Nicu Gabor
talks to me
and listens to me
and wants to do things for me.
His voice dances
with words that are all messed up
but actually mean something,
and whenever we’re together
he makes me
laugh
and laugh,
sometimes until my ribs hurt.
Nicu:
he’s more than quite nice.
GIFTS AND TALENTS
How do English boys impressing the girls?
Chocolate?
Cider?
Car?
What is the secret?
I want to impressing Jess with being
her listener,
her joker,
her doer.
Maybe if she see me back in Pata
as talent wrestler,
making throws
and
takedowns,
she be in the full impress with me.
Cleaning
I know I was young
cos I couldn’t
work Terry’s phone properly.
I took a ten second video of my own face
before he snatched it back.
‘Are you stupid? This. Here. The red button.’
He hadn’t beaten Mum up,
just given her a toothbrush and told her
to clean the toilet
while he watched.
But then he got bored,
wanted to see the end of some Spurs match,
so that’s when he had the idea to give me his phone,
to record it,
save the memory of Mum on her knees.
‘And next time the bathroom’s a pigsty,
I’ll make you clean it with your tongue,’ he warned her.
Mum didn’t answer.
She just nodded
and reached for the bleach.
‘Record until she’s done,’ he told me. ‘Got it?’
‘Yeah,’ I said,
and as he left the bathroom
Mum glanced up at me,
and I knew then that Terry had forced
me to be on his side,
leaving Mum on the other,
leaving Mum alone.
I knew right then
that Terry had found a
very important
role for me.
HATE PAGES
On my mathematic book
some peoples write:
Isis Slag.
On my science book
some peoples write:
Taliban Gooooooo Home.
On my French book
some peoples write:
Voted out of Britin Fuck Off.
On my mathematic book again
some peoples write:
Rat Boy Gypsy Scum.
On
English
geography
history
book
they write:
Stinking Gyppo.
I do ripping of hate pages.
Scribble
Nicu and I are only in one lesson together –
design technology,
and
while he’s up at the teacher’s desk
getting something checked,
Dan grabs his work book
and scrawls
Stinking Gyppo
across it.
‘Dick!’ I say aloud.
Meg sniggers into her hand.
‘Yeah, you should tell Dan to write that on his maths book
next lesson.’
I don’t bother telling her I’m actually talking about Dan.
‘Dick,’ I say again,
this time
looking right at Meg.
BAD TACKLE
If you not do school homework
you do
detention
for to write
punishment words.
But
I don’t write punishment words.
I look out window at P.E. teacher playing football with crew lads.
I see.
I see
crew lad football tackle into Obafemi.
I see
geezers laughing,
Obafemi foot holding.
Teacher doing the five highs with Dan and other crew.
I see
everything.
Don’t Make It Easy
Terry’s got the paper open in front of him
on the kitchen table
and he’s jabbing at some article
with his finger,
prodding a picture of
a slightly scruffy bloke
like he might actually be able to hurt
him a bit
by attacking the newspaper.
‘They’re only here five minutes
and the council’s putting them in houses
down Lordship Lane.
It’s disgusting.
Taxpayers’ money
putting up scroungers
who’d pimp out their
own kids for a pound.’
I want to roll my eyes
and make Terry
tell me exactly where these foreigners
are living.
Because I’ve seen the estate where
Nicu lives and it’s worse than
this one –
windows covered in
bed sheets,
gangs of kids everywhere
and loads of people with dogs on chains –
a total hellhole.
I say,
‘Yeah, it’s terrible, Terry.’
‘Are you taking the mick?’ he says.
‘No,’ I say
quickly.
‘No, I mean it, it’s terrible.
Loads of foreign kids at school too.’
‘Well, I hope you don’t make it easy for them,’ he says.
I shake my head.
‘Nah, I don’t make it easy,’ I say,
thinking of Nicu.
And actually,
this isn’t even a lie.
THE GHOST
At school I try to be so much low key,
to not catch her gazing
or
have my body in her space.
Sometime I follow like ghost
to where she goes:
I sit behind in canteen,
so I can watching her without notice,
spy her hair flowing,
her shoulders dancing when she laugh.
One time I see her white skin between
jumper
and
trouser.
A dream!
Like desert oasis.
And she never see my follow,
my spy,
my ghost.
But my voice, hair, skin
don’t make easy my blending in.
Maybe
I need to do
gel style hair
like Dan and his crew,
show my undergarments
above tracksuit,
walk more like
gangster man.
Maybe then I can becoming
important
part of here.
Big
question mark.
A Bit Much
Liz is all like, ‘He keeps staring at you!’
And Shawna says,
‘Doesn’t he wash his hair?’
I take a bite from my limp pizza
and say, ‘I’m doing time with him
down the park.
He said he used to ride a pony or a horse or something back home.
He’s funny.’
‘You mean he actually is a pikey?’ Meg says.
‘I never said that.’
‘Yeah … he’s probably one of them Roma ones.’
‘Maybe. So what?’
‘So what? So brilliant.’
One side of Meg’s mouth twists into a smi
le and
I know then
I should’ve kept schtum.
Information like that is jackpot gold
to a bitch like her.
‘Oi, gypsy boy! Oi, gypsy boy!
When you gonna show us your donkey kong?’
Meg shouts across the canteen.
Nicu doesn’t look up.
Just keeps chewing on a roll,
gazing out the window.
But Dan and his gobby mates have heard,
sidle over.
‘What’s happening?’ Dan asks.
Meg cups her hand around Dan’s ear
then puts her lips to it,
whispering,
whispering,
thinking she’s so hot and mysterious.
And I know what comes next.
‘Ee-aw! Ee-aw!’
It starts with Dan.
Not that loudly.
Then his mates join in.
‘Ee-aw! Ee-aw!’
Then Meg too.
‘Ee-aw! Ee-aw!’
Nicu still doesn’t know that this crap is
aimed at him.
He’s smiling at a dinner lady now,
with that puppy smile
that makes her well happy –
I mean, she’s like forty years old.
Why wouldn’t she love that face?
Dan picks up his plate
and marches over to Nicu.
He thinks he’s Kanye bloody West.
Everyone knows Dan lives with both parents in a massive semi
up Crouch End way.
Thinks he’s a rude boy.
I watch.
Can’t look away.
Know I should leave.
Know I should tell someone.
Know I should do something.
But
come on,
this is Dan Bell-end we’re talking about.
Standing up to him would be
one hundred per cent suicide.
Nicu looks up.
At last.
But smiles
too sweetly,
too innocently,
too much like a typical foreigner
who just doesn’t get it.
Until he does.
Until Dan tips his chips over Nicu’s head.
Until they are tumbling down his shoulders.
Until ketchup is slathered through his hair and
Dan is laughing,
and his mates are laughing,
and most of the idiots in the room are laughing.
Then
Meg saunters over and casually launches half a muffin
at Nicu’s face.
‘A bit much,’ I murmur.
And Liz is like, ‘So what? He’s weird.’
And Shawna says, ‘I think the hair’s an improvement
actually.’
Nicu is silent.
His hand curls around his carton of apple juice.
The sparkle trickles out of him,
and I’d bet anything
that in his head he’s telling himself to be
a good boy, a good boy.
I mean,
what else can he do
with Dan and his boys surrounding him,
hoping it’ll kick off?
I can’t stay.
Can’t see any more.
‘Fuck this,’ I say
and, leaving my tray where it is,
go for a smoke behind the drama block.
RED FACE
I see on floor
chips and
red
ketchup.
Happy is not my blood.
My only happiness.
I see the angry in Jess face,
angry not at me,
at them.
I see her push door with
aggressive and leave.
Leave everyone in the laughter
at my pain.
Picking
I blow smoke rings into the air.
Without turning around I know
Nicu’s there,
ketchup in his hair,
and he’s looking at me.
I pretend not to sense him,
concentrate on my fag.
I pick
at a thick, hard scab on my hand.
I just know he’s not
looking away
or curling up his nose
or going to say, ‘Don’t pick, Jess, so ranking,’
or do anything else to
make me feel
disgusting
– which I am
sometimes.
Not to him
though.
Not ever.
And
I don’t know why
but
it doesn’t feel good.
I keep waiting for him to see through me
or just see me
as I am,
and when he does
he’ll be pretty
disappointed.
HATING THINGS
I hate
morning interval,
lunchtime eating,
afternoon break,
people looking and jokes they make.
I hate
P.E. lesson because I can’t kick ball
like lads here.
Crazy teacher howls, ‘Nicu, Nicu, Nicu!’
Some do fouls on my legs
with purpose.
I hate
P.E. showers because
I don’t want
them
seeing
my naked.
I hate
Dan and crew doing cock helicopters
near to my face,
slapping my arse with towel.
I can’t to scream
cry
freak
run out of the place.
That would
tell crew
I’m the easy prey.
I hate
the day someone put note
on no-hope table:
Brexit!!!
I hate
being target board for
their every
dart.
As If Nothing Happened
Standing around waiting
for Nicu at the youth centre
my mind is going mental:
I’m so over
these team-building activities,
I’m so bored with
Dawn’s sessions
and
I’ve had it with
all this reparation bullshit.
Nicu bounces out of
Bicep Andy’s office,
which makes me feel
even worse.
‘Hi, Jess,’ he says,
as if nothing ever happened
in the canteen the other day,
like he’s forgotten all about it.
‘Nicu, I’m sorry. I was well out of order,’ I say quickly.
‘Sorry? For why?’
‘For what happened in the canteen.’
‘You do no bad to me, Jess.’
‘Shut up. You know I should’ve said something.’
‘Jess, if you walk with wolf, it not mean you are wolf.’
He nods.
I don’t really get what he means.
Doesn’t matter though.
I already feel a bit better.
‘Thanks, Nicu.’
‘No thanking me. You are not my evil, Jess.’
ACTIVITY CIRCLE
Boy team activity circle
have also Dawn and Bicep Andy
as our lead.
We do many talkings about
home,
school,
futures,
fears.
Rick say he want to be footballer.
Lee say he want to be millionaire.
Bill say he want to marry model.
‘What about you, bruv?’ Lee ask.
‘Yeah, Nicu, what you want to do,
mate?’ Rick ask.
All heads eyeing me.
I say:
‘I never want go to man prison.’
All boy team big time laugh.
Me too.
‘I hear that, Nicu,’ Bill say. ‘I hear that.’
When Dawn and Bicep Andy
leave circle,
Rick come to me.
Standing over.
‘Oi, Nicu.’
‘Rick.’
‘Question.’
‘OK.’
‘How do you say fuck this shit in your language, mate?’
When I telling Rick answer
all boy team big time laugh
again.
Me include.
My Future
Now we’re studying for proper exams,
it’s not just Mr Morgan
banging on about us fulfilling our potentials.
Every teacher is like,
‘It’s about time you lot took school seriously,’
and
‘If you applied yourself, you could
blah blah blah,’
and
‘What do you want to do after your exams anyway?
Have you thought about college?’
I could say,
‘Well,
I wanna be a doctor
with my own practice down
Harley Street
and make four hundred quid an hour.
But
if that isn’t possible
maybe I could
work in films,
and make stuff
that everyone watches.
Or
if,
you know,
like,
I don’t get great results,