Title: One of THEM!

Author: Peter Wells

In: Sport 7: Winter 1991

Publication details: Fergus Barrowman, July 1991, Wellington

Part of: Sport

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Sport 7: Winter 1991

I Must Go Where My Destiny Leads

I Must Go Where My Destiny Leads

Lemmynme go straight down to 246's record bar and, feeling so good, shoplift two 45s (me, Shirley Bassey's 'I Who Have Nothing'—Lemmy, Julie Driscoll's 'Light My Fire'), except we say 'bought' not 'shoplifted' because, you know, if you change the words, the meaning changes too, don't you feel?

Anyway we're standing down at Lemmy's bus-stop, I'm spending every last second with him, Lemmy's trying to get me to come out to his place to have some instant and listen to our new records. But I'm saying to Lemmy, I can't, I have to be home by eleven o'clock at the latest. Lemmy says it's only nine-thirty now, he'll drive me home. But you don't have a licence, I say. So? he says.

But while Lemmy is persuading me and I'm hanging round, lingering still in the stardust of his glance, I can't help notice Lemmy is looking at this ugly man, about thirty, short, muscular, drunk.

He is so ugly, chills frill and flitter up and down my spine, I feel my back arch.

But Lemmy, he is so excited about what happened at the St James, he's not thinking. He keeps just looking at this man. Lemmy I say, Lemmy!but he doesn't say anything he just keeps looking so hard the man sort of wakes up, he lifts his head up from looking into a deep tunnel-pit in which all he can see is himself standing alone, at a bus-stop, on a girlboy Fridaynight.

And he suddenly starts looking at Lemmynme and of course he doesn't page 110 know we're the two who started everyone laughing at the St James and it's as if he's confused about what he's seeing: because we are not boygirl but boyboy. Worse, he looks at us as if all he can see is a short fatboy four foot nothing and an Audrey Hepburn kind of boy.

Lemmy is already laughing at him. I laugh too, but I begin to regret wearing the waistcoat from my father's evening suit, my tasteful pale grey paisley tie, silver watch chain.

I get on Lemmy's bus, we are together. The man comes right down and sits opposite us. As the bus moves his legs bump into mine. I shift mine away, as if I'm burnt.

The bus is full. I don't even dare look at Lemmy but I see in the window Lemmy is looking ahead just blank and like he can't even be bothered registering what's going on.

'Well, suppose we share the joke then?' this man suddenly says right in my face. His breath is warm, beer-bloaty. His eyes burrow into my face.

I could just die, I dart a look at Lemmy but suddenly Lemmy's acting like he's not with me, as if he doesn't even know me, don't leave me on my own Lemmy I cry but Lemmy does not move, even when the man says again, in a loud voice, so the whole bus can hear: 'What's the fucking joke then?'

My eyes pass over his face, very quickly, a fantail dart, a flicker of a gaze, then I quickly shoot them away because I know I can never speak. Everyone on the bus is looking at us now, a few people are laughing. I hear someone call us an ugly name, a word which hurts.

At the end of the following century, Lemmy's arm, almost of its own accord, rises up to the cord, pulls it sharp. People are laughing at us, pointing at what we are wearing, but I say nothing.

In silence now, under everyone's gaze, we get off the bus and the bus pulls away.

We walk along in the dark, silent.

I can't understand Lemmy not saying anything. I wait for him to speak, explain.

But Lemmy does not speak.