The Stones (2012) by Bobby Stevenson

Willie wiped his brow and looked out at the desert. There had been stories as far back as the dawn of time about the desert, the Moonboy Hills and those stones.

It had been said that when the stones started to move the end was coming. Willie always wondered what end these folks were talking about. He had been too long in the saddle to really care about such things now. There were names and places that he had started to forget and well, his end was probably coming sooner rather than later.

Willie guessed there must be a right time for everything.

He remembered when he was a boy and that first evening he’d ridden up into the Moonboys. He’d been arguing with his paw about some nonsense or other. Taking off with his old horse General had seemed the easiest way to resolve things. The first two nights had been lonely and cold, boy could it get cold up there.

On the third night he’d taken shelter in a cave and managed to light a fire. That was when he saw them - the weird carvings on the far wall. 

When he’d asked around town about them, one of those clever college guys had talked about the pre-Clovis people being responsible but Will had no idea what he was going on about. The Professor had asked if Will could take him to the exact place where he’d seen the carvings but Will wasn’t too keen. He just said he’d forgotten. Anyhow Willie felt it went a lot deeper and darker than those Clovis folks, there was something strange about those signs and that was the truth.

Funny thing to tell, he’d never actually shown anyone other than his own family the location of the carvings. In his teenage years Willie had spent a lot of time up in the hills worrying and thinking about one thing or another.

Girls, money, work, you name it he always took his problems ‘to the cave’.

When he met Sarah he’d stopped going up there. Then, when the kids had come along, he’d take them up one by one on his horse to show them the pictures. But they had all grown up and moved away and no one apart from his youngest Brad had kept up any interest in the place.

Recently after Sarah’s death he’d found himself coming back to the place more and more, to think over his life. Things didn’t feel so lonely up there. The kids and their children very rarely came visiting anymore and he’d usually see the clan at some Christmas get-together, then nothing until the following year.

Willie didn’t mind saying it, he was as lonely as hell and wondering if it was time he should be moving on. Life was for the young and he would tell you, he hated getting old. It hurt in every sense of the word. He was tired and it was as plain and simple as that.

Then a couple of weeks ago the stories had started circulating around the place. Over at Jacob’s Rock and in Wall Fire Alley there had been folks talking about the stones, they were moving, sometimes as much as several feet in a night.

Over in Kent County a minister had called it the end of days. He’d seen the stones moving with his own eyes, may God strike him down if he was lying.

Some folks from the big city came and took photos of the stones and they were kind of thinking that the locals were up to no good, perhaps moving them in the middle of the night. But as the good folks of the Moonboys had seen, there were no footprints near the stones. No rope marks. No way, anyone or, anything could have been involved.

Sixty years before the stones started moving when Willie was still a teenager, he had taken a rubbing of the cave carvings. He was sure he still had them somewhere.

After a barrel load of searching one stormy afternoon, he’d found them in the attic, three clear images of the carvings.

The first image was of little rocks sitting on a plain. In the second, the rocks had changed position and they all seemed to have moved or been moved in the same direction. On the third there was a figure that someone in antiquity had attempted to erase from the carving by rubbing over the image with something rough.

It had never made any sense to Willie except there was something peaceful about the carvings and the cave. There was no doubt about it there was a connection between the story that these carvings were telling and the rocks moving.

Willie decided he’d go out to Lazy Boy Canyon and have a look for himself. He’d go at night when the desert was a lot cooler then he’d catch the stones as the sun came up.

He pitched his old tent by an overhang that helped him get some shelter from the frost. He tried as best he could to get some sleep but this wasn’t a night for it.

Just after two in the morning he could hear a scraping not too far from the tent, he guessed it was just another lonely animal out looking for company or food.

He rested a while but around four in the morning the sun rose over the top of the Moonboys and caused the tent to heat up real bad. Willie felt the only place to go was outside and anyway he was eager to see the stones.

Sure enough, there they were, streaks of sand behind them like they had been moving on their own.

Surely that couldn’t have been what he’d heard in the dark of night?

Willie walked over to the rock and all of a sudden he felt a peace come down on him like he’d never felt before.

He bent down and touched the rock and smiled.

A few days later they found the tent but nothing was ever found of Willie.

There was one strange thing that only the wild animals would have seen, the rock that Willie had touched had moved forwards a few feet.

Stealing Moses - the story by Bobby Stevenson

 story pitched @ BAFTA (april 2012)

I love him like he’s my brother.

When we first moved to Churchill Heights, Moses was just another little black kid who happened to live next door. I was fourteen years old and he was in another universe. Being four years younger than me was a chasm in my world.

We both had something in common - our fathers were long gone. His father had been hounded out of town by guilt and mine was everyman I ever passed in the street, or it could have been. 

Okay, I didn’t have a dad but I had a mother who loved me in her own way and who was a just as great at being a father . Perhaps this is what this story is all about: love. How people can love each other in the weirdest of ways. It has nothing to do with sex, it just that love can mean a million things and still be the best of everything. 

My mother spent most nights out in the streets looking for love and if it came with money left next to her bed then so much the better. It meant we could eat. 

Moses’ father had been a preacher in a baptist church in Wind Cotton Row, but one summer he had seen the light in a deaconess by the name of Tallulah and they disappeared for good into the wilderness.

His mother was scared that the struggle against Satan was only as good as that particular soul’s DNA and so if Moses was anything like his father then the devil would find him a walkover.

 So every night when Moses returned from his schooling and after being watered and fed (and having said his prayers), he would be put into his bedroom and the door locked against the forces of darkness. I’m not criticising his mother, this was how she showed her love by protecting her boy - by squeezing the very life force out of him. 

I know all this because his bedroom was through the wall from mine and every night,as I went to sleep, I could hear the poor kid weeping and calling for his father. After a while I got so used to it, that I’m ashamed to say, I didn’t hear him anymore. 

That was until one night while my mother had taken to the streets; I heard a scream from next door that made me think Moses was dying. It didn’t stop, in fact, if anything, it got worse making me get out of my bed and go to see what was wrong.

I knocked on their door but there was no reply. I looked through the main window and there were no lights showing, so I decided I had to do something and I charged the door with my shoulder.
 It didn’t move an inch. It was then I spotted a small side window open and without too much bother I managed to let myself in (I don’t want to give too many details away in case someone reads it and copies me).

Although I must have tripped over everything in my path, I found his bedroom - it was in the same place as mine but the other way around. Luckily there was a key in the door but so as not to frighten Moses further, I shouted.

“It’s me, Josh from next door.”

 I don’t think he heard me, or at least he didn’t care as he just kept on screaming.

When I opened that door I stumbled into the strangest bedroom - ever. There were pictures of angels and Jesus covering all the walls, it was enough to give me the shivers and there, in the middle of the floor, was a ten year old boy who was screaming his head off. I guess he’d just had enough. It happens to us all.

I’ve never been much good at hugging people but I felt that this was what was needed. I held the poor kid and tried to get him to calm down; after a half an hour or so, he began to cool it and I so I got him a fizzy drink from my place. 

Eventually Moses only let out the occasional sob and it was then I saw he was clutching at a postcard of some beach.

“It’s Hastings”, he said, apparently it’s where his father was from and get this - Moses had never seen the sea. His father had promised to take him one day. So this is the point where I promised the kid that I would take him to the beach the very next day,  when both our mothers were out doing other things. 

The following morning, after I heard Moses mother leave, I took some money from my mother’s bedside table (the money she got from her boyfriends to get her through the recession) and went next door. 

Once again, I had to break in – what is wrong with this woman?  Satan isn’t going to come knocking on her door, although I can see what you’re thinking – I could be the bogey man, but I’m not. 

Moses was sitting on the edge of his bed and he was all ready to go. Apparently he didn’t sleep at all because he was so excited. To tell you the truth I hadn’t noticed that there was no sobbing through the wall.

When we were on the train, he told me this was his first trip on one and I was totally blown away by this little guy’s excitement. When we finally reached Hastings, he ran all the way from the station to the beach and shouted and laughed and cried (all at the same time). 

He had me look for the exact spot that was shown on that postcard of his father’s and whether by luck or providence, we found the very spot and that was when the poor kid started to weep. To celebrate and cheer him up, I took Moses to an ice cream parlour – sure, he had had ice cream before but never walking along a sea front. I stole a look at him and he was a million miles away from that little boy in the bedroom. 

And then he did something that I’m sure was rarer than gold, he smiled - not just a grin but a full- on smile from ear to ear. It was then I knew I had done the right thing. 

Once we’d finished the ice cream, I asked Moses if he was still hungry and do you know what he said?

“Yeh”

So we bought some fish and chips and as we ate them as we weaved our way through the fishing boats that sat on the beach. That’s the unusual thing about the trawlers down here - they launch them from the beach. 

As we reached the old car park, the seagulls started to dive bomb us, I guess they pass this little piece of wisdom from seagull to seagull, that if you annoy the tourists enough they’ll drop their fish and chips and leave a banquet for the birds. 

It was then I saw her - Moses’ mother and a posse of folks I took were from the baptist church, the God Squad were on our tail. She must have known he’d pick this place to disappear to, and she probably thought that if the devil ever took a trip anywhere, it would be to Hastings to corrupt ten year old boys. 

I was sure she hadn’t seen us but just in case I made Moses run, telling him that the gulls were coming in for an attack. He seemed to believe my story and so we ran into the nearest toilet which stood at the end of the car park. 

I told Moses to be quiet while I listened for marauding church people but it seemed all clear. Moses then decided he needed a pee but that  he wasn’t prepared to use the urinal, he wanted to use the cubicle and could I stand by the cubicle door just in case. 

If it made him pee a little easier then there was no problem with me.

While he was in the cubicle, he kept asking was I still there, I’d tell him yes and he’d go back to whistling. Then he passed a newspaper cutting under the cubicle door.

“What’s this?” I asked him.

“Read it.”

So I did. It was all about this guy who stood in the high street of a town preaching the gospels for as long as there was daylight. He’d made the more sensational papers and they’d dubbed him The Jesus of Bromley – an area in south London.

“That’s him, that’s my father” he whispered under the door. 

I read on and it seems to get back in God’s good books, after running from his family, he’d taken it upon himself to steer the people of  Bromley back to a more religious path. The ‘newspapers made out he was crazy. To be honest, I liked the look of the guy, he seemed to be just an older version of Moses. Same smile, same kindness.

“I miss my Dad” he whispered.

When Moses had finished up and his hands were washed, I decided we should make a run for it. Where to, I hadn’t decided yet but we couldn’t stay in the toilet.

As we ran out of the building, it was like that final scene from Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid. They were all there waiting on us - the police, the social workers and the baptist posse led by an angry version of Moses’ mother. 

What can I tell you about the outcome? Moses was returned home and I was told to appear in front of a panel of old people who would sit and judge me.

And they did.

Because I hadn’t forced Moses to come to the seaside, I was put on probation,  or more accurately, I was bound over to my grandmother on the condition that if I absconded from her, I would be sent to a young offenders’ institution until my 18^th birthday – no questions and no appeals. 

So I moved in with my grandmother and it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. I know my mother loves me but my grandmother was at least home most of the time.

One night, I sat outside my grandmother’s house in the garden. I’d never lived in a house with one of those before and I loved it. Looking after the garden was my grandmother’s hobby, although looking after me seemed to be up there with it.

I loved living with her, although I did still miss my mother and even Moses in a funny sort of way.  Then one night, my grandmother was on the ‘phone talking to one of her friends and they were discussing a boy.

“And he hasn’t been seen? No....no....what, just completely disappeared?”Asked my astonished grandmother.

It seems that Moses hadn’t been seen, even at school and I knew right away what the problem was.

I guess Moses’ mother thought that I was the devil or the nearest thing to it and to keep him safe, she’d locked him permanently in that room of his. Poor Moses would be going insane.

I had to do something and I knew it was going to hurt me very badly but I couldn’t leave my friend, my brother Moses stuck in that room, it would finish him off. I wasn’t angry at his mother -  it was a sort of love, that all she wanted to do was keep him protected. 

If I went to get him and they caught me, I would go to prison but the other side of the argument was that Moses was already in one.

So the next morning while my grandmother was having a bath, I took her rent money from the box underneath her television. I knew this was wrong but sometimes you’ve got to do a thing even if you don’t like it.

I waited outside Moses’ house until his mother went out and then I went in and got him. It wasn’t so easy this time, nothing was lying open, so I had to smash a window.

When I eventually broke into his bedroom, he was lying on the floor in the foetal position. When he saw me, he got up and threw his arms around me. Someone needed me and it felt good.

We managed to catch the Bromley bus but I didn’t tell Moses where we were going.

We stood at the bottom of Bromley High Street and there, at the top, was his father preaching to a crowd of maybe six or seven people. The moment Moses saw his father, he flew up that hill and threw his arms around him.

I smiled, as I walked back down towards the bus station.

I knew I was leaving and not coming back, but for the first time I had done something good and it filled me with hope.

Josh, aged 14.



                                         Thanks to Stellar Network for their hardwork and encouragement. :-)

Lightning On The Prairies (2012) by Bobby Stevenson

 By the time Jesse spotted Geronimo it was way too late to outrun him, the big Chief was almost on top of the boy. It’s not as if Jesse didn’t try, he ran as fast anyone could in a ‘drip dry only, one size fits all, do not iron’ cowboy outfit but his enemy was catching up with him, and fast. 

Jesse slid in behind a large rock, the space being just enough to allow the boy to squeeze through with little chance of Geronimo following. He squatted down for what seemed an eternity and tried to avoid breathing too heavily. 

Suddenly Jesse felt the air move above his head and looking up he saw the massive fingers of his enemy feeling around for the boy’s head. There wasn’t much room to move in the cavity and this allowed Geronimo to grab Jesse’s hair with ease.

“That's hurting.” 

“Then come out little warrior and I will save you more pain.” 

Jesse had no option but to come crawling out. He was then made to lie on his back as Geronimo lifted his tomahawk high into the air.

“I will make this quick little warrior and then you will join with your ancestors.”

Whack! The tomahawk came down on Jesse’s head.

Or rather it didn’t.

The teacher’s hand slapped Jesse’s desk right next to the boy's ear.

“Jesse! You’ve been sleeping in class again.”

Sure enough when he lifted his head the rest of the class were staring back at him, nothing unusual there. Some kid at the back shouted ‘don’t kill me Geronimo’ in a high pitched girl’s voice and all of the other kids started laughing. 

Jesse was still feeling stupid when he met with his mother.

“What’s up, hun?”

“Nothing.”

“Sure?”

“Sure.” 

He hated the way, even although he was eight years of the age, that his mother always took his hand in public. 

“Stop struggling hun, I’m not letting you go and anyway we’re going to see someone.”

“Who?”

“It’s a surprise.”

All sorts of stuff went through his mind, like maybe she had seen sense and was going to get him that new game after all. Jesse and his mother stepped off the bus right outside of the ‘Golden Pastures Home of Serenity’. 

To Jesse it looked like a prison and once he had been dragged inside, it smelt like one too. His father, his real father, was in prison and Jesse had been to visit him a couple of times and boy did the place smell.

“We’re here to meet someone special."

As Jesse and his mother were shown upstairs by an overweight man who confused Jesse by calling himself a nurse, Jesse’s mother held her son’s hand tighter and tighter which made the boy think maybe she was scared about something.

"I haven't been to see him in a very long time." 

Pushing open a glass door, they entered what the big-nurse-man called the day room. In one corner, a young woman was trying to get those who occupied the chairs to exercise and stretch. Mostly they just stared out of the window. In another corner, two or three women were learning to arrange flowers in vases. Over by the library of unread books were two people sitting painting. A young guy called Steve was showing them how to put the water colours onto the paper.

The elder of the two, a woman called Sadie and proud that she was ninety two years old was enthusiastically throwing paint on the paper.

"Very good Sadie, very good indeed". The other budding artist was a man who looked as if he had been famous at one time, at least that’s the way it seemed to Jesse. He was concentrating on his painting but his eyes looked as if whoever was inside of his head had gone home.

“This is your grandfather, Jesse. Dad meet Jesse, Jesse meet my dad.” Jesse’s mother cleared a very nervous dry throat. "I know I haven't been to see you much and I'm sorry. We're both sorry." 

Steve said “I’m sure he knows you’re there, don’t worry if he’s quiet.”

Jesse’s mother took her son over to a corner to have one of those ‘talks’ but this one seemed to make her more uncomfortable than usual. 

“I’m going to leave you here for a while Jesse. Now stop looking like that. How often to I ask you to do anything? Eh? Don’t be selfish. You can help your grandfather to paint. Get to know him.”

And with that she was gone.

As Jesse’s mother walked back down stairs, she kept telling herself she had no choice, no choice at all but to leave the boy. Back home she had Jesse to look after as well as Ed, her boyfriend, who was in the process of being a professional musician. Ed slept most of the day and was sometimes out with his band in the evenings. To keep the house going she had to work double shifts, mostly back-to-back at the local Supervalue store. She seemed to have the uniform grafted on to her body to prove it. 

Luckily Jesse had brought his hand held computer with him, it was an old one which he’d been given by his father, his real father, not that Ed guy who his mother let hang around. He knew when his dad came out of prison he’d buy him a new one and he’d get rid of Ed. His dad had made Jesse a promise, not about Ed but about the computer. Jesse looked at his grandfather who just kept painting without turning his head.

Jesse had just got to level fourteen of Empires of Saturn on his computer when suddenly Ed was standing by his side.

“Who’s the old guy?”

“I thought my Mum was coming.”

“Oh yeh, she called, she’s still at work.”

And with that, Ed yanked Jesse off the seat and out the door.

“Who did you say that old guy was?”

They bought one burger on the way home although Jesse suspected that Ed had kept most of the money in his pocket. When they got back home, Ed told Jesse to go up stairs and do his school work or something as Ed was busy with his guitar. And could he please keep the noise down as Ed had to concentrate. 

Jesse tried to keep awake as long as possible. He didn’t like falling asleep when Ed was there because when he woke up, Ed had usually gone out to buy beer with the remainder of the burger money.

Jesse had only put his head on the pillow for a second when Geronimo turned up in his bedroom.

“We have unfinished business little warrior. Geronimo must complete what he started or his own ancestors will be angry.”

Jesse immediately jumped from his bedroom window and landed safely in the garden which struck him as strange as the jump was about fifteen feet. Geronimo had also managed the same and was once again on his case.

Jesse crossed Sinclair Street at the last minute,just as a bus was turning the corner, which meant that Geronimo had to wait. At least that’s what Jesse had thought but there was Geronimo on the roof of the bus beating his chest. 

Jesse dived into Mrs Swanky’s garden and hid beneath the Rose Pagonias. He was sure that Geronimo had failed to see him and thought he heard the warrior passing on down Sinclair Street.

After a few minutes Jesse felt it was safe to crawl out from the bushes, still he had to make sure that Mrs Swanky wasn’t staring out of her window – something she seemed to spend hours doing.  It felt safe enough and so he made a dash for the side gate. However just as he turned he saw that Geronimo now had a partner, someone he’d never seen him with before – it was Ed dressed, not as an Apache as he would have expected, but as a circus clown. Jesse hated clowns and Ed probably knew this.

Now Geronimo and the Clown were chasing him through Mrs Swanky’s vegetable garden. Jesse noticed that the door to the garden shed where Mr Swanky used to sit and smoke, was open. So he jumped in and slammed the door behind him, all in one glorious movement. 

Through the window he could see Geronimo and the Clown discussing how to get Jesse out of the shed. It was just then that he spotted the flaming torch that Ed held in his right hand. They were going to smoke him out or worse still, burn the shed down.

Jesse started to shake a little, just nerves he thought, but it grew worse and worse until he was almost shaking out of his skin.

“Jesse, wake up or you won't sleep when it's time!”

It was his mother shaking him on the bed.

“Did Ed collect you okay and did you get something to eat?”

Jesse just nodded his head.

“Ed seems to have popped out for a moment. So you're all right then?”

Jesse’s mother didn’t wait for an answer. She ruffled his hair then left the room, switching off the light on the way out.

The next afternoon it was only Jesse and his grandfather in the painting corner. Sadie had been taken away and as far as Jesse could work out, it was something to do with the police coming to get her. He’d heard the big-nurse-man say that it had been a cardiac arrest. Jesse thought she must have done something really bad to get one of those.

Since it was just Jesse and his grandfather and since he’d forgotten his Empires of Saturn game, he thought he’d tell his grandfather about how things really were.

He told him about how he always tried to keep awake so that Ed wouldn't go to the bar, and how, when he did fall asleep, Geronimo and his friend the Clown were out to kill Jesse and that the Clown was really just Ed in disguise.  

As Jesse had expected his grandfather didn’t say a word but just kept painting what looked like hills and trees. Thankfully it was his mother who came to get him that night.

This time, on the way home, they had burgers, fries, onion rings and chocolate pudding to finish which was just as well as the night turned out to be a bad one; not only did Geronimo appear in his bedroom but so did all the other kids in his class, including his teacher – each of them dressed as Apache warriors and all of them wanting to scalp Jesse.

This time he managed to outwit them all - they had expected Jesse to jump out of the window - but he ran down the stairs and out the front door. He was half way along Sinclair Street before they realised he was even gone. 

He had only stopped to catch his breath for a moment when he saw not one, not two, but at least six clowns led by Ed heading towards him. He had to face it, it was all over for Jesse and that was that. At eight years of age he’d had  a good life and now it was time to meet up with his posse. 

There was nowhere to run, that was until someone grabbed him by the collar and threw him over their shoulder. They sprinted through all the gardens and didn't stop until they were safely on the main road out of town.

When no one seemed to be following them, his rescuer put him down by the side of the road and told Jesse to sit on the big rock by the tree. It was only when Jesse put his hand over his eyes to shade them from the sun, that he realised that the man was his grandfather. 

“Granddad!”

“I couldn’t leave you in that tight spot Jesse, not now that you and I are friends.”

“I thought you couldn’t speak Granddad.”

“Nothing to say son, so I just keep quiet.”

And so they talked and talked. His grandfather told Jesse about all the dreams he'd had when he was Jesse’s age and how he’d had a good life. Jesse told his grandfather about how he tried to keep awake but ended up falling asleep in school and how the kids laughed at him.

His grandfather said that if ever Geronimo or the clowns came after Jesse again then they would have his Granddad to answer to. He would always be there for him and that was a promise.

Then his grandfather told him of the one thing that he’d wished he’d done.

“When I was a boy I always wanted to go the prairies and see the forked lightning. Don’t ask me why but you’ve got live your dreams Jesse no matter what. Now I’m stuck in a home just painting and waiting and no chance of ever seeing the lightning. Don’t be like that my lovely boy, always, always live your dreams”

For the first time that he could remember, Jesse slept the rest of the night without Geronimo or clowns coming to visit.

The following day an excited Jesse headed off with his mother to visit his grandfather but his mother saw by the look on the big-nurse-man's face that something was very wrong.

“Could you please step into the office for a moment, the boy can stay here.”

It wasn’t long before his mother came out of the office with red eyes - she had been crying.

“I’m so sorry” said the big-nurse-man.

Jesse’s mother held him very tightly but didn’t explain why, then she took him by the hand and led him down the corridor.

“Wait” said the big-nurse-man “he finished that painting, your father, before he died. Maybe you’d like to take it with you? You can collect the rest of his stuff later.”

The nurse came out of the office with her father’s painting. It still had the hills and trees but in the middle of it was Jesse with his Granddad's arm around him, both were looking out at the prairie as it was being struck by lightning.

The Boy Who Loved To Handstand by Bobby Stevenson

For MIA , aged 6.

Charlie lived in grey house which stood in a grey street which weaved its way through a grey town. He wasn’t an unhappy kid – on the contrary, Charlie saw the world both as beautiful and crazy all at the same time.

But where Charlie was alone was in the way he looked at the world. He knew that there was more to life than all this greyness, the question was where to find it.

His grey school room was taught over by a grey teacher who had once shown something other than grey from her eyes but as Charlie didn’t have a word for it, he decided he must have imagined it.

One day Charlie was busy drawing an elephant, (on a piece of paper, not actually drawing on an elephant as that would have been stupid) with his tongue hanging out of his mouth and as he scribbled hard, his pencil shot out of his hand and under his desk.

When Charlie leaned down to get his pencil, two strange things happened. One – all the blood rushed to his head and made him feel really dizzy. Two – the world seemed to take on something other than grey, he still had no idea what it was but for the first time Charlie could see the world in colours.

He sat upright just a bit too quickly and nearly made himself sick – but there it was, the world was back to being grey.

Charlie decided to keep this secret to himself and run all the way home. When he got to his bedroom, he had one last look out in the hall, in case the family were nearby then he went into his room and did a handstand against the wall. Sure enough the world became colourful again, so much nicer than the grey one.

So every chance he could get, Charlie would stand on his hands and enjoy the way he looked at the world. Okay, so no one else looked at the world the way Charlie did, but he didn’t care, in fact he loved being the only one who knew the secret.

One day, when he felt like a walk, Charlie went down to the river and when no one was looking, he stood on his hands and the world seemed right again. That was until a large shadow was cast across his face – he hoped it wasn’t the kids from the other street, he knew they’d never understand but it wasn’t them. Instead, it was a young girl and what was more surprising was the fact that her face was the right way up.

Charlie was used to seeing a beautiful world but with people the wrong way round.

You see, the pretty young girl loved to see the world the same way as Charlie did, she loved to stand on her hands too and that made Charlie happy.

The two of them could share the beautiful world now. He wasn’t alone.

The Best Of All Summers (2012) by Bobby Stevenson

 
Some things remain with you forever.

When I was ten years old, my father took me on a trip in an old battered car and caravan, and although I didn’t know it at the time, my father was dying. He was only forty years of age and he was dying of a brain tumour. 

What can I tell you about me back then? That I was the only son of parents who never got around to marrying? That I lived with my two sisters and a cat and that despite not having any money, we lived in a house packed to the roof with love.

Maybe that’s as good as it gets in anyone’s life. 

My father was the gentlest of hearts and the kindest of men, and I’m not just saying that because he’s gone. I’m saying it because it was true. It was his strength and his weakness. My mother watched so many people taking advantage of his goodness, that in the end she put herself in the way of anyone trying to use him. This made her seem hard but she was willing to put up with that, because that was what our family was always about – love.

My parents had decided that when school was closed for the summer, Mum and the girls would go to London for a few days to see a show, while me and Dad would go north taking his old car hooked up to Granddad’s caravan. I knew Dad was probably hoping this would be a chance for us to talk, as he was always working and I was always in my bedroom being misunderstood. Even at ten years of age I had no real idea how to enjoy myself.

On that summer, that glorious summer, school finished and my life began. Dad drove Mum and the girls to the railway station and I sat on the front steps waiting, bag ready and caravan packed.

I’ll always remember the ‘toot-toot-toot’ of my Dad on the car horn as he returned from the station, letting everyone in the street know that the boys were off on holiday. All those unused days were spread before us, waiting.

If I’d thought that it was going to be a particularly difficult time sitting in the car with my Dad, I was wrong. I had imagined him and me struggling to talk to each other and stumbling over words. I guess I’ve always made assumptions about things. I’ve worried and assumed – I suppose that’s what should be written on my headstone. There I go again.

As we drove towards the coast, I felt ashamed of myself. Here was a man who knew all about my writings and about the books I’d read. He would steal himself into my room after he came home late from work, too late to wish me goodnight but long enough to kiss me on the forehead and absorb from the room who and what I was. There was I knowing very little about him, except he was my father and he was rarely home.

I don’t recall when he stopped the car but I do remember it getting dark. I had been telling him all about the characters in some Dickens novel when I must have fallen asleep in his arms. When I awoke, it was morning and the sun was fighting the condensation on the window. Dad had placed me in the back seat and covered me with his jacket. 

The car was freezing and as I sat up, I shivered. I wiped away mist from the side window and saw, that despite the sun, the sky and the sea were a cold blue, broken up by the foamy edges of the waves.  We had parked at the edge of a cliff and Dad was sitting, staring - that was all he was doing - just staring. When I felt brave enough, I ventured outside to join him. I’ll always remember his face that day, the wind had slapped his cheeks into a Santa Claus red and his eyes were watering, stung by the sea. You could almost imagine that he had been crying, and I wonder now, from all those years away, if he had been. 

He told me to sit next to him and he put his arm around me, “You, and me, son are going on an adventure”.

Now don’t get me wrong, I liked the sound of ‘adventure’ and I loved my father and felt safe with him but there was always a part of me that wanted to return to the protection of my bedroom, pull up my arms into my sleeves and wait on the next hurtful thing. Yeah, you’re right, I was one weird kid.

As we came over the hill I could see it: Blackpool Tower. I had never seen anything so tall in all my life and was so excited that I forgot about my misgivings. The place was alive with people who were swept up with enjoying life and buzzing with laughter. There were donkey rides by the sea, the odd uncle with a handkerchief on his head to keep the sun away and people breaking their teeth on sticks of rocks, slurping ice cream and getting pieces of candy floss stuck to their noses. 

Dad and I went down on to the beach and ate our fish and chips from a newspaper. I think it was the best fish and chips I ever tasted.

“That’s better.” said Dad.

“What?”

“You’re smiling, you’ve got a nice smile, you know. You should use it more often.”

“Oh Dad.”

“I’m just saying.”

And do you know what? I felt that I didn’t want to be anywhere else. Just me and my Dad on the beach at Blackpool. 

“It’s my fault.” he said, sadly.

“What is, Dad?”

“The fact that you never smile, me and your Mum left you sitting too long in that room of yours.”

“I like my room.”

“No one likes their room.”

Dad parked the caravan down some quiet side street and told me to get washed and ready as he took a walk into town. When he returned, his breath smelt of beer and his clothes of cigarettes.

“You’ll never guess what I’ve got in my pocket? Two tickets to see Arthur Askey at the Grand”

What a night that was, everyone laughing and singing along with The Bee Song. I looked over at my Dad and he was laughing so hard the tears were rolling down his face. God, I miss him.

We had ice cream topped with raspberry sauce on the way back and I never once thought about my misgivings, not once. 

The next morning after a cup of tea and a bacon roll, we left Blackpool still singing the Bee Song, just me and my Dad. 

I can’t remember who saw the old lady first. My Dad had stopped the car because I needed to pee again and I was hiding in the bushes. The woman was sitting on a bench and at first we thought she was just sleeping, but her head had rolled forwards and she was moaning. Dad put his ear close to listen to her breathing.

“This isn’t good. We’ll need to get her to hospital.”

I sat with her in the back seat of the car while she rested her head on my lap. She reminded me of my Gran, I almost said “We won’t be long now Gran” when she moaned really loudly. The nurse brought Dad and me drinks as we sat in the corridor waiting on news. It almost felt like it was my Gran.

“Are you family?”

Dad explained to the doctor that we had found her sitting by the side of the road.

“There was nothing we could do, I’m afraid. I’m sorry your trip was in vain. She passed away five minutes ago.” 

Dad got a bit annoyed but he kept it to himself until we were outside the hospital. I thought maybe he was sad about the old lady dying, but really he was a bit angry.

“Don’t you ever believe that what we did was in vain, son. Never think that. That poor lady would have died alone on that bench if we hadn’t stopped. As it is, you kept her company and there were people with her when she went. So it wasn’t in vain. Nothing is in vain. Always, always remember that. Everything matters”

I guess that’s the kind of thing that happens to a person when they come out of their room.

As Dad drove south, I had the feeling that he just wanted to keep driving but as soon as it started to get dark, we stopped. Thinking back, I guess he couldn’t see too well in the dying light, something to do with his tumour.We set the caravan down in a field that overlooked Liverpool. What a city. Looking over the way the setting sun painted the building tops, a crimson yellow. We were going into town tomorrow and Dad said he had a surprise. 

I don’t think I have ever been to a happier city than Liverpool that day. People were going to and fro but always laughing and joking. Some were singing, others whistling. I loved every minute of it; every blooming minute of it. 

“I’ve got a pal and he owes me a favour”, said Dad. I felt ashamed that I hadn’t even known that my father had any friends or who they were.

“He works at a club down Matthew Street. He says if we arrive early enough, he’ll get us in and you can hide under my coat.”

I almost had misgivings again, almost wishing I was back in my safe, warm, bedroom - almost. 

We did what Dad said and he put me under his coat and the doorman, his pal, waved us past all the people waiting to get in.

“We’ll need to keep you under cover young ‘un” said Bert, Dad’s pal, as he led me to a small room by the stairs where he gave me lemonade.

“We’ll come and get you when the band is ready” said my Dad. “I’m going to have a talk with Bert. You’ll be okay here?”

I would be. 

I had just finished my drink when there was a knock at the door, followed by it opening.

“Hey Paul, look what I’ve found, the Cavern has little people living under the stairs. What are you doing here, son?”

I told him I was waiting on the band and that my Dad was coming to get me.

“And what band would that be son?”

I shrugged and the man seemed to find that funny. His pal, Paul came over to have a look at me.

“You’re right John, that is one of the little people. You’ve got to be lucky to see them” and then he rubbed my head.

John said it was his band that was playing and I said I was sorry. He said not as sorry as he was and asked did I want to come to their dressing room?  Although on second thoughts, John said, there was probably more room under the stairs. 

So I went with John and Paul and met the other two, George and Pete. They were all fooling around and didn’t seem to be in anyway nervous. John asked me what I wanted to do “That is, when you stop being one of the little people.”

I told him I wanted to be a writer and he said that was probably the best job in the world next to being in a band, especially his band, and he went into his jacket and gave me his pen. 

“If anyone asks, tell them John Lennon gave it to you.” 

That night I watched John, Paul, George and Pete play the most wonderful music I had ever heard or will ever hear. I didn’t know it then, but a few weeks later Ringo replaced Pete. I never got to meet him. 

My Dad died, just after Christmas, that year.

He left me with the best present that I have ever received in my life. He took me out of my room and locked the door so I couldn’t go back in. So what if I got hurt? That was the price you paid for being out there, that was the price we all paid, and the other thing he gave me was the belief that nothing is ever in vain, nothing. 

On the thirtieth anniversary of John Lennon’s death, I flew to New York and walked through Central Park and climbed the hill to Strawberry Fields. There was a little boy about ten and his Dad listening to the music of Lennon and I took out the pen and I handed it to them:

“John Lennon gave me this.”

Everything matters.

Thanks to Stephen Fry for tweeting this story to the world. Much appreciated.

Dancing by Bobby Stevenson

I never picked a proper tune to dance to

And I never got in step with any soul

And in all those dancing years

I spent wishing I could hear

That melody which drove another's goal

I guess it's too late now to ever
Try to change things

As I'm nearing my own moment to depart

So I'll quietly spend the time

That's been allocated mine

Dancing to the music of my heart.