Dave's Destiny

Dave opened his eyes, the morning sun was pouring through the
runckled
pleats in the top of the curtains, usually he would have rolled over
and gone back to
sleep only to be woken hours later by rain splatting down on the flat
roof outside his
bedroom window, the beautiful morning sunshine long washed away. He
started his
new job tomorrow and he decided his new life would start today. He
leapt out of bed
like the bloke does in the shaving foam advert and for a moment he was
that bloke
until a second later the room started swimming around him and he felt
sick. He
slumped back down onto the bed, disappointed at this first failure, not
that it was a
failure of course, the new Dave doesn't fail, he deals with unforeseen
situations by
assessing alternative strategies and moving forward with positive
determination.

Caroline had told him that at his self assertiveness weekend, although
it didn't
work when he'd tried to snog her at the disco on the last night, his
little finger was
still tender after she'd bent it back in some tai-chi death grip, he
supposed that she
was just demonstrating how strong her positive determination was by
refusing to give
in to his advances.

He stood up again and advanced rather more gingerly towards the
bathroom,
selecting an alternative strategy to the intentions of last night which
had required a
medley of physical workouts utilising his newly acquired dumb bell set,
you shouldn't
run before you can walk. He'd achieved his main goal of not going back
to sleep and
he'd decided that was enough for the time being, although he was
looking forward to
trying his new razor like the bloke in the advert uses.

As he walked down stairs he contemplated removing the large piece of
loo
paper he'd used to clot the blood where he'd dragged the new triple
bladed razor over
his chin with rather too much positive determination, resulting in
quite a substantial
wound. Better leave it on for a while longer.

He'd wondered whether to forgo his coco-pop cereal for muesli and
yoghurt
but he'd been collecting tokens for a limited edition choco-bowl and
spoon set and he
wasn't about to give that up after he'd come so far and besides it was
good to have
some quirky parts of your character, it made you stand out from the
other blokes out
of shaving foam adverts.
The piece of loo paper was now half soaked with blood and half soaked
with a
sort of milk chocolate poultice, and was quite revolting even by Dave's
fairly low
standards. Dave wondered whether cut had healed enough yet to remove
the
dressing.

The fresh loo paper was soaking up the blood from the re-opened
wound
nicely; it was time to face the world.

As the front door clunked shut behind him he tried to stifle the desire
to
feverishly rummage through all his pockets to ensure he had his keys
with him,
instead he casually slipped his right hand into the pocket where he
usually kept them,
as he was negotiating the contents in a slow and inconspicuous way he
stared blindly
into space, only that's not the way it appeared to Mrs. Barker who was
doing her daily
aerobics work out in the front room of number 54.

"PERVERT!!" The sound of her scream came shrieking through the
triple
glazing. Startled, Dave whipped his hand out of the pocket, throwing
the contents
across the pavement. Just as the keys plopped into the water at the
bottom of the
drain the front door of number 54 flew open, revealing Mr. Barker.
Dave's brain was
having some trouble keeping up with the events occurring around him. He
stared
past Mr. Barker; Mrs. Barker now had a quilted dressing gown half
covering the vast
quantities of Lycra. He started thinking of alternative strategies,
although he was
having some difficulty as he had no idea what was going on, there was
just this
deafening tide of aggressive obscenities rushing at him, then all of a
sudden it
stopped. Mr. Barker said

"Don't I know you from somewhere?" in the sort of unwelcoming tone
that
he'd learnt during his twenty year stint at being a docker.

When he was made redundant six years ago he'd never managed to adapt
to
the rest of the World that requires a certain amount of social skill to
navigate a
conversation and so he'd never gone anywhere and assumed the rest of
society owed
him an answer.

There was a painful pause, the sort of silent lull that occurs as your
stomach
rumbles in the company of people you're trying to impress. Dave managed
to say
that he lodged with Mrs. Higgins in number 52. For some reason that was
not the
answer that Mr. Barker was expecting, he was utterly confused (it
didn't take much),
he stood there staring at Dave for a few more uncomfortable seconds
(Dave's stomach
rumbled - Mr. Barker didn't even notice but Dave did, he tensed his
muscles in an
attempt to prevent it happening again - this solved the problem and
Dave broke
wind). Now Mr. Barker heard that, his mouth stretched a little into
about an eighth of
a smile. Mr. Barker not only respected a good fart, but was rather
chuffed at the idea
that he'd intimidated someone into doing it.

Mr. Barker turned away, satisfied that his work was done. He pushed
past
Mrs. Barker who was still standing in the doorway, staring at Dave. A
light breeze
pushed up the street catching the blood-encrusted piece of loo paper on
Dave's face,
pealing it away and carrying it gently down to the pavement. Mrs.
Barker's
expression changed quite dramatically as she suddenly attempted to
become alluring
in her quilted dressing gown and Lycra leotard.

Dave rapidly selected a strategy and strode down the street with his
head down
and all the positive determination he could muster. Just as the door
was slamming
Dave heard Mrs. Barker excitedly screaming something incomprehensible
to her
husband.
The trouble was his keys were down the drain outside number 54; he
could
hardly go grovelling around in the gutter after what had just happened
and Mrs.
Higgins the landlady wouldn't be back from work until lunchtime. Never
mind, he
hadn't intended to go back until later anyway. This was the start of
the new Dave
and he had things to do.

He forced his panic ridden stride into something he hoped resembled
a
swagger and continued down the road.

His first task was to make conversation with the girl in the newsagent.
Some
of the groundwork had already been done in that he'd managed to read
the name on
the badge pinned to her chest; hopefully she'd forgotten the incident.
He walked in
and started flicking through the more intelligent broad sheets, he
picked one up and
the supplements fell out onto the floor, the girl looked up from the
magazine she was
reading at the counter. Dave was picking the magazines up from the
floor and was
all ready to cunningly turn the situation by making some witty quip
about wasting
paper and saving the rain forests when he looked up from where he was
squatting.
The girl was sat at the counter with her mouth wide open.

Oh God she remembered the incident with the name badge.

O.K. so conversation may not be the best plan, damage limitation was
in
order. If he could just get out of the shop without provoking the
situation into the
scene that occurred when he was reading her name badge then he could
walk away
and never return and everything would be fine. He focused on a spot on
the counter
and moved towards her.

She started having an asthma attack, clutching the counter with one
hand and
fumbling for her inhaler with the other. Dave stopped in his
tracks,

"What do I do, what do I do, what do I do"

Going round and around in his mind. Sweat was pouring from his face,
the
newspaper felt wet in his hand. She'd found the inhaler and was taking
long
wheezing breaths from it. It was O.K. she hadn't passed out or
collapsed it was
going to be all right. She sat there, the inhaler still held to her
mouth, her beautiful
brown eyes staring back at him, streaming with tears.

He very slowly put the newspaper on the nearest shelf and walked
towards the
door. He was about half way there when the door burst open.

Self-preservation!

Dave flew under the armpit of Mr. Barker who was standing holding the
door
open. As he passed under he caught a whiff of stale rolling tobacco and
cheap lager.
He could hear shouting and crying behind him, there was no way he was
stopping for
anyone. Just keep going, keep going, don't look back.

He shot across the main road at the end of his street his legs barely
able to
keep up with the speed he was travelling. He was in the park now,
behind the
grounds man's shed, they'd never find him there.

He squatted down, his back against the wall, his head between his
knees,
blood roaring through his brain with every thunderous thump of his
heart. He heard
the crackle of a dry twig; there was a stink of stale rolling tobacco
and cheap lager
and a surging gargling sound like a plunger unblocking a drain. Dave
hardly dared
look up, was that what he was waiting for so he could get a clear shot
at his face.
Dave stayed put, still nothing happened, the gargling sound began to
slow down a
little. He couldn't stand it any more, he was too tired to run
anywhere, he looked up.

Mr. Barker was standing there, dripping with sweat, his head bright
red,
glowing through his thinning greasy grey hair. His arms were stretched
out towards
Dave, in one hand he held a pen and in the other he had a magazine,
opened and
folded back on itself.

"Mrs. Barker would like you to sign this for her"

Dave, completely void of ideas looked down at the magazine, the page it
was
opened on showed a picture of a man standing in a bathroom, stripped to
waste,
having a shave.