RuKsaK

We never visited Stink and he never invited us for the next three years he spent in Slade prison, but we didn’t forget about him. Seeing that hard, bolt-filled gate stayed with us – made Stink palpable again and his suicide attempt gave him life in our heads once again. There is nothing like death, or the promise of it, to reignite feeling for a friend.
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In a seaside town the end of quiet roads die into the sky. You’ll turn a certain corner, look down the end of the street and the Earth has fallen into the sea. It’s an equally unsettling and satisfying view for someone who’s rarely left a city, or a room. Over a beach the sky commands back all it control, domes the small people strolling on it and wallows massively in its eternity - claims back all its colossal splendour.
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Me and Stink walked without meaning on our beach, allowing each leg bone to follow the next in gravitational tandem, the speed of our strides was the slowest comfortable. We talked with our heads down, our feet sweeping at the occasional pebbles. Our voices were small, but grave, like we were discussing our resignation to the end of the world. We weren’t – we were talking about as much nothing as I could keep gathering. I was avoiding discussing his time in prison, his suicides, avoiding looking at the bandages wrapped up his forearms. Stink stopped this by ceasing to walk and turning 360 degrees under all the blue above us. He whispered, but not to himself:
‘Ah! Not a fucking brick in sight! Gorgeous, isn’t it?’
‘I suppose it is Stink. You’d know better than me though. I mean…’

As my tone began its descent into apology he talked over me. I was thankful for the interruption.
‘Don’t worry Ruk. Of course I know better than you. What you don’t know is how much better, but I want to tell you. I want you to understand.’
‘Right, erm…’

He let out a small, sympathetic laugh and filled his lungs.
‘It’s okay Ruk. Just let me talk. I know you won’t know what to say and that’s fine. How the fuck could you know what to say to someone who’s tried to kill himself seven times in three years? Really – how the fuck could you? I’m not asking for that – just listen to me.’
‘That room was a fucking horror. Never mind the shit I got from the men in there – that was bad, but that was never it. That fucking room, its metal bunks, the toilet without a wall around it and the bricks made like tiles were all over me from the moment I walked in there. I knew I wouldn’t make it. That’s why it took me so long to invite you. Anyway, when you were coming to visit I was happy, but then the room wouldn’t have it. It was like the cunt had raped me, filled me stupid with its shit – it was having none of my happiness. That’s when I took the knife to myself the first time. It sounds insane, I know it does, but I wanted to cut it out of me, let it flood out of my veins. Sound nuts, eh? But you know something?’

His pause felt like he needed a reply, but I just didn’t have one, despite his strange enthusiasm. I was looking at him and listening, but it was so removed to me. My skin grew hot, and I didn’t reply.
‘It fucking worked Ruk! It fucking worked – flushed the bastard out. I got this massive peace from it, so big I didn’t give a shit if anyone found me or not. Losing a pint, or however much I did, cleared me right out. It cured me.’
‘Jesus Stink – I don’t know what to say.’
‘Like I said – say nothing, but I want to thank you though. In your own way you helped me find out the release I need sometimes. It never lasts more than a few weeks, but when I really need it I just open a vein again – send it out of me. I’m glad I found it out.’

The heat in my face was almost painful now. I’d introduced Stink to crime and now he was thanking me for trying to kill himself. It didn’t add up. I felt he should want to kill me, not himself.
‘Fuck me Stink! I started all this shit – I made you what you are now. I feel fucking terrible.’
‘What do you mean? I did all this to myself.’
‘I got you to rob that idiot giraffe with me. That was my idea.’
‘Was it? Are you sure? I was always sure it was me. You are a fucking oddball sometimes Ruk. Anyway, I’m almost done with what I want to tell you.’

He swallowed a gulp of air again.
‘We’re not going to be friends for long. I’ve no care for where I am anymore. I’m just going to swing through life ripping into my arms and any other places that free me. I don’t need friends making me feel guilty. I imagine I’ll be inside again before long too and that doesn’t matter to me now though either. The more often I do this, the chances are people will find me. I don’t want you to be one of them – that’s all. That’s all I want to say about it.’
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We carried on walking as our conversation rippled out into more mundane items – beer, my job, my on-off girlfriend, my music collection, and even my future. Stink seemed to enjoy listening to each one of them, but had nothing to respond with. All the time, I was gauging the distance that my life was from his. Noticing his nods become less and less understanding of my life. Waiting for it to be talked far away enough for him not to be in it. And, eventually, he wasn't.
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You can find Stink and the suicide - epilogue here.

Sunday, June 12, 2005

Stink and the suicides - part 14