Geekhood (26 page)

TWENTY-FIVE

The flowery lanes of Lothlórien have morphed into the cracked, black paths of Mordor. When I first came to Sarah’s house, my senses were heightened to the beauty and vitality of my surroundings. In that same, heady way, my senses are again working on overdrive, but now they only take in the morbid aspects of my environment: the crumbling brickwork, the screeching of kids who seem to be fighting rather than playing, and the fact that I nearly break my neck tripping over Aslan as he stretches and coils under my feet.

IM:
Dumb animal
.

How could I have got it so wrong? How? It all made perfect sense, it all seemed so right. I did everything; I even bought into all the psychic stuff – anything for Sarah to get to know me. And all she wanted was friendship. I just don’t get it.

IM:
You do, though
.

I do. Of course I understand. I’m a Geek and she’s gorgeous and it was never going to happen. I’m an idiot to ever think it was.

IM:
Come on, there’s more to it that that
.

I avoid the thought, shoving my hands in my pockets
and ambling down the street, staring at my feet. Walking has never seemed so pointless. I don’t know where I’m going and I don’t really care. I feel like a waste of time.

IM:
But you know what went wrong, don’t you
.

I do know and it only adds to the wretched feeling that makes my soul feel as heavy as lead. What was I thinking? I must’ve been mad to even think I had a chance.

IM:
You’re going to have to stop kicking yourself eventually
.

Perhaps she
is
going to go out with Jason Humphries? He’s got muscles, he’s got that “screw you” attitude that I could never have and he’s probably got some kernel of vulnerability that makes him ridiculously attractive to women – the rough diamond, the bruiser with potential.

IM:
Bullshit and you know it. He can throw his fists around, but he couldn’t have a meaningful conversation if his life depended on it
.

Just to rub a little more salt into the wound, my mind spews up pictures of them laughing, kissing and holding hands. But the pictures I’m seeing are empty and without foundation; they’re just a way for me to enjoy the exquisite torture of the moment and try to ignore the truth that’s tapping gently at the back of my head. I know what went wrong and I know where the blame lies in this whole, sorry mess.

IM:
Time to look in the mirror, Archie
.

I put Sarah on a pedestal from the moment I met her. Talking to her made me feel good about myself and I tried to be something I wasn’t, in the hope that she would like me. I am…

IM:
…
a Tosser?

Oh, God. I am. I’m a Tosser
^TM
. Even Tony’s crimes pale into insignificance compared to mine. I am Lord of the Tossers.

IM:
There. Isn’t that better?

The admission of my Tosserism
^TM
doesn’t feel like an absolution, no. I suppose it rids me of any feeling that I’ve been somehow misused. But it doesn’t do much for my opinion of myself. I’ve hurt someone. I stop for a while, wondering whether I should go back and apologize. But it’s a mental mime; I know I’m not going to. She wouldn’t be ready to hear it and I’m still too full of self-pity to make a decent job of it. I need to wait until I’m feeling a bit more adult about the whole thing.

IM:
Let’s not wait THAT long…!

No. Let’s not. But let’s at least wait until tomorrow. That’s if she’s still speaking to me. Which she has every right not to, I guess.

The horrible realization that I’m not quite the dashing Casanova that I wanted to be is draining. I suddenly feel very tired, but like I need to talk to someone.

I want to talk to Sarah.

IM:
Matt’ll do
.

I call him on my mobile, and find the energy to do the old left-foot, right-foot thing, just as Matt’s mum answers the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is Matt there? It’s Archie.”

“Hello, Archie, love. How are you?”

IM:
Strap yourself in and I’ll begin…

Some mums have this crazy idea that it’s them that you actually want to talk to. Matt’s mum is a prime example of this phenomenon; give her just enough of an opening in conversation and she’ll keep you on the line for ages. I opt to give her a gentle push in the right direction.

“Good, thanks. I told Matt I’d give him a call.” This tactic hints at a prearranged conversation of Some Importance. As if I do have psychic abilities, she says she’ll go and get him – but I know she’ll give her son a gentle grilling later on to try and eke out anything that might be of interest. Matt’ll put her off the scent with some story about homework or the Hovel and the last atom of dignity that I own will remain mine for a little longer.

“Archie.”

“Matt. Hello, mate.”

“Hey. How you doing?”

This is an interesting question. I’m doing fine. I’ve sort
of purged myself of any anger or bitterness; all that remains is a sense of my own stupidity and that’s something we Geeks live with on a daily basis. On the face of it, I’m OK.

IM:
But it’s what’s going on underneath that he’s asking about; he’s your mate, remember. “How you doing” is a very probing question
.

“Well, I’m still single.” It’s a fairly fluffy answer, but I know Matt will pick up the nuances involved.

“Uh-oh.”

IM:
Like a true friend!

“Yeah. I’ve pretty much blown it with Sarah.”

“What happened?”

“It’s a long story…”

“Cool. I could do with a good laugh…” To anyone who doesn’t know Matt, this could sound a little insensitive, but I know that he’s letting me know that it’s probably not as serious as I think it is and that he’s happy to listen.

A thought hits me like Jason Humphries on steroids.

“
Shit!
”

“What?”

“Oh my God! Oh. My. God. Oh my
God!
”

“What? What is it?”

“I winked at Sarah’s mum!”

“
What
? You did
what
?”

“Oh my God! I did! I am such an idiot!”

I dissolve into laughter, made worse by Matt
demanding to know what the hell happened. By the time I’ve explained the scenario, Matt’s cackling darkly down the phone. Between jokes, I manage to sketch an outline of what happened at Sarah’s house, giving him enough background to join the dots himself.

“You idiot,” Matt reprimands me in that way that only a friend can.

“I know.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“I don’t know. Say sorry, I guess.”

“Yeah. You probably should. Idiot.”

Geeks have a strong sense of right and wrong; we seem to have an inbuilt fear of authority and a genuine desire to keep the wheels of the world turning as best they can. Which means that if you upset someone who doesn’t deserve it, you apologize. Matt’s moral fibre is strong enough to clear out a constipated giant. And, in a peculiar way, I know he shares my sense of shame. Because he’d have behaved the same way in my position.

“Archie?”

“Yeah?”

“You didn’t really think you had psychic powers, did you?”

I have to think about this one. There’s definitely something in what Sarah said: I do have connections with those around me, friends and family. And while it
might not be psychic, there’s definitely more to it than just being around someone a lot.

“I don’t know, mate.”

“What am I thinking, then?” Quick as a flash, he’s back taking the piss.

“Kirsty Ford, I reckon.”

“Jesus! That’s amazing!”

“Ha, ha. Hey – Matt?”

“What?”

“Do you ever talk to yourself?”

“All the time. Don’t you?”

Mum’s sitting at the kitchen table, looking very small and alone. I squeeze in on her chair and put my arm round her.

“OK?”

“Yes. I think so. I’ve checked in and he’s doing fine.”

“Cool.”

We both go quiet, listening to the unfamiliar stillness in our new house. For me, it’s like a symphony of peace: I can hear the faint tick of a clock and the distant whine of a lawnmower. For Mum, it’s a gap, a space, a blank canvas that needs to be filled with the colourful cacophony of her boyfriend. I give her a squeeze, which
seems to ignite her get-up-and-go.

“Tea?” She’s at the kettle before I can even reply, so I just laugh in the affirmative.

“How’d it go?” she asks, rooting around for tea bags.

My EM instinctively responds with a general sweep of my body, looking for any signs that might give me away. With not a little effort, I decide to pull the power and instead allow my feelings to register in my posture. Which is a little stooped.

“You needn’t worry about any grandchildren just yet. Put it that way.”

At the mention of anything that might allude to the fact that her son has a functioning pair of gonads, Mum snaps to attention. I can almost see a Condom Parade playing through her head. I decide to put her out of her misery as quickly as possible.

“I mean we kind of broke up.”

“But I didn’t think you were going out with each other.”

IM:
Doesn’t miss a trick, that one
.

“We’re not. We weren’t. It’s a bit … complicated.”

“Oh.” Even the sacred ritual of tea-making can’t disguise her confusion. She takes a moment before asking me if I want to talk about it.

This is a tough one. After all the talk we’ve had about talking, I suppose I should try and tell her everything that’s been going on. But I’m not ready to. Not yet. Not
that Mum would judge me in any other way than a loving mother would; she’d probably find a million reasons to excuse my temporary insanity and probably pin the blame on Sarah somehow. But I know the truth and I need to live with it a bit.

“Not really. Do you mind?”

“Just as long as you’re OK.” She ruffles my hair, trying to displace her obvious disappointment. But I stick to my guns. It’s the right thing to do.

“I’m cool.”

IM:
Let’s not go that far
…

“Oh!” Mum says, as though she’s just realized where she is. “There’s a film on tonight; one of those ones you like…”

“Oh, yeah?” I grin, knowing exactly what’s coming. “What is it?”

Mum smiles back, knowing exactly what I’m thinking. “It’s that one with the monkey in it. You know…”

“The one with the monkey in it?” Despite my fatigue and the feeling of having been a dunderhead that’s hanging over me like a dunce-capped cloud, I can’t help laughing.

“Yes! You know the one…!”

I do, but the potential for an impromptu game of charades is too much.

“No, I don’t! Which one?”

More laughter.

“There’s a monkey!”

“Tarzan?”

“No! A monkey and some aeroplanes!”

“
King Kong?
”

“
King Kong!
That’s it!”

At this point, we’re helpless with laughter. A monkey and some aeroplanes. Through my giggles, I realize that there’s nothing I’d like to do more than to sit down with my mum, drink tea and watch a film about a monkey and some aeroplanes. Everything else seems like a long way off: visiting Dad in York, Tony coming home, starting up a new miniature collection and returning to my Geekhood.

And Sarah. While I may not have achieved the Geekhood Holy Grail of actually having a girlfriend, I have made First Contact; had a Close Encounter.

IM:
That’s one small step for a Geek, one giant leap for Geek-kind!

Maybe I need to learn a lesson from
King Kong
… Maybe, instead of trying to fit into her world and standing out like an oversized gorilla, maybe I need to draw her deeper into my world…

I need to think about this. Carefully.

IM:
It’s all in the details
.

Acknowledgement

There have been a few books, films, TV shows and comics that have Changed My Life in some way. Of them all, here are the biggies:

BOOKS:
The Lord of the Rings
. The creation of a world in such depth rocked my eleven-year-old brain. It’s also the only book that is guaranteed to make me cry.

FILMS:
Star Wars: A New Hope
. The sight of the Star Destroyer flying over my head in the opening shot was the beginning of a lifelong love affair.

COMIC:
Marvel’s
Spider-Man
gave me enough hope to try and find spiders in my garden that might bite me and give birth to a superhero from Devon.