Leaving.

I’ve never been one for leaving. It’s not in my bones, my blood, my whatever – it’s not there. It was in everyone elses’. They left. Lord knows that they found. It’s a strange and frightening world out there, one which I can scarcely fathom and hardly want to. Hardly fathom, scarcely want to.

William left in the morning, bags bulging and heart swelling with pride – new opportunities, new friends and a myriad of possible lays. Oh, prospects! The journey was excitable, every road sign a daring enticement – come and see if you’re brave enough, what lies within?

In a service station all was shiny and new. He revelled in the exciting urinal. How different this all was. The prospect of moving on sure put things in a new light. He returned to his table, hands pleasantly reeking of the petty excuse for soap he had been plied with. The scent of the new world. His cold burger was sumptuous and the pig’s buttock scraping bacon a delight.

He returned to his mother’s car – chariot. 127 miles away Chris was on the road the sun crept from behind a cloud and Michaela crept further away. Pangs of longing and excitement jostled for pride of place in his heart, brain. Was hope a place? He wouldn’t know until he got there – something of a half-arsed conclusion.

Whilst the others were shipping out, Joseph was in place. Settling into his new room he was rebuilding fondness for all the things he’d brought with him. Familiarity breeds complacency and with a whole swathe of his life washed away he was not easily going to lose these trinkets from home. With all his things reassured and in place he stepped barefoot into the corridor. Something outside his door demanded to be known underfoot. He looked. It was a pebble. A small, beige pebble, just large enough to be intrusive but entirely inconsequential. He kicked it away.

Meanwhile William cursed the lay-by. The signs further along the road were giant taunts in a friendly and mocking font. Mother and Father insisted that they didn’t know what was wrong, the chariot was not on fire, but just as useless. S.O.S – Stupid Old Sod, William mused dejectedly, there was no new world for him just yet, just a darkening motorway and the gossamer thin promise of AA help.

Meanwhile, Chris had placed himself. The place was wrong but he settled in all the same – make a go of it. It was late and his new and unfamiliar bed bid him enter. The morning was another place and another possibility.

Joseph awoke, groggy, memories of the night before were regrettably tenacious. They clung to him – a disorientating glove. He stepped into the corridor. Something. Something was there. He looked. It was a pebble. A small, beige pebble, just large enough to be intrusive but entirely inconsequential. He was surprised. It looked familiar. He kicked it away, puzzled and nauseous and began the dizzying journey to the kitchen.

William awoke. The travel inn was glum. The curtains were little defence against the vulgar local sun. Other suns were so much better – refined. He trudged to the toilet. It was greying and a displeasing catalogue of previous tenants. He looked in the mirror, it was past its sell by date. A cracked smile and a silent shout.

Chris awoke. His sun gleamed and danced through the window, a crack in the curtains ushered him to the doorway. He dressed quickly and went instinctively to the main gate. His post-box looked appetizing. He delved inside and found hope. Heaven was a box. Reading Michaela’s messy and hurried scrawl was like loving all over again and he did. On his way back to his room everyone was a smiling cherub brimming with benevolence and love. The birds chirped romantic strings.

Something. It was a small pebble. Beige, rounded. Not of any consequence. Intrusive. Joseph hurried back inside with the pebble and his cornflakes. The cornflakes drowned into a shapeless mush as he furiously studied his nemesis. Small. Beige. Intrusive. Malicious. Haunting.

The garage called. Mr and Mrs William ushered William out to the travel inn forecourt. He gasped excitedly at his chariot. It glistened with god-knows-what and beckoned him inside. He rushed forward, giddy and climbed in. He was back on track. The signs smiled – yesterday was a joke, no harm done I trust?

Joseph slithered silently to his door and yanked it open. He looked down at the ground just outside the threshold. Small. Beige. Intrusive. He threw the offender down the hall, stormed back inside and slammed his door.

2 Miles sang a chorus of green rectangular beauties. Indicators winked and willed William onwards. Onwards to victory.

Joseph looked outside cautiously again. He was there. He saw him, his odious beige hide. Sitting passive on the carpet. Why are you doing this? Joseph screamed. He giggled and said nothing.

The countryside began to taper to nothing. Where was it, this glorious palace of learning and excitement, this brave new world? All was white. No trees, no buildings. The other cars and the road faded into white. Where was he. He was there. But Warwick wasn’t there.

Neither was I. So don’t quote me on it. I can’t leave. Never have. Probably never will.