His Back Twinged

His back twinged as he bent down to pick things up now a days and he was only in his early forties. He had exacerbated his "bad back" playing indoor volley ball too vigorously the night before with his team the Northern Lights, sure that was true. He had twisted the wrong way, going into hard against Wei Tran, which had been fairly foolish as Wei Tran was much younger than he. His back wasn't normally this bad, but he did suffer from some permanent tenderness now a days, there was obviously some degeneration, of sorts. He wondered if it would feel twice as sore in another forty years, twenty years, ten, probably worse than he imagined, pretty soon, as he assumed the degeneration was going to be much worse in future years. Or was that just his glass half sensibility? He knew now what his parents meant when they groaned with the ravages of time when he was a kid. He never thought he'd get to that just the same, but he had.

He picked up his brief case, straightened his jacket and prepared to head out into the cold.

He winced and took a step forward.

"Oh." Groan. Wince. It will get better again, soon. But what if it didn't get better, what if this is it? Glass half full, glass half full, he repeated in his mind.

Creak sounded the front door, not unlike how his back felt. The fresh air hit his face almost immediately. He breathed it in in big breaths pretending that it was the temperature of air that was making him gasp and not because of his recalcitrant back. He deadlocked the door with the key in his hand, the key ring of keys jangled as he did. He stepped out onto the veranda and turned and pulled the door shut behind him. It made a reassuring clunk sound. His back twinged, he gasped again.

He turned, steadied himself and then stepped foreword with one foot tentatively.

"Oh, ah," he said. Oh bugger, he thought.

He stepped forward with the other foot. "Oh."

He gripped the hand rail in his right hand and gingerly stepped down the single step to the front path. He turned and looked back at the front door. He scratched his chest and rubbed his back, his brief case in his back scratching hand swung backwards and forwards with each scratch and he pretty soon stopped scratching. He walked to the front gate, he thought, as if he'd shit his pants, he hoped no one was looking. He laughed at the thought, which seemed to twinge in his back as well. The heavy metal gate clanged as he swung it open, it clanged again when he closed it on its old latch bolted to the brick fence.

His trusty red MGB was sitting on the street, just along from his front gate. He slid the worn, silver key into the door latch and then pushed the button on the handle and he pulled the door open, it made a clack sound as it always did. He tossed his brief case across onto the passenger seat. He slid his suit jacket off and flung it after his brief case. The putting on and taking off of the suit jacket was a ritual, one he would repeat all day.

He slunk down into the low slung car with some difficulty this morning. The car sat low to the ground, with his legs almost out straight in front of him. He wondered if he'd have to get rid of the car, in how many years? Most of his family wouldn't be so sad about that happening, as quite a number of them thought that Ryan was living in the passed, trying to hang onto the last shreds of his youth by still driving the old sports car.

His back ached. It seemed to ache right down into his arse crack, which suddenly seemed itchy and he wanted to slide his finger into the top and scratch it. It was no use, he was in no condition to perform such a feet of dexterity, so he ignored the itch, hoping it would go away. It didn't. He wriggled his bottom backwards and forwards, as best he could, hoping that would do the trick. It didn't, the itch remained.

He fitted his harness across his chest, securing the two buckles. He slid the key into the ignition, he pulled on the choke, turning it to the left when it was fully pulled out to lock it into position. He turned the key and the car gently rocked from side to side as the engine began to turn over under the long curved bonnet that stretched out in front of him. He turned the key off and turned it on again.

The engine caught, and the car fired into life with its loud, throaty exhaust note. He pushed down on the clutch, his back twinged again and he inhaled breath sharply with the pain. "Oh fuck it," he said quietly to himself. He selected 1st gear, slipped off the handbrake, flicked on the indicator switch, checked his mirrors and pulled out onto the road. His back twinged again as he changed gears. His back twinged with every gear change. It twinged in 2nd, it twinged in 3rd, it twinged in 4th. He cursed the day, every time he changed gears.