Jojo's Blues

It was nearing 3 a.m. Turning slightly to my left I saw Gabi's
foetal shape shrouded by the duvet, curled and distorted by relaxation.
I suddenly knew that we were dead; it was all dead. The cat raised it's
head and furiously licked at its fur to get rid of an itch; then it
looked straight at me with suspicious eyes, reading my mind. Smugly, it
lowered its head and feigned sleep, knowing that if I made a move it
could quickly react. I didn't move.

I continued looking at Gabi instead, glad that she wasn't lying on her
back. Whenever she lay on her back she snored. It didn't particularly
matter on this occasion but I was still glad, it wasn't very
ladylike.

I could still see why it was so easy for me to fall in love with her.
She was very feminine but had that little extra something: that little
bit that's so easy to see in someone but you just can't ever find the
words to describe it. We had planned to get married in a couple of
years but that was more of a pipe dream on her part. She loved being in
love. With me off the scene she could find someone else to love, and
they'd love her back. Maybe better than I could.

The cat sat up and made a quiet mewing noise, then it gracefully
stepped off the bed and slunk through the door.

Like most young men I'd always had the perverse obsession with blondes,
natural or altered. Gabi was the exception, the girl who was the
opposite to everything I had ever chased before. I suppose that you
could look at her and say that she was beautiful in a classical sense,
perfectly defined features that just seemed to grow on every man that
looks at her. A few loose strands of hair lay across her face as she
slept, making her even more appealing. Her body was long and curved in
all of the right places, no cellulite to speak of. She had everything
that a man could ever want.

I stroked her hair and smiled to myself, tickling her ear softly with
my hand. She stirred and mumbled incoherently, bringing her hand up to
rub her nose. I leant over and kissed her on the lips, slipping my hand
under the cover to feel the warmth of her breasts. I saw the smile
grace her lips as she emitted a low moan, biting her lip gently as I
increased the pressure and moved myself closer to her, rubbing our
bodies together.

The cat raised its head quickly, scanning the darkness for movement. It
focussed on my hand underneath the duvet, watching as I circled Gabi's
chest. It sat upright, wide-awake, waiting for me to make a sudden
move. Then, slowly, it stalked across the bed and pushed itself against
Gabi, trapping my hand on her chest.

As I lay in the darkness I remembered long walks in the park, aimless
wanders that led nowhere and were never meant to. In my mind I was
wearing an old T-shirt and baggy shorts: a picture of student life. She
was more of a vision, decked in a tight white top and pale blue fitted
trousers, hair tied back to stop it annoying her as we walked. We would
stroll by the river, watching other couples and wondering whether they
were as much in love as we were, whether they would ever find the true
happiness that we had found in each other. She would buy an ice cream
from the van and we'd sit on the bank, my arm snaked around her waist
as if to protect her. Sunny days slipping into even sunnier evenings.
They were the good times.

I checked the clock by her side; the glowing red digits screamed
03:22.

Gabi left for work at about ten past seven. I heard her car pull away
and stumbled to the bathroom. After showering and brushing my teeth I
put new sheets on the bed and tidied the room. Picking up the phone I
sat on the bed and worked out my illness. I dialled the number from
memory and waited for the fat bitch to answer.

'Good morning. Haymean Comprehensive School. Janet speaking.' I swear I
could almost see the half eaten bar of chocolate lying on her desk,
several wrappers cast unwanted into the bin.

'Hello, it's Joseph. Joseph Croft.'

'Oh, hello. What's wrong now?' It was definitely a sneer.

'I won't be able to come in today. I'm rather ill.' I tried to keep my
voice calm and avoid sarcasm. It would be lost on the old slag
anyway.

'Have you got a sick note?'

'No.'

'Have you seen a doctor?'

'Of sorts, yes.'

'What do you mean 'of sorts'? You either have or you haven't.'

'Well, yes.'

'And what's wrong with you today?' Fucking condescending bitch.

'I've got AIDS.'

Silence. Utter silence. Beautiful, golden, pure, unadulterated silence.
Stupid cow.

'I'll ring again when I've been back to the doctor. I need advice on
what to do now. It may be a week or so.'

'Oh, alright. Whenever you're ready.'

'Thanks. Goodbye.' I put the receiver back in the cradle and laughed.
Within minutes I would be the talking point of the school, the rest of
the teachers would try and keep it quiet but it would leak out to the
kids. They'd all believe it but they'd be off my back.

I went to the kitchen and made a cup of tea, waiting for the kettle to
boil I rolled myself a spliff, packing the weed so full that I only
used a quarter of a cigarette. I then lay on the newly made bed and
smoked, drinking the soothing tea when my mouth became too dry to
smoke. It hit me unlike any spliff I'd ever had. I lay for a few
minutes, trying to work out a blueprint for my future.

I found my passport tucked behind the gas bill in the bread bin, it
held a picture of me when I was eighteen and full of youthful promise.
There was also a photo of me an Gabi in a photo booth. It must have
been a year old at least because I had very short hair on it; Gabi had
a huge grin on her face as I apparently pretended to eat her ear. I
couldn't even remember the photo being taken so I decided to leave it
behind, blu-tacking it to the fridge door for Gabi to keep. I wrote her
a short note:

'I'm sorry. I have to go away. We both know how we felt before, I know
how I feel now. I can't be with you. I can't be with anyone. I need to
be by myself for a while. I might write to you sometime when I get
myself sorted but don't hold your breath. Look after yourself and get a
man who can make you truly happy - I never could. You can keep
everything that I leave. I doubt I'll need it. I've taken some money
out of the bank, about four thousand. The rest is yours if you want it.
Just remember that it isn't you that I'm running away from, I'm going
because of me. I'm running away from the person I've become, I need to
be someone else. Take care.
Jojo.'

I packed some of my clothes in a rucksack, added a few favourite books
and my tapes. I left my CD collection, although I didn't want to,
because it would weigh me down. My records stayed as well. Apart from
my walkman I didn't need any kind of technology. I had enough room for
some other things but I couldn't think what to take. What do you take
for a new start. I eventually decided to take my best suit and my best
pair of fancy shoes, just in case I needed to get a job.

I fed the cat and left the flat, posting my keys through the letterbox.
The bus into town had just arrived so I jumped on. Getting off at the
bank I took four thousand pounds out of our joint account, leaving the
same amount for Gabi. Most of it was technically mine but I didn't need
it all; I just needed enough to disappear. Gabi needed to pay rent and
bills. I then went to another bank and opened a new account, using my
parents' address for correspondence. I asked them not to send
statements or correspondence unless I requested it. I refused the offer
of a cash card and opted instead for a savings book, the instant option
that cut out the waiting. I phoned John and arranged to meet him in the
pub for lunch. I wandered towards the train station, lugging my heavy
rucksack and wishing that I'd left some more things behind.

I bought a single train ticket to Liverpool from the grizzled brunette
at the platform counter, noticing how her eyes barely registered any
sign of life. She seemed vacant and disturbed.

I saw a Big Issue seller shuffling along the platform, refusing to
acknowledge the presence of security asking him to leave. He stared at
me with crazed eyes, pumped up with amphetamine.

'Big Issue? Only a pound.' He lacked even the slightest note of
enthusiasm for the magazine, stressing the cheap price as it's only
selling point. I rummaged in my baggy pockets for change but couldn't
find anything except copper.

'I'm sorry, I haven't got change.' I actually did feel guilty, for what
I wasn't sure.

'Alright, if you say so.' He rubbed his runny nose with the sleeve of
his discoloured jacket, wiping the sleeve on his trousers as an
afterthought. This managed to make me feel even worse.

'Look, I honestly haven't got change but I can get some if you give me
a chance. D'you fancy a drink? My round?' I realised I felt sorry for
him because he couldn't possibly have done what I had done, he couldn't
run away from his problems because he had nowhere to run from.

His name was Thompson. Living on the streets for two years had taken
the soul out of him and left him detached from the rest of humanity. He
had no idea what kind of world I lived in and I certainly couldn't
understand his. He was a hopeless heroin addict, stealing copies of the
Big Issue from real vendors to support his habit. The only contact I'd
ever had with people like Thompson was through the television; for me
he was a work of fiction, shielded by the glass of the set. Yet to him
I was all too real, I was the man who spat at him when the clubs shut,
the woman who steered her kids to the other side of the street when I
saw him loitering with his magazines, the kids who laughed in his face
as they passed him lying comatosed in a pool of his own piss. I left
him ?20 when I finished my third pint. He smiled for the first time,
the cool soothing smack coursing through his veins before he'd even
bought it.

John arrived ten minutes late, looking flustered and complaining about
an increase in spending. I realised that what I had done was the right
thing.

'How's Gabi?' He sat down with his pint and sparked a cigarette,
inhaling deeply before blowing out and supping thirstily on his
lager.

'Fine at the moment. It might have changed later on though.' For some
reason I couldn't look him in the eye, I stared into my pint and found
that I was nervous and edgy. I wanted a spliff. 'I'm leaving.' It just
came straight out.

'What?'

'I'm leaving.' I lit a joint I had rolled before leaving. The pub was
quite relaxed. John and I had been regulars since we'd been at school.
The herb crackled as I dragged on it, drawing it deep into my lungs
before blowing plumes of dark smoke towards the ceiling.

'You're leaving Gabi? Why?' John was a calm kind of bloke, I'd only
known him to get angry a couple of times in the eleven years I'd known
him. He wasn't angry, just astonished.
'I'm leaving everything. Gabi, work, the flat. My life. I don't know
where I'm going or what I'm going to do but I can't stay here.' I
drained my drink and continued puffing on the joint; as I passed it to
John I saw he was nodding.

'I know what you mean. I've thought about it myself, just getting up
one day and fucking off. But I can't. I've worked too hard to get where
I am today.' The look of astonishment had vanished, replaced by a kind
of morose longing.

'Everyone has their own way of doing things, we all have to move on.
You're right, you have worked too hard, you have a great future. For
fucks sake you've got a great little company that's growing by the
day.' He handed the spliff back to me. 'I'm a fucking school teacher,
preaching at little pricks who don't even want to fucking learn. I
don't want to be settled, I'm only twenty three and I feel like I'm
waiting to retire. I've got some stuff to do before I settle down.' I
rolled the stub of the spliff between my thumb and forefinger before
sucking the last bit of life from it.

'Are you sure about this mate?'

'Yeah. It's done now anyway. No regrets, eh?' I felt my eyes glass over
and blinked a few times, to stop everything from pouring out.

'What did you tell her?' John took a long swig of his drink but never
took his eyes off me.

'I've left her a note, I couldn't do it.'

'What about the school?'

'I told them I had AIDS.' John burst out laughing and then turned
white. He looked at me in a strange, unnerving way.

'I haven't really mate. Don't be fucking mental.' I moved back in my
chair and looked out of the window. 'I couldn't think of anything else
to tell them; it was good enough at the time. They'll find out soon
enough.'
I stubbed the embers of the spliff in the ashtray. 'Can you do me a
favour?'

He smiled and loosened his tie. 'Tell me what it is first.'

'Can you take the rest of the day off?'

He looked puzzled. 'Why? What do you need me for? Surely this is
something you've got to do on your own.'

I shook my head. 'No, I don't need anything.
I just want to see you for a bit before I go you know. I don't know
when I'll see you again, I might never. You know what I mean, mate,
we've known each other for so long and all that. You're like a brother
for me.' I picked up the cigarette packet and removed the cellophane
wrapper. 'You're the only person that I can talk to.'

'You know I'll always be here for you mate. Whatever happens.' He held
out his hand and I grabbed it across the table, squeezing it until my
knuckles turned white.

We went to John's house and spent the afternoon drinking, reminiscing
about our schooldays. We laughed for hours at names we hadn't thought
of in years; lessons in the art department, locking each other in
cupboards but being unable to do anything because we'd never get each
other into any trouble. Yet when the evening came I was happy to leave,
the past was too strong even in his house.