A sky full of fishes

​

I am going to write about the time that I, like, totally had a major epiphany man.

I guess it all started when I was young. From an early age I was read fairytales about elves and fairies and giant beanstalks, and pedophile wolves that dressed up and hid in peoples’ beds dressed as their grandma. But it was Jack’s fabled beanstalk that had the biggest impression on me. And I was determined to grow one of my own. So, I dug up the ground in the garden at least once a day, and threw anything into the hole that might grow. An apple pip, the dead snake that I found in my mum’s drawer, all sorts of seeds including my own. As well as nuts, berries and anything else I could think of. When the planting didn’t work, I wondered if it was because my dad kept cutting the damn grass. I asked him to stop it. He was killing my beanstalk. How else was I going to get to the moon? But my dad said that because we had a little garden it wouldn’t work, and that to grow a proper beanstalk it had to be done in a big open space where the wind blew strong and the fish is in the sky.

“What does that mean dad? There ain`t no fish in the sky.”

“Oh, sure there is. You just have to look for it. That’s how Merlin the wizard grew his beanstalks, Jack just copied him. Go to a space where the wind blows and the fish swim in the sky.”

“Oh, you big silly, your takin the piss.” I said, in my wee 5-year-old voice, and promptly getting my mouth rinsed out with soap for uttering such filthy language.

 

So I wondered out with my trusty spade and roamed the fields and woods and beaches around my town. I dug up and filled in holes everywhere. But I wasn’t doing it right. I found the wind. It was Scotland. But where was the fish in the sky? I didn’t even reach China with any of my 3 feet ditches.

Then one glorious day I was lying in the park after school. I was simply chilling, looking up at the big blue beautiful sky. I had been learning about the Easter Bunny that day, and how he had died for our sins and now brought me chocolate Easter eggs as a present. I liked the Easter Bunny. He brought me chocolate. I only ever got chocolate as a treat so I was really excited about splurging on it at the weekend. I was savoring the taste in my mouth, imagining how sugary and sweet it would be as it ran down my throat. But then I saw something. The stiff wind was throwing figures across the sky, in the shapes of dinosaurs, leprechauns, and sure enough- there it was- a giant white, cloud-shaped fish! Immediately, like a slap to my dish from my mother, I leapt up in the air and raced home, retrieved my spade and sprinted back to the spot I had occupied at the park.

 

Everyone stared.

The adults, the kids, the 16-year-old kids with kids. The toddlers pulled out their dummies and their jaws dropped in amazement. The adults put down their Buckfast wine.

And they all stared.

I didn’t care, I was going to the moon to eat cheese and replace Armstrong’s American flag with a pirate one marked with skull and bones.

Aha, that would show them. Cunts.

I dug frenziedly, scooping the loose carvings over my shoulder. Some of the mud landed in my hair and on my face.

“Hey, kid! What the fuck are you doing?”

I ignored the shouts and continued. Ignorant. People are ignorant, I thought.

I kept digging till it got dark, and it was way past cosy night, milk milk time. I didn’t even notice. I had only stopped for a quick breather, and when I looked around the park was empty and the stars were out.

Oh no! I thought. My mind lapsed to the bad men out at that time. And I winced my eyes to the bushes to see if any Archie McFingerfeels’ were hiding in there. I had been warned about those types at this time of night.

I inspected my hole. It was impressive and I admired it arrogantly. That should be more than big enough, I decided.

So I skipped across the empty park to some bushes, and after a careful look for Archie McFingerfeel, I raked my hand through the bush and gathered a handful of pine cones and spruce needles. I emptied these into my hole, quickly filled it up, patted it down, and stamped across the filled-in treasure spot. I made it as flat as possible then threw over some branches. No dickhead was gonna steal my treasure spot. I then ran home as fast as my legs could carry me.

 

“What time do you call this?” my dad bellowed.

I stood pale in the entrance of the front hall. “Erm, I don’t know.”

“Look at your hair! You're filthy! What have you been doing?!”

“Well, I...”

And then it hit me like a freight train. I WASN’T going to get grounded, and this was the masterstroke.

“Well, I was standing in the park, when a man came up to me and asked if I like sweets. So I spoke to him for a while.”

“What?! Oh, no. What happened?”

“Nothin, just talked.”

“Where was he? What did he look like?! I’m phoning the police.”

Shit.

“Okay, okay, there wasn’t really a man. I was just out playin and forgot the time.”

“You lied to me!” My dad’s face was raging; his eyes bulged at the sockets.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“What were you doing at the park?”

 

I came out with the truth. I had to. He beat it right out of me.

“Oh, son.” He said, smiling lovingly as he withdrew his hand from my burst lip. I had just told him exactly what I was doing. “I need to tell you something.” he said.

This sounded serious.

“Go and pour your old man a drink and I will tell you all about it. I think you're old enough now.”

I went to the kitchen and poured dad his double vodka and coke and carried the glass through in both my wee hands.

“Here you go, dad.”

“Thanks, son.”

I sat on the couch dumbfounded and shocked by the proceeding confirmations. Santa wasn’t real. There was no Tooth Fairy. The Easter Bunny was just a man dressed in a bunny suit. There was no mermaid who snuck into my room at night and crawled into my bed. That was just him, pretending.

I was astounded. My world had been ripped apart. Dropped to the ground and shattered into a thousand pieces.

So it had all been an illusion? A trick. A scam. One big fake lie. No obese man dressed in red climbed down my chimney every Christmas. The little dog never laughed to see such fun and nobody ran away with the spoon. There was no such thing as elves!

 

I sat and brooded miserably. So this is what it was like to be an adult. This was it.

I cried and sobbed for hours, nursing my still-swollen lip. This won’t do, I thought. This just won’t do.

I rose from my bed, put on my jacket and climbed out the window. Half an hour later I was at Terry’s, a 13-year-old who knew the score.

“Roll me a fat one, Terry.”

And he did.

And to this day, it’s what gets me by. It is the pal that destroys reality and floats me away into a sky of fishes.