Shop-a-hoklics

Addiction can take different forms. Just read Million Little Pieces. It’s a memoir of an addict. The person writes in detail how it feels to be addicted. In short, punchy sentences, he describes his passage through the abuse – alcohol, drugs, cigarette, coffee – everything. The pages flew by when I read. The book was over so quickly it felt like a wind flipping through the pages of the book, opening the cover, tossing through the pages, and then the end. All three hundred and more pages.

Since publishing the book, we’ve come to know the author made many parts of it. Most of it wasn’t true. But I don’t care. For me, they were a great insight into what an addict goes through. Ok, they turned fiction, but it still was a great read.

In the middle of the book, during the rehab, the author is told to avoid number of things when he is released. Cigarette ok, stick to it, better than alcohol and drugs. But watch out for others, minor ones, through which you will go straight back to hardcore addiction. One of them is shopping. Control what you shop. Don’t splash out. It’s an addiction. One leads to another.

I remembered shuddering when reading I passage. I’m not rich, I don’t shop regularly. I’m not an addict also. I don’t smoke, I only drink. But yes, I am addicted to shopping, especially when I go shopping. When I enter a shop, I seldom come out without buying anything. I can’t control the urge to buy, possess what tickles my fancy. Should I watch out then? Should I be careful, worry that it may lead to more drinking, other addictions?

I’ve never had any drinking problem. I’m a social drinker. I don’t drink alone, or at home, unless I have friends, and I don’t normally drink during weekdays. But the shopping bit worries me.

Yesterday was no different. I went to one of the shopping center to buy a comb. I mere two pounds worth of comb. When I come out, I’d splashed two hundred quid.

I was with a friend and he said he wanted to buy a pair of shoes. He liked what he saw, bought them. They were really a good pair of suede from Gant. The problem was, I really liked it as well.

I came out of Gant buying a pair of jeans and a very expensive belt. I then told my friend, I wanted to buy shoes too, like the one he had. We went around looking, and when I saw the one I liked, there was no stopping.

Your guilt of spending, or what you're about to spend, doesn’t surface when you are trying the shoes in the shop. The lure of it lulls you. You move to the counter, take out your plastic, punch your pin, no guilt yet. When you leave the shop, come out in the cold of the outside, you start to think what you’ve done. That’s what happens to me.

You wait for the train. You’re not speaking to your friend. You’re thinking of home, dinner, work next day, and then your shopping, the amount of money you’ve splashed. It takes two full day’s hard work to earn that much, what you’ve spent in an less than an hour.

Then, you reach home, try all your purchases. Like mine yesterday, if you really like what you’ve bought, at least you don’t feel grieved. Or, there is no stopping taking a free fall.

I feel fashionable after the lavish acquistion. But I also feel poor. Worst, I feel like an addict.

Size Matters

For three seconds, everyone saw it.

I should have realized it was coming. Such a fool I am. Jimmy, Sarah's younger brother, is like what, ten. Just a kid. He wouldn't what I'd have to endure when he performed the act.

I was standing on top of the ironing board, despite their protestations. My upper body was naked, I was only wearing shorts. Then, Jimmy, who was standing underneath me, grabbed my shorts and pulled it down. Rascal.

My first reaction wasn't to pulled it back up, cover my organs. I looked at Neve, tried to decipher her reaction. She was on the bathtub, directly below me, enjoying lying down in the hot water.

We were in Sarah's backyard. I was pretending I'd dive in the bathtub. They'd all said, "No, no!" What a jerk they can be. Off course I wasn't. I'm not a fool. I wasn't killing myself jumping in that knee deep water. Anyway, this was all Jimmy's idea. He was the one who'd brought the ironing board outside and suggested it could be used as a diving board. I'd just stood on it, despite the board wobbling.

When Neve saw me naked, she just stared at my thing. Looked at it with gaping eyes. Her mouth was wide opened too. Immediately, she covered her mouth with her hand to hide the shock.

I couldn't continue this embarrassment any longer. I've been going out with Neve for just over two months. We haven't had sex yet. Not yet. That was coming this summer. But we’d already kissed couple of times and were starting to understand each other.

I pulled my shorts back up. Neve looked down. Then, to ruin everything, Jake, my buddy, who always backs me up, whose company I enjoy, said, "I didn't see anything. It was all grass. No logs in there."

Jimmy went hysterical. "He's is smaller than mine," he said.

I really wanted to slap that kid. Grab his hair, lift him, and toss him in the bathtub. Maybe I should have told him earlier that Neve had never seen my thing. Don't do that. Don't never talk like that.

I got down. But Jimmy had escaped Sarah's claws and disappeared inside the house. I knew my face was red. I was hot.

I was getting dressed when Jake said, "Hey, come on man, don't leave?"

I gave him a cold stare, squinting my eyes, silencing him.

"You're not leaving, are you?" Sarah asked.

"I am. My day's just been ruined," I said, slipping into my jeans. Not a word from Neve.

######

Ryan knows how much I care for him. That was a mistake, that remark I made about his crotch. It was a stupid thing to say, especially in front of his girlfriend. I immediately realized it. When Jimmy started laughing, I really wanted to him to stop. Oh god, please stop. Jimmy, you're so uncool, I was mentally repeating those words.

Well, Ryan left after that. I could feel his embarrassment. He'd always told me how small his thing was. Once when his penis was hard, he'd measured the size. Fully raised, he said it barely measured five inches long. I didn't laugh. I just knew it was small. I don't know any reason why it should be that small, he stands almost six feet. His hands and feet are long and slender, and he's white, not from a race whose penis' are small. I'd remarked, "well, you're young, it'll grow bigger."

That was a year back. He’s fifteen now, and looking at it, I don't think it's grown.

Maybe that's the reason why he's never had sex. Lack of confidence. He's good looking, got long, blonde hair, kinda wavy. Tip-tilled nose. Slim. Fit. And he's got a very good sense of humor too. He could easily get laid.

But I really wanted him to lose his virginity with Neve. She likes him a lot. From the moment she saw him, when she arrived in our school last year, she'd always smiled at him. I figured her smile was between warmth and flirty, you're cute smile. Ryan never had the audacity to ask Neve out. He'd dated couple of girls before, kissed few, but that was all. He wasn't a girl's man. He preferred to hang out with boys, where his jokes would always be appreciated.

Neve then had this fling with a senior who had a steady girlfriend. Ryan went into depression. He'd expected Neve to always smile at him, not fall for other girls. He expected Neve to always wait for him. Meanwhile, he'd take his time, drum up courage, and finally, eventually, ask. Doesn't work like that.

Well, Neve's trespassing ended disastrously. Verbal warfare, accusations, even a threat of mauling came from warring parties. Ryan got his chance. At my prompting, he approached Neve.

#####

I saw Neve at the canteen the next day. After disastrous Sunday, I didn't know how to break the ice. I walked with stealth as I approached her. Damn. My heart was pounding. What had she thought about yesterday's debacle? Was I worth it? Was I man enough? I'd gone home, watched a movie and slept. I didn't think of the incident at all.

I started with her the only way I could. "Hold my thump. Hold my thump," I said.

She was reading a magazine and looked up, surprised.

"What, I haven't ask you to hold my hand?" she said. This was another old joke. Sometimes when she’d asked me to hold her hand, I’d give her my thumb. Sometimes, I’d said I was hot. When she got annoyed, then I’d stop my jokes. But I love my style. I’m not a serious person, who always enjoys staring at his girlfriend’s eyes and say, I love you.

"No, no, hold it. Quick, quick," I said, giving her my thump.

"Ok," she said and touched my thump. I farted. Surprisingly, it was quite loud.

"Oh, that's relaxing," I said, and sat next to her.

"Oh god, how irritating," she said, got up, walked away. Stunned, I watched her curvy ass wobbled as she walked away. Well, I'd done this trick couple of times with guys. They'd always laughed. It’s not easy to do this thing. It's all about time and boys appreciate that.

I met Neve in Literature class later. I was sitting, reading my homework when Neve sat next to me and smiled. Wonderful, her smile, like a sun peeking out after a gloomy day. Very relaxing.

“Have you done your homework?” Neve asked.

Oh O, I knew what was coming. When it came to English Literature, Neve and I were two different creatures. My parents are both journalists, we spent our evening devouring books. Quietness prevails. Even from my room, with windows closed, I can hear crickets bellyache in the back garden. It’s that quiet. Unless I’m talking on the phone or pestering my parents. I love to tease them by throwing my vest and shirts at them. They are such gentle creatures. Anyway, reading, writing, debating – these are all my fortes. Neve’s a kaput in them.

“I haven’t,” I said.

“Seriously!”

I smiled at her. She knew. The shake of head, her lips contorting, sending me the message.

“What did you write about Lady Macbeth? I can’t think of anything,” she said.

“Who, that computer geek? Yeah, she knows lots binary codes.”

“Ryan! Can you be serious for once?”

The teacher walked in before I could speak. During the entire class, Neve didn’t look at me, staring straight at the teacher. In a piece of paper I wrote, “I’m sorry,” and passed it on to her. She smiled, reading the note.

See, that’s all it takes. I’ve got the charm.

After school, I went to play football, while Neve went home. Sports didn’t interest her. She played guitar and sang. There wasn't anything on Monday for her. I told her I'd call her in the evening.

I played soccer with Jake and couple of senior guys. Neve's ex, Mikey, the one she had a brief fling with, also was in my team. He's a nice guy. He's into Goth and all, he sings and has a band. Maybe that's why Neve had liked him. But he's also a lothario. Good with lotsa girls.

The dude played well. He kept goal and made couple of great saves. His girlfriend was watching him from the sidelines. When would Neve come to watch me? Or maybe Mikey's girlfriend was keeping an eye on him, making sure he played. He wasn't a regular.

It was after the game, in the changing room, that I really saw the horror.

Jake and I were sitting on a bench after a shower. We had towels wrapped around our waist, covering our lower body. The seniors walked naked. There was this guy from Sweden who said they all walked naked in shower room in his country. What's the problem! His classmates had adopted his ethos.

Mikey came out of the shower, walked towards us, and standing in front of us, said, "Hey Jake, let's play tomorrow also. I really enjoyed it."

Jake started replying, but I was listening. My eyes were fixed at Mikey's penis. The size, the immensity, the volume, man...I was both scared and surprised. I couldn't take my eyes off it.

"Hey, what you staring at?" Mikey said.

"Oh sorry."

"Jesus, Ryan. Are you a poof?"

"No. I just saw, that's all."

Even Jake was staring at me, smiling, with questioning looks. "It's nothing at all," I said.

After changing, I went home walking. I usually take a bus, but walking was better today. I could contemplate, think properly, and be by myself. The gentle breeze also helped. The evening sun was scorching.

That damn Mikey's organ occupied my mind. I wasn't interested in it. I didn't want mine to be like that also. I was thinking of sex, yes, sex. Sex between Mikey and Neve. I knew Mikey had scored with Neve. Neve had felt that humongous thing. I've read it's always nice to have big sizes. Girl's like it. It gives them pleasure. They'd never go for smaller size after that. Neve had seen Mikey's and mine.

All my confidence, as I walked home, waned. In the evening, I didn't call Neve. She didn't call either. I wondered why.

#####

I knew why Ryan was staring at Mikey’s thing. It was silly, very funny, and I was chuckling when Mikey called him a poof. It wasn’t like that. I knew.

In two days, I’d witnessed two vastly contrasting organs. I can’t think why size would vary so much in humans, even within a single race. It’s not like Ryan is a weasel and Mikey a walrus.

This was bound to affect Ryan, knowing how sensitive he is with his size. He was really looking forward to sex with Neve. He’d regaled me in tales of how Neve excited him, how smooth her thighs were, how well formed her breasts were.

“I think you’ll have to stop here, buddy,” I’d said, as his explanation got more and more grotesque.

“No, no, you must hear more. I trust you, don’t worry,” he’d said and continued telling me how one time he’d managed to slip his hand inside Neve panty. Neve had bitten his ear, slapped him. But Ryan being him, instead of getting mad, had come out laughing.

“I managed to touch it, you know,” he’d said. I had to laugh at that.

When I went home in the evening, an idea suddenly sprang up. In our garage, I’d seen dad’s little secret. In fact, I was shocked at discovering it. In amidst fishing accessories, paintbrushes, spanners, pliers, chisels, there was a packet with Penis Pump written in black, bold letters. It was collecting dust. I knew Ryan would find it handy.

#####

Once again, Jake has saved my day. The specs wearing nerd is genius. Without his present, I’d never have the confidence to invite Neve to my house. My parents were going out for a conference on Friday, they weren’t returning until Saturday evening. I had the whole house to myself.

On Friday, I met Neve in the hall, just as we were entering our class. When I tried to kiss her lips, she offered her cheek. It’s been a rough week. I understood. But things were about to change.

“Do you want to come over to my place this evening?” I asked.

“Hhmm…I can’t. We might have visitors in our house,” Neve said, touching my hand.

“How about tomorrow? I’ll cook lunch.”

“You and lunch, can you even cook?”

“Sure, pizza, from Dominos, that’ll be my cooking.”

“You’re unbelievable,” she said. “But pizza sounds good. I’ll be there by noon.”

I spent the morning cleaning my room. All the clothes, tossed on the floor, hung on the closet door, I bundled them inside. Neve had fled my room in terror last time she’d been here. I wanted things to improve, show her my tidier side.

She arrived, wearing skimpy jeans skirt. Her top was sleeveless. When I kissed her cheeks, I touched her arms, caressing them. The smooth, soft skin instantly excited me. From them on, my only ambition was to have sex with her.

She came inside. I trailed behind her as she went around the house – the living room, kitchen, toilet, the study, then she climbed the stairs. She entered my bedroom.

“What's happened here?” she asked.

“Oh, you know, things change,” I said, caressing her arm again.

“You’re mom’s work?”

“All mine.” I gently pushed her shoulder. She turned sideways, facing me. We were midway between the door and my bed. This was where I wanted her to be. The scene was perfect.

I bent down to kiss her. She pulled back. “You..you’ve got sweat on your lips,” Neve said.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll wipe it off,” I said, turned around to find my towel.

Neve sat on my bed, knees close together, with her palms touching her knees. I sat next to her. She shuffled slightly, creating a small gap between us. Better that way.

I touched her cheek, smiled. She smiled back. I brought my lips closer to hers. She was still looking at my lips when I closed my eyes and kissed her. Gently, as if our lips were touching for the first time. The sensation was electric.

I opened my mouth, sucked her upper lip, touched her breast with my hand, inserted my tongue.

She pulled back.

“I..I have to go to toilet,” she said.

She got up, ran around my bed, and went to the toilet, attached to my room.

Perfect.

I jumped onto my bed. From underneath the pillow, I took out the Penis Pump machine. Guaranteed two inches increase, it’d advertised.

The machine had a tube, in which I’d have to insert my organ. A small pipe connected the tube to the pump. I had to pump it. Only thirty seconds, the manual had said.

All right!

I was hot and excited. My organ was dying to go inside the tube. Neve was in for a big surprise.

The tube was cold. My penis started to lose its hardness. I sat back, closed my eyes, and imagined having sex with Neve, as I started to pump.

Pump One. The air inside the tube got sucked out.

Neve, naked, below me, her hands caressing my back. I was sweating, panting.....

Pump Two. Whoosh - I could feel the pull.

Neve grunted, exciting me, making to increase my tempo. Shit…this is good.

Pump Three.

Loud Bang!

The toilet door opened. Oh God! Jesus!

Neve walked it. She saw the green pump, my penis inside it.

The shock on her face - oh god, more than that in Sarah's backyard.

"Ryan!" she screamed.

"I can explain," I said, pulling the pump away from me. I hid the pump under my pillow.

Neve ran, out of my room, out of my house.

I called her mobile phone, her landline. I told Jake to call her. I asked Sarah's help. Neve didn't answer any of the calls.

On Monday morning, I waited outside her house. I'd walk with her to school, explain why I did that.

She came out but stopped on her doorstep when she saw me. When I lowered by head, she walked past me, walking fast.

"Neve, I'm sorry about Saturday," I said.

She stopped walking, turned around to face me, and said, "I'm breaking off with me you, Ryan. I don't want you as my boyfriend anymore."

"What, you can't do that. Why would you do that?"

"Oh believe me I can do that. It’s my life."

"I said I'm sorry."

"It doesn't matter," she turned around and starting walking. Stunned, I remained rooted to where I was.

"Neve!" I shouted, running towards her. "I know why you want to break off. It's the size of my thing, isn't it? Now that you've seen it, why would it interest you. I'm no comparison to Mikey."

"You know what, Ryan," Neve said. "I haven't even thought of that. I have no time for all that. Maybe when you're little mature, you'll realize relationship is much more than that. So grow up kid."

I was too shocked to respond. I'd always known Neve as an honest girl. That was a blatant lie.

Voices Carry

A shadow dances below the thin, spring ice. A fish. The outline is barely visible to Henry. But his grandfather is smiling at him, raising his spear, preparing to strike.

Henry knows the fish is as good as dead. His grandfather never misses. In a moment, the ice will break, the fish will release a pool of blood as it tries to swivel out of the spear that has impaled it.

But he hasn’t seen his octogenarian grandfather for two decades. Maybe his reflexes aren't quick, maybe his strength has waned. His eyesight certainly hadn’t faded.

An icy breeze whooshes past them. Henry shudders as he remembers how he’d enjoyed all those years back, when he’d left the reserve. In the neon lights of Halifax, enjoying the student life, he’d felt a real Canadian.

A lawyer, he’d married, felt ashamed to invite even his parents to his wedding. Now, ten years on, his wife was gone, divorced, so were his children. He was back in the reserve, discovering what’d missed.

His grandfather pats Henry’s back, hands him the spear, and says, “You do!”

Just like he’d done when Henry was a toddler.

Fishing

The fish is nibbling the bait. The indicator bobs, but only slight. Oliver’s hands are holding the fishing rod, prepared, in case the indicator dips more, disappears into the water. It’s about time. For two hours, he’s been sitting patiently, watching with eyes wide open the red, white, and yellow indicator. It’s not that he hasn’t enjoyed his wait. A shoal of duck had arrived just minutes after he’d pitched himself on the edge of the pond. They flapped their wings, splashed water, quacked, hunted for their food, and Oliver smiled watching nature’s beauty. The suns rays had shimmered the water, the colorful ducks had twisted and turned in the water, pricking his eyes. He put on his papa’s goggles. How wonderfully it worked. He wanted to sleep, see the cloud scuttle by, feel the breeze, soothe in the sound of the water splashing. But he’d come to fish. His mamma, Oliver knew, would appreciate the fish. She’d kiss, hug, her eyes would water with pride, and she’d say, you are like your father. You care for me.

Oliver had wondered about school also. His mates would be sitting on hard, wooden chairs, on a cold, damp room, listening to Mrs. Peterson, lecturing about Hardy, Dickens. Would use was that, when your stomach was growling for food, when you’d hardly slept all night, when your mamma was crying, unable to bear the loss of your papa? The kitchen was in Oliver's house empty, his morning before he’d left, he’d checked everything. Only empty pots and pans, so easily making noises, that sound, which you don’t want to hear when you’re ravenous, when your belly demands hot food.

A milkman had delivered a bottle of milk; for how long he would continue, Oliver didn’t know, but in his hunger, he’d drank half the bottle, kept half of his mother. Then, with that, with his torn shoes, tattered jacket, he’d left with his papa’s fishing rod.

The indicator stands straight now, erected, without bobing. Perhaps the fish didn't like the dough he'd stolen from his neighbor, perhaps, the fish knows, that unlike Oliver and his mamma, it isn't hungry for stale food, isn't prepared to get trapped on the process.

Still, only two hours have elapsed. Oliver is prepared to wait the whole day. The whole day for food. He has no other alternative.

[This was inspired by my grannies' love story]

Her Eyes

The first thing I saw were her eyes – two thin lines, like a blade's slice on a paper – so squinty that even her pupils weren’t visible. Could she even see? Her high cheekbones, pale skin, piggish nose, silky hair, what was she doing here, in a school of a town so white that even me, a product of a white father and a black mother, looked alien? Yet, I knew I appreciated her presence. When she walked in our class, sat next to me, I wasn’t bothered, I didn’t run away from her. I was glad I had a friend. A person who wouldn’t judge me because I was different.

She spoke to me with what little English she knew. I remember waiting, patiently, for her to put her thoughts in a sentence. In a broken English, she’d said, “Sebastian, di..difficulttt name. I…I like but.

Over time, her progress was remarkable. She took to poetry, started writing them, read Shakespeare, Dickens, Hardy. I felt ashamed when she showed me her marks two years after she’d arrived. She had elevated above me, reached heights I thought only people born with English speaking parents could accomplish.

Now, forty years from that time, its still her eyes I’m staring at. Those sliced lines have stuck with me for all those times, bore my two daughters and a son.

I’m nothing but old bones now. My heart is failing. With screeching sound, exhausting every part of my body, I take every breath. My bones rattle when I move my hands, furrowed skin coats my body, but she’s here, with rheumy eyes, nursing me all the time.

I know I’ll close my eyes in a while, depart, leave my little girl, but I know in my soul, I’ll take those eyes with me. When we meet later, I know I’ll always remember her. For thank god she had such beautiful eyes.

Farewell Dessie!

O my childhood hero. I remember the shed in our backyard, the cranky old radio, and me listening to your progress. A beautiful white stallion, one commentator described you. The embodiment of scuttling cloud in the racecourse, another said. There, in the cold, damp, away from my boisterous mother, I listened as you strode. I could hear the crescendo of the crowd in the background, the commentator increasing nervous, blabbering quick succession of nonsense – it’s Dessie, leading by a length. Dessie, Dessie, Desert Orchid, Dessie, a furlong to go – he’d shout. His voice high, trilling, up and up. I clenched my hands, waited, with beating heart. You seldom let us down. That’s why you were always my hero.

I remember running up and down my garden after your Cheltenham cup victory. Punching the air, leaping to extraordinary height. But sadly, in my house, I didn’t have anybody to share my joy. My mother, with her friends and social life, didn’t have a clue. My nerdy father and sister just stared at me blankly when I told them of your triumph. My brother was too young.

When you retired, I remember I was dating Sabine. I remember talking to her continuously for thirty minutes about you. I told her I loved you. She couldn’t believe it. How could I love a horse?

Well, we didn’t date for long.

I saw you once after you retired when you were paraded in Ascot. I was just five yards away from you. You were so beautiful. Damn…I’ve never really seen a horse like you, strong, fast, and really beautiful. Even now, when I recollect after a decade, every hair on my body raises.

But today, when I came home from work and heard of your passing away, I nearly choked. I’d forgotten you for over a year. Even your framed picture was collecting dust in my parents home.

They said you were 27. You died peacefully. You’ll be buried in your favourite racecourse. I’ll make sure I’ll pray for you, and lay a wreath.

Bye Desert Orchid.