Nick T

I was cleaning out my attic... well, I can't lie around and smoke pot the whole time. Although, I have always found as long as you keep going, on the trajectory you would have if you haven't had a joint, everything will get done and in a much nicer frame of mind. It's only really if you stop, then you are a gonna.

Anyway, I was in the attic and I came across a box of photos. In one shot, there was Nick T pretending to be a knight, or something, Alex had the sword and was ready to joust him. It's a hot shot, Nick T has that swagger as Alex R charges. Ah, first love.

Bradley B is in the back ground, with his hands on his head, in shock at what is about to take place, pulling his t-shirt up exposing his stomach. I'm not really sure why.

Nick T, Greek, built like a race horse, the school tough, wog boy alfa male. His partner in crime, Nick S, Greek, built like a tank, school tough, wog boy alfa male. A bit of a meat head, just on the quiet, best to be avoided. But, I was always friends with Nick T. He was fuck-off good looking, zero body fat, lean body, cheeky, smart, dashing, wog boy, just how I liked them. I always remember when he was late again for his umpteenth assembly, when he'd come in his running clothes the last time and had got told off, and the change rooms are too far away, as we could see the head master leave his office across the road. He just stripped off right there and then and calmly changed into his school uniform. There was one moment there when he'd stripped down to his beige jockettes, I realised what men should look like. I don't remember any of the other boys ever looking quite... like... that. (maybe Alex when he was naked and lying underneath me)

He came right up behind me in pottery class, which I remember to be year 11, but why I was doing clay work in year 11, I'm not really sure. It doesn't make a huge difference to the outcome. What I remember, I was at the deep sink washing something down with plenty of water. Although, it would be my only mixed class, with other houses, otherwise classes are divided right down house lines and I would never have a class with him.

Water, noise.

Nick T comes right up behind me and as he passes slowly behind, he asks, "Fletcher, you gay?"

You are just setting me up, you bastard, I thought we had more than that. "No," I say, amazed that I didn't choke or fall down.

He takes hold of whatever it was passed me that he was giving the impression he was reaching for and passes back behind me. "That's a pity because I want to fuck you."

I was speechless. I scrubbed at what was in my hand. I flipped it over. My stomach tied into knots. I looked sideways to where Nick T was moving back to, he was looking back at me smiling.

I can't believe that he is setting me up to get punched up by him and his Neanderthal friend, Nick S.

But, his eyes were soft and gentle, like he'd put himself out there honestly. He smiled back at me, before his head turned and looked the other way. One last look back, what I would recognise some years later, a soft and beseeching face.

They all piled onto the balcony as soon as the bell went. I was still distracted by what Nick T said. I slowly packed up, as my stomach buzzed, as a chill ran through me. He meant that, he wasn't shit stirring. I looked around to see if he had quietly waited, he hadn't. The room was empty and he had gone.

It wasn't until a few days later, when I was heading off to hockey practise, that I saw Nick T again. He was dressed in his running gear, that black singlet, those sheer-at-the-sides shorts that seemed to split over each hip.

"Where are you going?"

I hold up my hockey stick. "Der."

"Der."

At which point the running master comes up behind Nick.

"Where have you been?"

"What? What do you mean?" It was the middle of the week, where did he think I'd been.

"I've been looking for you." Smile. "Wondered if..." looks over his left shoulder. "you'd thought any." looks over his right shoulder. "more about what I said."

"Come on Trakas," let’s go." says Mr Green.

"What?"

"The other day."

Huh

"Art class."

"Art class?" I was trying to be so nonchalant and that sounded like I knew exactly what he was talking about.

"I wasn't joking."

Green pushed him along. "Mr Fletcher, might I suggest that if you would like to speak to Mr Trakas he will be back in precisely two hours." He looks at me. He pushes Nick. "Move."

"Wait for me."

"Okay," I heard myself say.

Then he was bundled onto the bus by Green and was driven away. Two hours is five thirty. Hockey will go for one, then I can piss around and help clean up, then it will just about nearly be five thirty.

Did he really mean it?

I ran onto the hockey oval. I wonder if it is too cold for a skins team.