Dole day

The dole day that I met Casper was perfect: one hundred and seven in the bank and a new friendship that would survive some pretty tumultuous years. That’s gotta be a good day in anyones books I reckon.

It was usual beginnings: a so-so party, jammed together on a filthy couch and a topic of mutual interest: we were both shit scared of the skinheads who lived here, but had smoked a little too much of their weed to just quietly bail. It ended up being no big deal though, that was the scene and we were young, naive and unsure. He was worried about me heading off home alone which was sweet, but I had my old cruiser and can ride like the wind. Nothing bad ever happened (to us that is).

Casper was deathly pale, painfully thin with butchered DIY hair cut, and shredded black clothes. Normal really. Yet it struck me almost immediately that he didn't belong here, not in this scene, that he dreamed of more than being just another small-town fuckwit. I mean look around, munters all of them. People like Casper stand out like dog's bollocks: they slot in for a few weeks or months, check it out and join in the ‘fun’, but they keep going, they keep growing.

Well me too. Check out the grin; no no it's more than the stone, this is real emotion. Real. You'd think I'd just won Lotto or something.

Well I had. On dole day as well.

The sneer, the snide muttered comments as dumb-arses did dumb shit all around us. It was just totally cool to meet someone who gave a shit, who wanted out, who was going up and not down. I was ecstatic, bouncing up and down on the moldy old couch, saved.

Saved from turning into this.

You have to understand though that at this stage my optimism was just that, optimism. Casper was fully dedicated to eradicating reality and took loads of dodgy shit (in fact that night he told me about being trapped in his bedroom, the floor covered in huge killer spiders, more dropping from the ceiling like a lemming avalanche; bummer.) So no he didn't exactly save me from the stupid mess I was making of my own life. No, not at all in fact. Then there was the other small matter of Casper bouncing between mania and the blackest of blackness even faster than I was and trust me, I was a fucking yo yo back then.

Always at the back, the safety of shadows; head down, eyes hidden behind god awful geek hair. Mutter mutter.

“Doesn't say much”, observes my Dad as he reluctantly sizes up yet another 'potential' boyfriend. No, but neither do I. (Hey Dad! See I'm not the only one not coping:).

But that’s all beside the point eh? Cos I knew Casper was on a rocket out of this grim little town, could just feel it, and now we were mates.

Casper gave me courage. He didn't sort out the fucking mess, but he helped me grow, and he helped me GO. It didn't matter that we had no idea, not a fucking clue in fact, of what exactly we wanted cos that's how it is at seventeen. We were sweet with the vagueness.

Lets just go eh? Yeah ok, lets.

Simple as that really.