A Kick Inside

He ate the whole thing almost at once. Felt it slide slowly, gracefully down his gullet before settling heavily in his stomach. Smacking his lips he sensed the pressure, the insurmountable craving for release as the belch broke the air.1

‘Scuse me,’ he smiled, although his frozen eyes revealed the truth.2

They gaped, astounded for once, amazed he’d managed to eat it at all. No one had ever done that before. Respect was due, even if it was only him.3

‘How? How?’ faltered the over confident red haired girl, he never thought of as funny.4

‘Easy,’ he was growing in confidence with every swish of his digestive juices. He wouldn’t tell them he felt sick, how it was starting to swell and invade his gut. He could almost imagine it just lying there, festering, waiting. Perhaps impatience would run dry, but he couldn’t tell, estimating the night could prove interesting, or messy.5

None of them believed he’d ever do it. They all thought him soft, a lumpen excuse of a victim they tolerated rather than enjoyed. But now he didn’t care. He’d been the only one with enough courage; they’d hesitated, all unsure and afraid, daring him because they thought he was weak and stupid.6

That red headed girl as ever started it. She always did. Too many words crammed into a tight, unattractive voice. Her watery orange eyes reminded him of a tiger, one of those who’d spent too long caged up, a lonely exile just biding time. One day, not too far ahead, the tiger would turn, when she did, he hoped her teeth would ignore him.7

‘I bet you wouldn’t,’ she sneered, lightly twirling a hank of coarse copper.8

‘Wouldn’t what?’ he blinked, praying he was safe at home on his playstation.9

They’d gathered, encircling like meerkats, all darting eyes and bared fangs, twitching with loaded anticipation. 10

‘Think I’m afraid I suppose?’ he countered, tired of her taunts.11

‘You’re always afraid,’ she snapped, showing small sharp teeth.12

‘Am I? Give it here.’ And that was it. He’d crammed it between his lips, vainly fighting the rising sense of nausea as he sensed its gelatinous form coating his teeth. He had no idea what it was, none of them did but that didn’t matter. Status, that’s what it was about, and how he longed to show them all he wasn’t afraid any more. It rested momentarily between his teeth and tongue before his natural reaction to spit assailed him and he swallowed heavily. Momentarily gagging, his eyes began to stream as he felt their laser stares drilling into his bravado.13

‘He’ll never keep it down,’ muttered the red head.14

‘He is though,’ countered the fat blond.15

‘Never!’ she snapped, silencing any who might contemplate any form of contradiction.16

‘Scuse me!’ the waft of stale gas blew her senses back again. ‘Done it,’ he was still smiling at her discomfort. ‘And now, I think I’ll go home.’17

There was nothing else he could say or wanted to, let them think of him with new respect. Even she’d been momentarily silenced as he walked away, head artificially high, disguising the bubbling discomfort brewing beneath his t shirt.18

Stealthily pushing the front door open he prayed his mother wouldn’t ask him too many questions. She was always asking, desperate to know how he filled his absent hours, the umbilical snapping failing to register.19

‘That you?’ He heard the familiar concern, always worried, as if his fragility was made corporeal. No wonder he’d grown into a victim, it was her fault. Every day she nagged at him to take the lovingly prepared packed lunch; cheese crammed sandwiches, bursting with butter, pickle and soggy lettuce. The carefully selected fruit portions to help him towards his five a day and of course the flask. How could he ever forget it? he hated it, irrespective of the fact it frequently frothed with rich creamy hot chocolate. It was the stupid incongruity, he was too old for Snoopy and Charlie Brown, didn’t even like them anyway, but he knew it’d break her heart. He remembered her face when she found it for him, the eyes bright with anticipation and unquestioning certainty he’d love the flask because it had been hers.20

He hadn’t minded her constant need for his undemanding attention so much when he was younger. He thought all mothers smothered their children, grasping their hands every time they left the house. He’d even enjoyed how she tucked him in at night, drawing the covers tight under his chin, ensuring a night light fought the demons under the bed, the monsters in the wardrobe, but not now. all he wanted was some time alone, time to think, time away from her. Even bath time wasn’t necessarily sacrosanct as she insisted he left the door unlocked, just in case something happened and he needed her. Other mothers seemed happy to allow their children increasing independence, but not her, never her.21

‘Have you had a good day?’ Standing waiting in the doorway desperate for news, even when he had nothing at all to tell her, he still smiled and mutters a positive. He can’t ever tell her the reality, how they goad and chase, throw his lunch on the floor, deface his scrupulously prepared homework and steal his hot chocolate. She’d be up at that school calling the wrath of God on both parents and staff, and making his life even worse.22

‘What did you get up to? Anything fun today?’23

He shakes his head, ‘not much really. Nothing different. Went into groups and did a survey on foods and stuff. That’s all really. We had to taste different things too.’24

Instant alarm, she can’t bear even the thought he might eat anything other than her lunches. ‘What type of food?’25

‘Oh, you know, food colours, different spices. Nothing much.’ The groaning fizz in his stomach reminded him again of his urgent need to escape. 26

‘I hope you told them about your allergies?’ she’s almost crying now, as if she imagines him lying dead from an allergic reaction. He knows they only exist in her head, he eats all sorts of things, things she tells him might kill him, but of course they don’t. he can eat everything anyone cares to present in front of him, but she won’t accept it. 27

‘They should have more sense in that school, they really should. I’ve told them often enough what you’re allowed, they know how dangerous your reaction could be. Don’t they ever listen?’28

She’ll chunter on for at least half an hour, the well aired complaints against anything that might possibly endanger her precious boy. All he wants to do is run upstairs, but he knows he’ll have to placate her with tea, the slightest evidence or indication of the gastric battle he’s hosting will bring the engulfing love quivering upon his head.29

It takes a clean plate and beatific smile of gratitude to finally convince her the experimental survey hasn’t affected him and he bounds up the stairs in double time, urgent homework providing the ever useful cover.30

Alone, he lifts his t shirt gingerly over his navel and inspects his stomach. He can see the movement, the shifting action as whatever he’s ingested struggles for freedom. A sudden sharp spurt causes him to double, he feels a kick against his stomach wall and he recalls her telling him how he’d kick inside her when he was growing.31

‘You couldn’t wait to see me, could you?’ the familiar reminder of the love she told him they shared.32

Incredulous, he stares further into his mirror, spreading his fingers over the smooth skin. There’s no foot or toes, only his quickening imagination. He’s just over stuffed with her rich cooking, she always over feeds him, and he has to eat it all as she watches every slowly chewed mouthful – make sure you chew at least twenty times – her favourite litany. He hadn’t chewed quite so vigorously earlier on and how it’s making him sick, really sick, but he can’t ever tell her.33

He knows there’s nothing to see, he’s wound himself up, that’s all, it’s his head trying to tell him how to escape from her. Anything, anything to make her let him go.34

An enormous eruption starts again from the pit of his gut and he can feel it building in preparation for a violent vomiting fit. But it won’t come so easily, content to burble and gurgle, the pressure hammering against his gullet. Whatever’s in there craves release, just as he does. Stomach muscles spasm and he lurches forward, small fists grabbing the end of his desk as he struggles to maintain his balance. Expanding, contracting, another belch smashes the air, reverberating against the walls and assailing his ears. She must have heard this time, racing up the stairs, throwing the door wide, her once pretty face creased and worn.35

Time and again the belches fester, hammering rancid air in and out, out and in. but she doesn’t hear him, everywhere is silence, she must be busy, pleased he’s lost in his homework.36

Eventually the pressure subsides and the burps diminish. He slumps face downwards onto his bed, glad for a momentary respite. He knows he was showing off, trying to impress, if only to make them stop. It’s always her fault, if she didn’t drown him he’d be accepted, maybe even popular. He’d like that; even the word makes him wonder how it must feel. All he wants is peace, popularity can wait.37

He imagines the battlefield. Two sides lined up, gastric armies spewing bile and gas at each other. Tiny scarlet pin headed figures, fiercely concentrating on the war they’ve created, hurling lightning shaped bolts that meet half way and explode in his mouth. That must be why his burps are so violent. At least it’s momentarily calm, perhaps the gutmen are resting, sentries posted, baleful eyes warily watching for any unexpected movements. He’d like to weave them into a story, draw their furled faces in his notebook but he can’t, they won’t let him be. He craves a drink, but can’t face her barrage of questions. 38

Overwhelmed by a sudden desire to sleep, grateful for the momentary truce, he exhales, ensuring all the air is released. Exhausted, the suddenly weighted lids flicker and silence drowns the room. Oblivious to time, space, or even the descent of darkness he curls into a foetal ball and she stands in his doorway. Memories of the first time she held him suddenly wash over her and inhales his warmth. Moments old he’d managed the shadow of a smile and she knew she’d never release him. She’d never dared imagine this birth, babies happened to other people but he was real, palpable, faintly smelling of her soul.39

Padding towards her sleeping son, she covers him protectively, loathing the knowledge he’ll leave her for a stupid empty headed girl. Suddenly she’s assailed by the sight of him as a man, cheeks darkened by growth, the jawline firm, torso elongated and fully formed. Asleep he reminds her of a morning carved on her consciousness of that other man, his hair thickly dark against her pillow. She smiles sadly for his loss, blinks away the inevitable tear and leaves the boy to sleep. He’ll probably waken in the night and crawl decently into bed. She can no longer find an excuse to undress and redress him, he’s too old, too aware of himself and she knows how close she is to his loss.40

He slumbers on, rhythmic breathing, occasionally stirring as his stomach recommences hostilities and he’s immediately launched into existence. Shuddering spasms distort his skinny form and he loses all control over his body. Sweat smears his skin, more pain knifes into him, even his mouth stretches to silence and the music bursts inside his head. Why doesn’t she hear him? Why hasn’t she exploded into the room, arms widespread to save her son.41

A stabbing needle surge sears him, and he feels an insurmountable certainty he’s going to die. No one can survive this pain. That red headed girl’s palmed something onto his plate, added her own special secret ingredient, smug he’ll suffer. She’s probably at home, smiling cruelly to herself, satisfied. He claws wildly at his throat and feels the bubbling eruption shoot ribbon like and wet through his system as he finally begins to vomit. Infinite, the spreading stink seethes and bubbles before it begins to form a tiny ball. He watches the mass move slowly towards the ball and gradually a torso, arms, legs, fingers, toes, a neck and finally a head is moulded. Two dots become eyes, a slit a mouth, ears sprout and it is still. He’s finally rid of his burden, the pressures immediately subside, and the pain evaporates as the boy blinks incredulously. The thing blinks in return, opens its silent lips and smiles.42