It has been many years since I read Catcher In The Rye. But I remember it had quite an effect on me. Holden Caulfield was the narrator of the novel, a young man pretty cynical of the world. It was only when I came to the end of the book that I realised it was as if Holden had developed a relationship with me as the reader.  Gradually he was letting me into more of his life as the story progressed. This, (at least for me), culminated in the last few pages when he said how much he loved seeing his sister, Phoebe Caulfield, on the roundabout. He addressed me the reader and said “you would love it” that I (the reader) would of loved to see his sister on the roundabout. It was as if it took the whole book to reach that moment. 

So I was thinking about ‘Catcher In The Rye’ when I wrote this short story. I wanted the reader to sit with this young man for a while on the park bench and to let the kid talk without interrupting or judging. It is so crucial we let young men talk and for us to suspend the desire to give advice, judge or interrupt.  

But also I wanted to do something else in this story.  All my other stories had my ‘voice’. I wanted to write a story with the voice of the many young men I met in prison when they are most honest and most vulnerable.  So here it is. 

Please – this story contains strong language and sexual imagery. If this is likely to offend then please do not read. 

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The Bench

* indicates a pause in the narrative

** indicate a longer pause in the narrative

I really love sitting here. Like its only a park bench and its not even got a view. But that’s why I like it. As you can see, its on a really small path and its got all these bushes and not many people come this way so I can relax. I don’t have to bother about nothing. I can sit here for hours just thinking without other people bothering me. I hate it when people are on your case all the time, “Maurice, do this, Maurice do that, Maurice your a twat,” it does my head in.

*

I come here most Saturdays, that’s if I don’t need to do the shopping for mum or see me girlfriend. I saw mum in the week, she didn’t need much and me girlfriend was busy today so this is my favourite, just me and me bike and this bench like, its nice ain’t it?

*

I take the back roads on me bike. It means I can look at the gardens checking out the ones with nice flowers. Sometimes I stop and look at them. I look in the front windows as well. Sometimes I can see old people watching TV and often children playing indoors. It’s nice when I see kids playing. I keep an eye out for nice cars as well. I know a lot about cars. One day I’ll get a car, I can go anywhere then.

*

Weekdays are so stressful. Well its not a stressful job I only work in a warehouse, but finding the right boxes is a real pain in the arse and then there is the lifting and carrying all the time. They’re car parts and they’re put straight into vans then off to shops and car repair places all over London. I know loads about cars now. But I don’t say nothing to them lot, the people I work with, they are the worst. Suppose I’m the youngest and smallest and they are always taking the piss. They’re all friends with each other but not with me. If I was bigger, pumped up like, it would be very different. But I don’t care I just do me hours and get the fuck out. I get me money, keep me head down.

*

Are you alright sitting there? This bench is really hard on your arse ain’t it?

Suppose I got me mum to thank for the job. One day she said “look Maurice your nineteen now, its time you found yourself a little job.” I didn’t want to take the piss so I found the warehouse job. I would do anything for me mum, she is the best. She did everything for me when I was a kid. Look, I got a picture of her. I was about nine then. You see how she put her arm round me. We were on holiday in Margate and she got someone to take this photo. I loved that holiday, just me and her.

**

That was a bit after me dad left. I don’t talk about him. I’ve always said that if he ever comes back and gives it all the best mate kind of thing and be my dad again I’m gonna give him a big smacking. I can’t forgive him for what he did to me mum like, even thinking about it now makes me fucking angry. The Social Workers said it wasn’t my fault, what my dad did, but I saw him fucking hitting her and kicking her on the floor and I did nothing. I’m never gonna forgive him for that, if he comes round here I’m gonna give him such a fucking hiding.

**

I’m sorry. I’m sorry about that. Fuck sake.

**

But I don’t want to think about him, not here, this is my place. I don’t mind you being here. Hope you didn’t mind me saying that thing about me dad and that, but he does make me……..so angry.

**

I’ve not bought my girlfriend here yet. I’m not sure I will. Maybe, maybe not. We don’t go out together much. She comes round me flat and we sit listening to music like and she makes food. We’ve been going out for about a year. The thing I love is that Jenny, that’s her name by the way, listens to me, she puts her arm round me and I really like that feeling of her arm and hand on my shoulder. Sometimes she puts her head on my shoulder when we watch TV, I love that. It makes me feel soft like. I just love the way she listens to me, she waits till I’ve finished speaking then says something really nice. I try to listen to her but it don’t always work cos I always butt in to say something.

*

I’ve not been to bed with her or anything, well I have, but it didn’t really work out. She said that was OK but she didn’t really want to try again just yet. Maybe we will another time.

**

It is quiet sitting here ain’t it? I can hear myself think. Sometimes when I’m sitting here I think of some rapping lyrics. I love rapping. I’ve got some rapping music back at me flat, sometimes I play it again and again really loud like. So I memorise the raps and I stand in front of the big mirror and spit out the verses dancing like I’m a cool rapper. I’m not gonna lie, sometimes, when I sit here I imagine someone passing and them saying “ain’t you Maurice Smith the Rapp artist” and I say “yes, but don’t bother me now I’m working on my next song”. That’s crazing, makes me laugh.

*

I bet your gettin bored me going on like this.

**

A few months ago I was sitting here chilling, it was quite late Sat’day afternoon when this young bloke walked down the path. He was looking at me really hard like, like he knew me. He walked down there and as he passed me he put his hand down here like. I knew what he wanted. He walked passed and then he looked back at me and nodded me over and went into the bushes. Normally I don’t do crazy stuff, but there was no-body about and I always locked me bike on the bench, so I thought “fuck it” and I followed him into the bushes. You could imagine, I was really scared, in fact I was shaking. But he was a nice bloke. He put his hands on each side of me head and kissed me on the lips really soft. He was gentle like, he carefully unzipped my jeans and knelt down. Before I knew what, he had got me into his mouth. I remember I ran my fingers through his hair grabbing handfuls of it. He had nice hair.

It was alright.

*

I’m not gay or anything, it was a one off. Well, maybe it was. I’ve not told Jenny obviously.

*

Hope you didn’t mind me mentioning that. It was nice. It was like…….

like……..
*
it was like letting go……..
*
it was like freedom.

**

I feel free in this place. Sometimes I lay down on the bench and fall asleep, I use me jumper for a pillow, lay on me side and fall asleep, nobody bothers me and I sleep really well. But just before I fall asleep it feels……….. it feels like……..well it feels like this bench and around this bench is like being at me mums. And this place feels the same as being with me girlfriend with her arms around me and over me shoulder. This bench feels the same as being at Margate, like the children playing in those houses and flowers in the garden like everything caught up together even the ‘letting go’ inside those fucking bushes. This bench feels the same as me rapping and driving a car somewhere and me alone and me not alone, and fuck it, it feels the same as me talking to you. You and me, just sitting here, together like.

© Tim Clapton