BLOG NUMBER FIFTY-EIGHT: THE ATTRACTION OF MADNESS,THE RAWNESS OF CONSCIOUSNESS!

OPTS TO STOP by Steven Holding.

Three.

Two.

One.

And sleep.

Sometimes, night brings violent storms. Pulsating veins of lightning licking at electricity pylons, a silvery dogs tongue hunting out broken biscuit crumbs. One direct hit WHAM BANG FIZZ and we’re plunged into another power cut: hours upon hours of total blackout.

Mams and Dads, all down the bingo at the Working Men’s club, well they won’t be back, because even though the pumps are down, they’ll light candles then sell bottles, keeping tabs on slate with chalk. It’s just what villagers do.

Me and you though, we twizzle, shake, hit, then switch on our torches, four fat batteries powering Twentieth Century Fox searchlights as your SIMON illuminates my face in flashing Spielberg reds and blues. I always envy how lucky you are, drunken parents constantly separating, vying for your affections, smothering your resentment with the latest toy craze. It’s also why you stay at mine on Saturday nights, my big brother babysitting the two of us (which involves him scarpering just after our folks have gone, smoking Benson and Hedges with his mate Terry out in the garage, boasting about finger blasting birds and shags they’ve never even had)

Shadow puppets suck, flapping eagles and Abraham Lincoln blowing raspberries, until they become obscene gestures. Exclamations abound.

“THIS IS LAME!” you say.

“So name another game!”

“SVENGALI! LIKE THAT MAGIC TELLY FELLA”

“Savalas?”

“NO!WHAT’S HIS NAME? PAUL. PAUL MCCARTNEY”

“Daniels! I don’t think we’ve ever played that before…”

“WE DID, WE DID AND YOU GOT SORE, YOU GOT SORE BECAUSE I GOT A PERFECT SCORE”

“Can you just remind me of the rules?”

“LOOK INTO MY EYES UNTIL YOU’RE HYPNOTISED. UNDER MY CONTROL, YOU’LL DO AS YOU’RE TOLD. DO EXACTLY AS I SAY, NO MATTER WHAT”

I consent, affirmation confirmed with a nod of the head. You turn up the volume on the battery powered radio. Einstein A-Go-Go becomes Born To Run, not Springsteen but FGTH. With no pocket watch to swing, you count down from ten, using the medal I won at Karate as a pendulum.

“CLOSE YOUR EYES”

I do and there is nothing. Nothing. Nothing, until my lips become blissfully aware of your kiss. It makes evil feel unreal, that the world is a womb, that love is being planted in the heart of the planet. Then, when the lights come back on, you’ve     g o n e     t o Brandon’s Class of Ninety-two reunion barbeque is the shindig of the sunshine season.

Forgotten friends get together again, catching up then kicking back with a couple of cold ones. Burgers are flipped, sizzle, get guzzled. A battered boombox blasts out screeching guitars and lo-fi tunes only ever heard once in a blue moon as an out of tune croon suddenly sings along. Floating amongst the hubbub of chatter and laughter and jokes, the slurred voice croaks, happily getting almost all of the words wrong.

Old school summertime shenanigans.

Dan and Suzanne sit side by side, shooting the shit, watching passers-by, relishing the chance to see the changing faces aged by the passing of time, fine wines and far too much good living.

It’s been many moons since the two of them have communed with such intimacy; their once linked lives now led separately.

Taking Suzanne’s hand, Dan pulls her near, whispers something softly in her ear.

“Do you remember the first ever one? Do you remember the night the lights went out”

Suzanne flashes pearly whites, giving Dan a smile that measures at least a mile wide.

“You bet your no longer skinny, tired arse I do! We were so young and so stupid man! No boy had ever smooched these ruby red lips before! Damn straight! Not until a certain someone not a million miles away fell under my magic spell …”

Dan grins, cheeks reddening. It’s the drink and what he’s thinking.

“Yeah, that sure was some smacker! What I’d give to delete it from my mind, relive that moment in glorious slow motion…”

Suzanne’s eager green eyes sparkle. Dan can see himself: a reflection of some sad old dude who’s waiting for what he’s always expected. What he’s always experienced. Rejection.

“Well then Mister Dan the Man, why not go on and give it a try,”

Dan leans in, presses flesh on flesh, as two minds link, making a shared heartfelt wish.

A sudden thunderous flash fills the air as Dan and Suzanne disappear. A drunk guy blinks, stares at two empty chairs, pretty convinced someone was just sitting there.

Meanwhile, somewhere right back at the beginning of things, two kids kiss for the very first time.

Crank up the soundtrack.

Hold each other tight.

And everything is alright.

One.

Two.

Three.

Wake up!