Ya Get Me

Mr Flanagan was doin’ ma fuckin’ head in goin’ on about God and sin an’ punishment an’ hell an’ all da uva fear da fuckin’ saviour shit. Do what I say shit. Fuckin’ foolish shit. So I start chattin’ to Shavonne about da party dis evenin’. But he starts getting’ all crazy. Starts goin’ on about manners an’ respec’ and yoof and all da uva shit. So I just leave ‘im to it an’ try find out what time da party’s gonna start. But he goes skyzo. Get’s all het up and shit. Calls me a nuisance. A distruption to da class. A waster. So I tell ‘im to go fuck himself, ya get me. Fuck him. Who is he to be sayin’ dat shit about me. He don’t know me. He don’t know nuffin’ about me. He don’t know nuffin’. Standin’ dere all fuckin’ high and mighty wiv his butterz attitude getting’ all fuckin’ fresh and shit. Da manz a fuckin’ fool and he gets all trippy cause he finks he can dis a school kid. Fuck ‘im. He da one dat needs to learn some manners innit. He da one wyv no respec’. Fuckin’ bare rude. But he sends me out da class. Tells me to go and see my form tootor. Tells me to fink about shit. Fink about what I said. I told him I already fought about it. I told him I fought about it a lot. I told him enjoyed sayin’ it more dan I enjoyed finkin’ about it. I told him to fink about it. Brapp.

Anway, School finally fuckin’ finished and I shot out dem gates as soon as da fuckin’ bell went. Ain’t nuffin’ betta dan getting’ out dem gates, specially when it’s da weekend, ya get me. Fuck dem tutors. Fuck dere lessons. Fuck dere oldskool shit and ancient fuckin’ batty fings. It’s all bullshit.  S’ fuckin’ useless. True dat. Ain’t no good to no one. Not where I’m from. What da fuck I gonna do wiv some fuckin’ pyfagora’s feorem or some bullshit? It gonna help me at da fuckin’ checkout? ‘M I gonna stand dere addin’ ma potatoes an’ peas an’ chicken an’ fink, ah, dat’s five pound sixty. Boom. Na, I ain’t. I ain’t gonna use none dat shit. It’s fuckin’ whack. Na way. But history. Now history get me some ideas. History make me fink. History make me see fings dat mafs don’t. It’s different, ya understand. I don’t like no fuckin’ sums an’ shit, but wid history I get me some knowledge of fings an’ how dey used to be, an’ how fings z changed an’ why. For all a us. Everywhere. It’s all different. We all different, an’ Acton iz full a’ us. Like me. I different. I different from da bruva next to me or da sista ova dere. Like dem poles, innit. I different from dem Poles dat come over an’ eat dere kabanos an’ saukraut cabbage an’ shit. I don’t look nuffin’ like dem. But it don’t matta. We da same. We all da fuckin’ same. An’ I know dey been froo some rough shit, ya get me. Dey seen bare ruff shit. True dat. Hitler an’ his fuckin’ Nazi bredrins and Stalin and his shit. All dem fuckers. Like Mao. Dey all evil. But dey ain’t no different to all da uva fuckers dat still ‘ere an’ all da uva shit dat still goes on. I read da papers. I see it. History and all dat’s happnin’ now da same fuckin’ fing, ya get me. Nuffin’ changes. Nuffin’. Jus’ people an’ places. Same shit. Same shit all da fuckin’ time. Ain’t nuffin’ gonna make a difference. Nuffin’. ‘Cept dat stoopyd fuckin’ Flanagan an’ his dickshit lessons fink dere some better place. Fink dere’s some greater meanin’ an’ higher power an’ holy shit dat gonna help an’ cure us. Dat dere be some way to change and make it betta froo God an’ shit. So we gotta pray an’ apologise an’ den fank him for everyfin’. Fank ‘im an’ his family for all dey done an’ do. Fank ‘im. Fank ‘im for what? Fank ‘im for ma dickhead dad who jus’ fuckin’ drinks all day? Fank ‘im for all dem times I got jacked and buss up? Fank ‘im for ma mum da’s dead? Fank him for ma sister dat say she ain’t neva cumin’ home? Fank him for dat shit? An’ den when I’m dun I gotta fank ‘im for Saddam an’ Gadaffi an’ Kim Jong an’ Aferwerki an’ Bashir an’ dat fuckin’ Cameron cunt? Fank ‘im for dem cunts? For real? Ya gotta be jokin’, ya get me. I ain’t see no God in dat shit. I ain’t see no fuckin’ angels and saviours. I see hell on fuckin’ erf, blud. But I got a brain. I read ma books. I watch dem documentries an’ shit. I see da news. I educate. And I see uva fings, innit. I see it. But I don’t let no motherfucka know. Ain’t dere business, ya get me. Ain’t no mans business. It’s da way it is, innit. Da only way. I do what I do ta survive an’ you do what you do. We all do whateva shit we fink’ll make our lives betta now. Not in some future fuckin’ bullshit in da sky. But hereNow. An’ I don’t give a fuck how yoo do it. I don’t give a fuck. I don’t come up in yo crib and judge yoo. I don’t say my way’s betta. I don’t say nuffink, bruv, I just do ma fing and leave dem uva bitches be. Ya know what am sayin’. It’s da troof. Gospel.

But da’s long ting head fuck shit so now I gonna chillax. I gonna go an’ have a joint wiv ma sister Michelle. She one ma friends. I mean propa friends. Like we propa tight an’ shit. We grew up togeva. Been in same nursery and primary skool an’ now in anuda fucked up skool. But she make it all okay. Cause we got each uva and no-one gonna take dat. Da’s it. We sisters. For eva. An’ now we gonna get mash up. Get high. We all got our ways to relax, an’ dis is ours, ya get me. Dis da way we chill out an’ fink bout nuffin’ an’ try an’ forget all dat shit dat gets you down. Happens, but you get on wyv it. Happens to everyone, innit. It’s always happenin’. You jus’ gotta find ya means ta cotch an’ enjoy  da shit you got. Fuck. Dere’s planty a fings dat’l’ make ya cry and shit. But da’s for pussies. Don’t do nuffin’. Don’t help. Never does. So we put on some choones an’ smoke a bifta. Talk shit an’ have bare jokes. Fuck da Flanagans. Fuck dem other cunts. They all fuckin’ clowns. All a dem. Dey jus’ angry an’ shit cause dey forgot how ta have jokes. Dey all angry an’ shit cause dey stuck in some fucked up marriage or dey wanna be stuck in some fucked up marriage. But dey neva happy. Neva. An’ dey gotta let every uva fucka know it. Share it. Make ‘em suffer too. Fuck ‘em. Dey should puff on some weed. Get high. Den maybe dey’ll see God. And den he’ll tell ‘em to shut da fuck up. Ha.

I breeze past some yutes an’ dey try and churpse me but I ain’t interested. I ain’t interested in none dat shit. Even if dey were older an’ had bare sterling I wouldn’t give a fuck. Tings have changed. I ain’t got time for dat shit no more. Not now. Dey jus’ messin’ an’ dats da way I treat it, so I flash dem my teef an’ bowl on. Dey’ll find der laydee. Unless dey’re batty. But den da’s up to dem, innit. I don’t give a fuck. Betta for me. I see Michelle cotchin’ by our bench and head over. ‘Hey girl, how’s it goin’.’

‘S’ cool.’ We greet each uva. ‘Wha’ happened wyv Ms. Shemal?’ She arks me.

‘Nuffin’. She jus’ gave me a Saturday detention, innit.’

‘She gonna call your dad?’

‘I dunno.’

‘Shit.’

‘Fuck it.’

She pulls da spliff from her pocket and smiles. ‘Le’s get high.’ She sparks up and takes a few tokes an’ I watch da glow a da cherry as it changes colour an’ get’s bigga an’ brighta. Da smell makes me feel betta. I fink about all dem fuckers dat smoked before us. All dem fuckers dat done shit an’ achieved sumfin’. Made uva’s feel betta. Helped people like me. An’ despite da rest I know dat dere is dem uva betta bruvas and sistas dat make fings betta. Make de sadness lighter. Make us feel betta an’ fink ‘bout shit. Make us act like we should, like people, wyv hearts an’ minds an’ care an’ love an’ shit. Dey dere. Dey just harder ta find, ya get me. But dey dere. Dey waitin’. Trust me.

Michelle start’s hummin’ ‘Survivor’ an’ I can’t help but fink how fuckin’ wicked it is. How wicked she is. She’s ma girl. She always senses when I feelin’ shit. She knows. ‘Here.’ She passes me da spliff an’ I start tokin’.

‘We goin’ dis party tonight den?’ She arks.

‘Yeah, I fink so.’

‘Aaron’s gonna be there.’

‘So?’

‘You gonna chat wyv ‘im?’

I take a long toke and close ma eyes. ‘No.’

‘Don’t you fink yoo should?’

‘No.’

We finish da spliif and sit dere. I feel high but dis time it’s different. I can’t stop finkin’, ya get me. I can’t switch off. I fink about what’s gonna happen. How fings is gonna change. I fink about Michelle goin’ uni and leavin’. She gonna go study English Lit cause she wants’a be a writer, and she fuckin’ good at dat shit. She bare fuckin’ good. Trust me. She gonna bust dat shit up. But it’s up in Chester or sum shit and bare mileage from Acton. S’ far innit. It’s all good dough. She gonna get outta here. And dough it’s scary dat she gonna duss, I’m happy for her, innit. She gonna have a betta life. She gonna be fucked up wyv debt an’ shit, but she gonna be doin’ somefin’. She gonna make a difference. And…more important dan all dat uva shit, she gonna be happy.

‘I gotta go.’ I say and get up.

‘So we gonna meet at eight?’

‘Yeah.’

‘What you gonna wear?’

‘Dunno.’

‘It don’t matter. You fine anyway.’

‘Shut up.’

‘Im serious, girl. Aaron stoppyd if he don’t see it.’

‘Yeah, well. Fanks. You too girl.’

‘You know dat. See ya laterz den.’

‘See ya.’

We separate and I bowl back to ma estate. But I don’t wanna go back. I don’t wanna go home cause I know he’s gonna be dere. I know da fucker gonna be in an’ I don’t wanna see ‘im. I don’t wanna look at ‘im. He’s a fuckin’ pussy’ole, ya get me. He’s a propa fuckin’ fool. But I have to get outta dis fuckin’ skool shit, innit. I have ta get ma garms on an’ get maself fresh. Do ma hair and nails and duss back out. As quick as fuckin’ poss. Fuck ‘im.

Da lift’s still broke so I take da fuckin’ stairs an’ have ta step round dat fuckin’ smackhead dat live’s dere. He’s mash up an’ I step round him an’ make sure ta look out for any a’ his needles an’ shit. Fuckin’ sad. Ain’t no way ta live, ya get me. But no one dere to save ‘im. Not no Flanagan in dis fuckin’ crib. Neva. S’ fucked up. I get to ma floor an’ every step I take’s against ma every fuckin’ wish. Against everyfin’. But it’s gonna be over soon. I just gotta keep remindin’ maself. Stay strong girl. Keep it tight. Finka about da bigga picture. Fink about da future.

I open da door an’ dere he is. Waitin’. ‘Where you been?’ He says and knocks over de fuckin’ coat rack. I try to get past ‘im but he just stands dere swayin’ like a fool.

‘Nowhere.’ I say and pick up da coats an’ rack.

‘Do you know what time it is?’

‘Yeah.’

‘So where have you been?’

‘Nowhere, innit. Was jus’ comin’ home.’

‘For this long?’ He leans up on da wall cause he can’t fuckin’ stand straight.

‘It’s Friday, man. Wha’s wrong wiv you.’ I get froo da gap between his pissed up arse an’ da wall an’ head to da kitchen. I need a drink. I need ta get away from him an’ his rank up stink. Da man’s a bare disgrace, ya get me. Fuckin’ embarassin’.

‘Don’t walk away from me, I’m talking to you.’

‘Yeah, yeah, yeah.’ I get me some Coke an’ close ma eyes as da coldness makes me feel good an’ helps ma dry mouf. But he bowls up behind me, innit, followin’ me, wantin’ somefin’, always fuckin’ wantin’ somefin’.

‘How was school?’ He arks.

‘Same, innit.’ I go to wash ma glass an’ see da man’s been sick in da fuckin’ sink again. ‘S fuckin’ mingin’. Always da same shit. Every fuckin’ day.

‘Nothing happened?’

‘Na, nufin.’ I turn da tap on an’ close ma eyes as I push ma finga around da plug ‘ole. Da smell makes me wanna fuckin’ puke. You’d fink I’d be used ta it now. I pour some bleach down da drain an’ turn to see ‘im starin’ at da bottle a whiskey he finks I can’t see. He’s so fuckin’ stoopyd.

‘Your school phoned.’ He comes up to ma face an’ starts swayin’ an’ shit, propa stoopyd like. An’ he stinks like dem mans on da street so I turn ma face away. ‘Told me you got detention.’

‘So.’

‘Saturday detention.’

‘Yeah. And?’ I push past an’ try to get to ma room, innit, get away from ‘im.

‘And? And?’ He follows me down da hall. ‘Come back here. I’m talking to you.’ Before I can open ma door he grips me by ma arm an’ flings me round, all aggressive an’ shit. So I stare at da motherfucka, ya get me. Fuck ‘im. ‘What did you do this time?’

‘Nuffin’.’

‘It ain’t nothing. Tell me.’

‘Why. Wha d’yoo care.’

‘I do care.’

‘Bullshit. You don’t care bout shit cept yo fuckin’ drink.’

‘That’s not true.’ He let’s go a ma arm. ‘I…’

‘What. You what?’

But he don’t say nuffin’ an’ jus’ stands dere like a fassy’ole. He’s all pissed up an’ shit. He’s ’fucked up. Mans always da fuckin’ same. Always. So I go in ma room an’ close ma door. But I sit on ma bed an’ straight away hear a can open in da kitchen. Fuck. Man, fuck dis shit. I can’ take it no more, ya get me. Fuckin’ all day every day. Cookin’ an’ makin’ food an’ shit an’ washin’ an’ cleanin’ an’ takin’ ‘im ta hospital when he falls ova an’ breaks his fuckin’ arms an’ shit. Pickin’ ‘im up an’ tryin’ ta carry ‘im fuck to bed. Moppin’ up his piss. Fuck dat shit. Fuck all dat shit. I ain’t go da will no more. Ain’t got da strenf. Not for dat shit. I don’t care, ya understand. Not no more. I got uva fings on ma brain, ya get me. New fings. More important fings. Betta fings.

I start pickin’ out some a my garms when I hear da fucker come up ta ma door again. He don’t leve me alone, man. He don’t let me be. Man, fuck. ‘I’m…sorry.’ He says froo da door. But I don’t give a fuck, ya get me. He always fuckin’ sorry bout some shit. I pick out ma spesh D&G dress an’ try an’ get it on, but it don’t fit no more. I gettin’ too big. ‘…I’m…sorry…’ He says again. Fuck ‘im. I look at maself in da mirror. I gettin’ fat, innit, but it’s all right. I still look good. Still got ma lips and hips. Boom. He finally fucks off an’ I finish getttin’ ready. Even do I got ma shit on I take a few uva dresses an’ fings jus’ in case, innit. I’ll see what Michelle finks. When I look in da mirror again before dussin’ an’ I smile, damn girl, I look good, ya get me. I look fuckin’ good. Fuck all da uva shit, I fine. Know dat shit. When I open da door an’ walk back out into da hallway, I hear ‘im cryin’ in da kitchen an’ mumblin’ about how much he cares an’ shit. It’s bullshit. So I try ta be quiet, innit, try an’ sneak da fuck out wivout him hearin’. But he does. ‘Where you going?’ He arks an’ almost falls over as he gets up.

‘Out.’ I say an’ put on ma jacket.

‘What about dinner?’

‘Get some chips or somefin’.’ I’m about to open da front door when he pulls me back.

‘You’re not going out.’

Now he’s all angry an’ shit. One minute deres tears an’ shit and da next he’s all wexed and fucked up. He’s a fuckin’ mess, ya get me, proper fucked up. ‘S da alcohol. Dat an’ whateva fuckin’ crazee shit’s inside his head. But I been froo it too. All a it. An’ now I had enough. I pull ma arm away. Fuck ‘im. ‘Why not?’

‘Because I said so.’

‘You gonna stop me?’

‘Yes.’ He stumbles in front a da door an’ leans back on it. ‘What’s that?’ He points at ma bag an’ I see his eyes roll about in his fuckin’ head.

‘S ma bag, innit.’

‘What’s in it?’ He tries to take it off me but I move too quick. ‘What’s inside?’

‘Ma clothes an’ shit.’

‘What? What do you mean your clothes? Where are you going?’

‘I told you, blud, I’m going out, ya get me, out. Away.’

‘Stop talking like that.’

‘Like what?’

‘You know what.’

‘S da way I speak, shit.’

‘Stop talking like that.’

‘Man, fuck, get outta ma way.’ I try to move him but he’s a heavy fuck. He grabs me an’ we push and pull each uva about in da hallway. Da fucker’s crazy. ‘You well pissed, jus’ move.’ He grips me by ma collar an’ slams me against da fuckin’ wall. I drop ma bag and he holds me back as he picks it up. He opens it an’ looks inside.

‘What’s this?’ He arks.

‘Nufin’.’

‘You leavin’?’

‘What? Shut up.’ I grab ma bag back an’ try ta get past him again but he keeps grabbin’ an’ pullin’ me, fuckin’ up ma hair an’ dress an’ shit.

‘You leavin’ me?’

‘You talkin’ fraff

‘No I’m not. Tell me.’

‘You been in Red Lion an’ got all pissed an’ shit. You a fuckin’ mess.’

‘Stop it. How many times have I told you? How many times? Eh?’

‘Whateva.’

‘Don’t fucking talk to me like that.’

‘Chaaa.’

‘Don’t you dare talk like that.’

He starts shakin’ me an’ shit an’ I stare straight at da fucker. He’s all cryin’ and dribblin’ an’ mumblin’ an’ shit. Trippin’ out. He’s fucked up. I mean propa fuckin’ crazy, ya understand. For real. I can’t remember da last time I saw him like dis. Cryin’ an’ shoutin’ at da same fuckin’ time. He’s propa lost it. Shit. He’s fuckin’ mental. An’ den I remember. I see it. I was like five or sumfin’. It was when mum died. An’ den again a few years later when Jess left. But I was hurtin’ too, ya get me. I ain’t stopped fuckin’ hurtin’. Ever. An’ now I jus’ wanna get out, ya understand. For good. ‘Talk like what, blud, like what? What?’

‘Like them.’

‘Who? Who da fuck you talkin’ about?’

‘Like them niggers at your skool.’

‘Shut up.’

‘What d’you say?’

‘I said shut up. You don’t know shit.’

‘You ain’t a nigger.’ He screams.

‘You bare fuckin’ racist.’

‘Ain’t no nigger in my house.’

‘You sure bout dat?’

‘No fuckin’ way.’

‘No?’

‘NO!’

‘What about a nigger baby?’

He jus’ stands dere. I see his eyes. I see da hate. I see it all. Den I feel his fist on ma stomach. Once. Den twice more. Again and again. Da last one proper fuckin’ hard. I can’t see shit no more’. Everyfin’ fucked up. I feel da blood in me eye. I crumple over on da ground. Fings started going hazy. I can’t see shit. My nose is fucked. Everyfin’s fucked. He spits and I feel it on ma face. Den da door shuts. I hold my stomach. I hold it tight. But I don’t cry. I fink about…da flat I’ve applied for…

….but fings start get blurry……

…I start blackin’ out…

…but I fink bout…

…da council…

…da government…

…helpin’ me…

…helpin’…

…me an’ ma baby…

…s’ fucked up…

…s’ all fucked up…

…but…

…..I hold ma stomach…..

…we’ll make it……

…you an’ me…

…………togeva………..

………we’re………

………survivors………..

……………both a us……………..

……………we’ll………………

…………………make it…………………

….

………………………………….I promise………………………………….

………………………………….I………………………………….

………………………………….promise………………………………….

……………………I……………………

…………………..

……

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