NOT SHUT UP

I’ve spent a lot of my life feeling as if I’m being followed – by things that have happened in the past. But when things are so far behind you, you can’t always see them clearly…
I’m in my flat lying on my blue soft leather sofa, with my dog Taz snuggled up at my feet. I’m watching telly, drinking cider, and smoking cannabis. Don’t ask what was on telly as I can’t remember. It was just on for some background. I begin to realise I am running out of drink, so I get myself ready to go out. When I stand up I feel unsteady on my feet. What trainers shall I put on? The rough worn ones I think, as I am taking the dog, and it’s only to the shops. It’s hard to get her lead on. As usual as she is running round in circles – her nails making that funny scratching noise on my wooden floor. She’s going so fast she can’t find a grip. I find it funny. Eventually I get the lead on. If I was in a hurry I would think this was annoying. But most times I just love her energy and excitement at going out.
I throw some water on my face and check myself in the mirror. My hair’s all over the place, so I run a comb through it, throw my jacket on, flick the telly off and walk out, locking the big padlock behind me. I make my flat sound like a prison – because that’s what it looks like from the outside. I’ve had bars fitted on my windows and an iron gate put up in front of the door. But I like my prison flat, because I feel safe when I’m home. No one can get at me, and if they tried I’d hear.
But the journey I am beginning now will lead me to a real prison. But I don’t know that as I walk along my balcony. The wind’s blowing, with a cold that has just hit me. I pull my jacket tighter and check it’s completely zipped. I didn’t realise how dark it was tonight. The moon is shining brightly off the cars. In the puddles it looks like a headlight coming up at me out of the ground. The cold has made me feel my intoxication. I tell myself I’m OK, because I am OK. I’m not falling about. I’m walking straight.
The dog’s having a great time on the grass, she’s squatting to have a wee. I’m pleased for her because she’s relieved herself. She catches me up, almost bumping into me. I tell her she’s a good girl and grab her lead to pull her with me.
It’s then that I see a man arguing and fighting with a woman across the road. The man is pinning her to the wall. I can hear his voice shouting and a woman’s voice screaming back. I feel scared – apprehensive – but also ashamed, because the voice of the man makes me somehow feel connected to him, because I am a man as well.
I continue to walk, but don’t know what to do. They are getting closer now. How will I be able to walk past and do nothing? But it’s nothing to do with me. I feel like an intruder, an idiot. Then I make the decision. I have to stop whatever is going on across the road from me.
As I approach them they become aware of me. But the man continues to strangle the woman, his hands beneath her long hair. They’re both screaming abuse at each other. I’m now close enough to tell that they’re both drunk or drugged up. Nothing they are saying to each other is making any sense.
I ask the man to stop strangling this woman – to stop physically hurting her. And he reluctantly does what I say, letting her go from his hands. Her long hair is all over the place. She looks at me, and I am stunned by something I glimpse in the crazed relief in her wild eyes.
I thank the man for letting her go, and make the point that it’s OK to argue, but that they shouldn’t fight, or they might get arrested. Then I tell them I want to be on my way – to continue my walk with my dog. So I start backing away from this scene. And soon I am back on my side of the road. The man and the woman are still arguing, but they are a couple of feet apart now, and I’m happy to be back in my own world with Taz, walking forwards again.
The night is even colder now and even darker. And I still haven’t even been to the shop yet. But I know which way to go. It’s a long straight road and I am walking down it.
And then I hear them – the footsteps, some way behind me. But whoever it is that is following me is too far away. I can’t see them clearly.
And that’s how I feel about the rest of that night, the night that ended in the events that put me here. I can’t see them clearly. I don’t know exactly what happened. But I know I should not be here, behind these locked doors.
I should be lying on my blue soft leather sofa, with my dog Taz snuggled up at my feet, behind the bars of the windows in my flat, and the padlock on my door locked tight, feeling safe.

John A
Belmarsh

Filed under: Memories