The Rushes

We spent the last day of half-term smoking cheap, weak weed in Alan's back yard and talking about the girl's in our year, rating and ranking them. There was nobody else home because his mum had gone to Wales with her most recent boyfriend.

His back yard was narrow, sunless and overlooked by pretty much every house near by, so we stood close to the wall by the kitchen window while we smoked. His mum had taken the dog but there was still shit all over the place: I was always slightly disgusted with the state of his house.

We rolled joints as best we could and smoked them with serious expressions, and eventually we got high. Alan brought out two cans of warm, store-brand lager from his mums stash and I squinted into the sliver of sky-blue sky above us as Alan lied about fingering a girl on holiday.

Burning the dark, brittle resin between my fingers, I was suddenly sure that I could taste the smell of dog shit in the air. It was thick and palpable and I needed to wretch. I quickly finished and suggested we smoked it at the park, arguing we could sit out and look for girls.

The park was about ten minutes away by foot but after reaching the main road we decided to take our time, walk through the backings and smoke on the way there. We weren't even past the end of the street when Alan saw Richard.

Richard was a kid in our year at school who had gone to Alan's primary school. He got a lot of shit at our school. He was known as a scrubber, and I once saw him get beat up in the changing rooms for "acting queer". Alan told me his mum was a slag, and that there was a rumour she was a hooker, and even though that part was obviously made-up, he was made to suffer for it all the same. So I was surprised when Alan waved at him, smiling.

Without the usual awkwardness he showed in school, Richard casually waved back and said hello. Alan crossed the cobbled back street to him and, after I stubbed out the joint, I followed. They talked about the holidays and about going back to school tomorrow while I tried to look as if I was ignoring them. Then Alan asked for the joint, and when I said it was finished he called me a "fucking liar".
I shoved the half-smoked joint into his hand and told him to hurry up. As I said it I saw the familiar unease of Richard return when he turned his face away from me and I felt better. I almost smiled as I said we should go and see if there were any girls at the park before it was too late, safe in the knowledge Alan wouldn't be seen with him if there were girls. When he said no, that he'd rather go down to the train station with Richard, I was green.

On a Sunday there are no trains that stop at the local station. It's down a long path hidden away from the houses so it's a pretty good place to come and drink or, in our case, smoke. We sat on the edge of the platform- me on one end, Richard on the other, him holding Alan's attention. When a train came close we stood up, our feet at the platform's very edge and waited until the last moment to step back. This happened twice and both times I was the first to jump back. When Alan called me a pussy it was without humour or affection. He even took out a joint I didn't know he'd made and let Richard light it.

As it began to get dark I said I was going home and Richard was the first to say 'bye. Alan told me to wait, said he had more weed and that we should go in the Rushes and smoke another. I told him I had to take a piss. I walked a little up the path before I found a place to go. I was more stoned than I thought, and as I listened to the splashes on the leaves I thought about school in the morning. The ground felt soft as I walked back down the path and, as I saw them, It looked as if they were holding hands. Richard held the joint out for me and I took it without speaking.

We dropped onto the tracks and walked along them.
A little down the track from the platform there were two tunnels, and inside the tunnels, connecting them, were small passageways- the Rushes, we called them. As a train went by it sucked air through the passageway from the opposite tunnel, and if you were inside it when this happened it was like a gale. And that's where it happened.

I lit up and sat against the wall by a rusted pipe, clutching it under my arm. Alan huddled closed to me and Richard was left at the far end. Alan check his watch and I passed the lit joint on. Nobody spoke. We all heard a distant horn, Richard giggled and, for a moment, I hated him. Then Alan broke the silence.

"Fucking Hell, Richard," he said, half laughing, "you don't half stink of piss"

I choked on a lung-full of smoke as I laughed. Richard was silent. He looked pathetic.

"No, seriously," Alan continued "you fucking stink. And are they your fucking school pants?"

I laughed. I laughed as Alan asked if he liked being a tramp, if his mum washed his clothes with her stockings- stained with the sperm of paying men.

I heard the train approach over my shrill laughter, over Alan's questions and insults.

"Well?"

Richard was still and silent in the dark passage. The train was close but he just stared at the wall. I thought I could see him start to cry, and that's when I stopped finding it funny.

"Jesus, it's making me sick." Alan said as he twisted his back against me "Get the fuck away from me"

He pushed his back against me, pushing Richard with his legs, closer to the tunnel. Richard called out for him to stop, over and over and over as the train entered the tunnel. It's noise was deafening and Richard was screaming.

"Get the fuck away from me, you fucking faggot"

Richard disappeared in a blur of wheels and engine. The wind rushed through the passageway and screamed against my ears, and even with this I could hear the slamming sound.
It didn't stop immediately. It passed on a while before we heard the screech of breaks. Alan pushed me out of the way, ran into the opposite tunnel and ran down it's tracks, away from the train. I didn't even look to where Richard went out. I just followed Alan. He was too far ahead to catch so I just ran. Eventually, as my legs buckled and my teeth hurt, I climbed up off the tracks and over a fence, and then I went home.

My dad was watching TV in the living room when I came in through the back door. He called out and I grunted back, then he made a sarcastic comment as I climbed the stairs. I showered and went to bed feeling numb.

In the morning I told my dad I was sick but didn't believe that, even though I insisted all the way to the school gates. He dropped me off and I shuffled in with the others. Prefects were waiting at the doors and everyone was directed to the main hall instead of attending registration. People were questioning what was going on but I already knew. Inside the hall, on the stage, police were waiting with the head teacher and deputy. Bile rose in my throat. I stood with a group from my form but I couldn't see Alan there, and I was sure he'd have run away. Someone in the crowd mentioned a dead body. I knew I was fucked.

The head called everyone's attention and a policeman stepped forward to the microphone. Someone shouted "Pig!", A boy from an older year, and was dragged out by Mr. Thorn. After a short burst of laughter the policeman spoke. He told us that Richard Morris was dead.