanging about holding cans of Special Brew would stagger over and try to engage me in conversation. Whenever that happened I would stare straight ahead and keep my mouth shut until they became fed up and left me alone.

Eventually one of Andrew’s friends, who had been introduced to me as Lezzo, came towards me.

‘Can you skate?’ He asked.

‘I’ve never tried.’ I replied.

‘It’s easy. D’you want a shot?’

This was a welcome development, and I agreed enthusiastically.

‘Just come over here. There’s something everyone does for their first go.’ He led me across to the huge bowl in the corner. It was the deepest — and scariest — looking part of the skatepark.

‘Before you can learn to skate, you’ve got to drop in the big bowl.’

Andrew and his other friend with the beard had come over, and were looking on with smiles on their faces.

‘Really?’ I asked, trying to hide my fear.

‘Yep. It’s easy really. You’ve seen us dropping in right?’

I nodded.

‘Well it’s just as easy as it looks. You put the board like this, then you lean forward. Simple as that.’

He handed me the skateboard and pushed me towards the precipice. I stood there, terrified of dropping in, but scared to say no to these older boys with spiky wristbands and torn jeans.

‘I’ll fall.’ I protested, meekly.

‘You won’t, I promise.’ Said Lezzo.

‘Yeah you’ll be fine.’ Said Andrew, ‘Everyone does it. You can’t be a skateboarder unless you’ve done this.’

I had no choice but to believe them. They made it look easy when they did it, so how hard could it be?

I positioned the board under my foot, hanging over the edge. It looked impossibly steep from up there, a sheer drop to solid concrete.

‘Do it!’ Shouted the friend with the beard. Then he started chanting, and the other two joined in.

‘Do it, do it, do it do it!’

With their chant ringing in my ears and took a deep breath, placed my other foot on the board and leant forward.

Predictably, I immediately came off the board and fell straight down the eight feet or so to the unforgiving concrete below. The chanting gave way to cackles, now high above me, as I lay there in pain. My elbows and knees bored the worst of the damage. I had managed to save my head but had landed heavily on my hip. I rolled over, unable to get up. Silent tears streamed down my face once again.

‘You didn’t do it!’ Shouted Lezzo down at me. ‘Guess you can never be a skateboarder!’

They all laughed again, and left me lying in a heap. After some time I managed to pull myself back onto my feet. With great pain I took a run up and tried to reach the edge of the bowl. I couldn’t do it. I tried again and just managed to catch the lip, but I didn’t have the arm strength to pull myself out.

‘Andrew!’ I yelled, painfully aware of how shrill and childish my voice was compared to the older boys’ deep, manly ones. At length, Andrew appeared at the edge of the bowl.

‘What?’ He asked, as if I was interrupting him.

‘I can’t get out.’ I was close to tears again.

‘What d’you want me to do about it?’ He asked with disgust.

‘Can you help me out?’

He thought about it for a moment before an idea came to him.

‘Tell you what. I’ll help you out… for twenty quid.’

I quietly took the crisp twenty pound note my Mum had given me from my pocket, and offered it up towards the edge of the bowl. He leaned down and snatched it from my hand, then turned and walked off.

‘Hey!’ I shouted after him. He reappeared.

‘What?’

‘You said you would help me out.’

‘I didn’t say when I would help you out though, did I?’ He replied, before disappearing.

It must have been an hour later when he returned with his friends. I was sitting in a corner, trying to find a position that didn’t upset any of my wounds. I had cried myself dry, and was mostly just bored. Andrew hopped down effortlessly into the bowl.

‘Get up.’ He commanded. His two friends waited by the side, and he dragged me up towards them by the armpits. Once they had hold of me they wrenched me out of the hole with ease. Andrew followed, unassisted. I stared at them all silently.

‘Look, I just wanted to say, I’m sorry for leaving you in there.’ Said Andrew, following my gaze as I turned away from him.

‘Hey, come on.’ He said, grabbing my head and forcing me to look at him. ‘I’m sorry. Do you forgive me?’

His hand was gripping my head tight and began to hurt. He squeezed harder until I felt I had to say anything to get away from him.

‘I forgive you.’

‘Good. We’ve actually got something to make it up to you.’ He gestured down at Lezzo, who was hunched over a makeshift skateboard wind-barrier, and was scrunching up a little white piece of paper full of brown stuff.

He licked the paper and struggled to roll it into a crude, lumpy cigarette.

‘Is that drugs?’ I asked. My Mum had warned me about those before.

‘No, it’s not drugs. It just makes you happy. It’s fun. That’s why we got it to say sorry to you.’ Said Andrew in a reassuring tone.

Lezzo produced a lighter and lit the joint, taking several deep pulls on it before passing it to the bearded one. The passed it around between them for a while before Andrew offered it to me.

‘Here.’ He said. I shook my head.

‘Come on, take it.’ He waved it in my face.

‘Smoking is bad.’

‘Just fucking do it or I’ll slap you again.’ He grabbed my arm and forced the joint into my hand. ‘Put it in your mouth, yeah, now breath in slowly. That’s it. Hold it in. Now I want you to take a big breath in like your Mum has just seen you smoking.’

I followed his instructions and inhaled sharply. My throat was instantly on fire. I spluttered the smoke out and began a fit of involuntary coughing that left me so breathless I thought I was going to suffocate. Andrew and his friends were in hysterics.

I don’t know how long I lay on the grass beside the skatepark, alternating between agonising coughing and paralysing terror at the thoughts I was having. Eventually Andrew decided he’d done enough skateboarding and dragged me back towards the bus stop. We spent the journey home in silence.

When we arrived back Andrew pulled me up to his bedroom where he deposited me on a mattress at the foot of his bed.

‘Stay here.’ He said, and left the room.

I stared at the ceiling, half conscious. Whenever I moved the wounds on my elbows stuck to the fabric on the bedspread. As I drifted in and out of sleep I could hear a roaring argument going on downstairs. I imagined it was Auntie Jane telling Andrew off for taking my money and buying drugs, or for slapping me, or for making me drop in on the big bowl. It gradually became clear that it was just the sound of Andrew protesting at my presence.

‘He’s shit Mum! Just send him back where he came from!’ His voice carried quite clearly up the stairs.

Andrew stormed into the room and I feigned sleep as he wrenched drawers open and threw things about. He seemed to be packing a rucksack. In a moment he was gone. I listened to the sound of him taking the stairs two at a time before the front door slammed hard enough to shake the whole house. Auntie Jane shouted after him but the grating sound of his skateboard receding into the distance suggested he was already out of earshot.

Auntie Jane came up and found me on the mattress. She treated me with sympathy and treated my wounds. I didn’t tell her everything that had happened, but enough for her to know that I’d been sorely mistreated. I asked her if I could go home the next day and she agreed. Andrew didn’t come home night, although the thought of him returning cast a dark shadow over my evening of fish and chips and television.

Auntie Jane drove me to the station and saw me onto the train, fretting over me and apologising for her son’s behaviour. I told her not to worry.

Mum met me at the other end. After giving me a big hug and checking the bandages on my limbs she told me she was taking me to McDonalds, ask asked if there was anything I wanted to make up for having a horrid time. I told her I wanted a skateboard.

Two years later I found myself back on the train headed to Auntie Jane’s. I was a different person. I was confident, I was outgoing, and most importantly I was a fucking brilliant skateboarder.

The experience of being bullied by Andrew and his pals had triggered something in me. It had sparked a determination that I would prove them I could skateboard, and what’s more I could do it better than any of them. After my Mum bought me my first deck I had spent every day out on the streets learning oldies and kick flips, heelflips and hardflips, even three-sixty flips. Eventually I found my way to the local skatepark and after that I was there more often than not.

I got better. Gradually at first, then as I grew in strength, coordination, and confidence I soon became the best skater at the park. I found a whole gang of other skateboarders, other misfits and bullied kids, just like me. I was at the centre of a rich social life, and key to it all were my skills on a skateboard.

There were times when I got so lost in my love of skateboarding that I forgot all about Andrew and his cruel jokes. Sometimes I even felt thankful that they had played those tricks on me, because it led me to discover this new passion. Deep down though, I knew that I had something to prove. I knew I had to go back one day and show them that I was better than them.

I had imagined the moment a million times in my head. I’d go to the skatepark with him, and him and his cronies would watch, mouths agape, as I absolutely wiped the floor with them. They would be so ashamed they’d never pick up their skateboards again. And now it was almost time. In an hour I would be there, I could look Andrew in the eye and say ‘You were wrong about me’.

As before, Auntie Jane picked me up from the station. She noted the skateboard strapped to my back with a raised eyebrow. We made the usual small talk in the car about how everyone was doing. My heart was pumping at the prospect of seeing Andrew again. I was feeling giddy with anticipation.

We got back to the house. Auntie Jane led the way in and walked straight up the hall to the kitchen.

‘Say hello Andrew.’

Andrew dumpy form was sprawled over the couch in the living room, just off the hall. He didn’t even look up as I stood in the doorway.

‘Orite.’ He mumbled, sighing as he flicked between channels.

‘Hello Andrew.’ I said, barely managing to keep my voice steady.

Again, he didn’t look up. I felt unsure then and cleared my voice a bit before regaining my confidence.

‘Do you fancy going down to the skatepark again?’ I said, loudly.

Andrew looked up with concern on his face. He saw me then and really took me in for the first time. He must have been surprised by how much taller I was, how much straighter I stood, my lean muscular frame and shaggy hair. He looked down at the bag in my hand and noted the skateboard fixed onto it. He hid his surprise well, and looked back to the TV with a yawn.

‘Nah, skateboarding’s fucking gay. Only gimps still do that.’