Geekhood (22 page)

“I hadn’t decided.”

“You hadn’t
decided
? What’s going on here, Archie? This is important. I’m moving away; I want to spend some time with you before I go.”

There’s nothing in my head at all. In the space of two minutes, I seem to have achieved a state that takes Buddhist monks a lifetime of meditation to get anywhere near. I am empty. Dad sighs and rethinks his strategy.

“Look… I can understand that you might be angry…”

My PS authorizes a full-frontal assault.

PS
:
Now it is time to embrace your fears!

“Angry?” I take a step back, as though I’ve been hit. It also seems to be to give my arms more space to wave around. “What do you know about it? You don’t know what I’m feeling! You don’t know what I’m thinking!”

“Son…”

“Don’t ‘son’ me! This isn’t your problem, is it? It’s mine!” Despite the volume I’m achieving, I feel strangely calm and, for once, completely right. “You’ve got your new family! Good for you! Go with them; see if I care!”

“Archie!” Dad hisses, mindful of the vultures circling the tables in search of a bargain. “It’s not like that…”

“Isn’t it? Looks that way from where I’m standing!”

“Archie!” he steps forward and puts his hands on my shoulders tightly, like he’s trying to prevent me launching myself into orbit.

“I’m your father, for goodness’ sake! You’re my son!”

“Hey! What’s going on here?”

As if to create a Conga-line of Conflict, Tony has appeared behind my dad and placed a hand on his shoulder. Considering he’s also carrying a cup of tea, a bottle of water and two hot dogs, that’s no mean feat. It’s also a Big Mistake. Dad swings round, wearing what I call “The Face”. The Face is when my dad’s features seem to solidify and take on all the appeal of a tombstone.
It’s firmly in residence now.

“And who are you?” Dad’s not a big guy, but what he lacks in stature he makes up for in attitude.

“Let’s all just calm down, shall we?” Tony starts to put his purchases down on the trestle table. Although they’ve never met, Tony’s seen photographs of my father. And I think Dad’s just worked out who Tony is.

“Why don’t you just
piss off
? I’m talking to my son!”

PS:
Truth is freedom
.

“Why don’t you
both
piss off?” I bellow, exhilarated by the strength that is now at my disposal. “You heard me! Both of you! Piss off!” With that, I launch a kick at the trestle that knocks it over and into my dad’s legs. He tumbles backwards and catches Tony, who yelps as hot tea splashes into his shirt.

“Archie!” Dad pleads, trying to untangle himself from Tony’s sodden embrace.

But I don’t care who’s calling after me; I’m already running, chanting
Truth is freedom
over and over in my head. It was a line from
We Are All Our Souls
and, right now, it’s the only thing in the world that makes sense. I dodge and weave in between parked cars and just keep running, not caring where I end up.

I need to see Sarah.

TWENTY

My legs finally pack up as I reach town. Buying a phone seems like a really good idea; I can call Sarah and get her to meet me somewhere, instead of going round to her house. I couldn’t face another trip down her mother’s jumper today.

I crash on to a bench beneath the clock tower and sit, panting. For a moment, I just watch people going about their business: a few Saturday-morning shoppers and couples going for a walk. Everything has a certain dream-like quality to it, like I’m not really here, but watching from somewhere else.

PS:
This is part of your psychic transformation
.

Passages from Sarah’s book come back to me, but they’re incomplete; I can’t remember how I’m supposed to feel right now, so I guess I’ll just wing it. “Your life can change in powerful new ways.” I can remember that and, so far this morning, I’m ticking all the boxes:

Gutted room – check.

Upset mate – check.

Upset stepfather – check.

Upset Dad – check.

Kicked over trestle table as an added extra – check.

But I don’t feel particularly happy just yet. I don’t feel particularly anything.

PS:
To achieve happiness, you must first untangle the knots of your life
.

Trouble is, my life seems to have more knots than a Scout jamboree. But I’m determined to see this through. I count up the money in my pocket to discover that the sum of my Geekhood amounts to twenty-seven pounds and sixty-five pence; all those hours painting and concentrating haven’t even earned me thirty quid. Still, it’s better than a poke in the eye. My quickly-setting legs just about carry me into a phone shop.

Unfortunately, my psychic abilities don’t seem to have much effect on the shop assistant, who doesn’t quite have a grasp on the urgency of my situation. I briefly consider fanning my fingers and telling him “You will get a move on,” in my best Obi-Wan Kenobi voice, but think better of it.

PS:
He is unevolved. His dissatisfaction in his job reflects his dissatisfaction in himself
.

“Got some ID?”

My psychic dignity flounders for a second; I didn’t realize you needed ID for a pay-as-you-go. Unfortunately, the only thing in my wallet with my name and address on is a membership card to the Young Role-players Association.

Ten agonizing minutes later, I am the proud owner of a new mobile phone, complete with ten pounds of credit. Sarah’s number is already burned into my mind. I can see it, looking back at me from the pad by the phone at home. Just as I’m about to dial, I hear voices calling my name. For a moment I wonder if I’m now so psychically attuned that I’m having my first experience of telepathy, but I’m not. In front of me are Matt, Ravi and Beggsy, standing outside the Hovel. They’re wearing looks on their faces that suggest distrust and suspicion – to be expected, really; when a Geek leaves the fold, the remaining Geeks close ranks. As I walk towards them, they start to walk towards me. The only thing missing is the chink of spurs.

It’s a showdown. Geek-style.

Things could get messy.

“Dude! What’s going on, man?”

“Nothing. I’m just walking through town.”

We are now entering a sort of conversational Jenga; the slightest wrong move and the whole thing could fall apart.

“But, dude. What’s this about you quitting the Game?”

PS:
Be strong. Be true
.

“Yeah, I’m quitting. So what?” I try and make this seem as inconsequential as possible.

PS:
It is their world that shakes. Not yours
.

“Told you,” Ravi mutters.

So far, Matt hasn’t said anything; he’s the one I’ve got to watch for. He’s obviously their sharpshooter. It makes sense – of all my friends, Matt is probably the one I’m closest to; in the past we’ve both acknowledged the problems that come with being Geeks. By admitting that to each other, we’ve also silently conceded that there is a life beyond the Game – a life where we might fit in and become just part of the crowd.

PS:
Perhaps you can use this knowledge to your advantage. Perhaps he can be convinced to join you on your quest
.

“So what’s the problem?” I shrug. “It’s not like you guys can’t carry on without me.”

“Dude! The Game is the Game, man!” One of Beggsy’s favourite sayings, designed to be a blanket statement that covers all arguments. Not this time.

“But that’s all it is, Beggsy. A game. It’s not
real
, is it?”

“Du-uh!” Another one of Beggsy’s favourite sayings.

“We know it’s not real, Archie.” At last, Matt speaks. “That’s not the point. What we’re really asking is why you’ve suddenly decided to quit.” His face is blank and impassive, but his eyes burn with an intensity that speaks volumes.

PS:
They are frightened. Frightened of the truth
.

I take a deep breath.

“Look, I’m quitting the Game because I’ve finally realized I don’t want to sit in my room every night painting miniatures or playing ‘Let’s pretend’ every Friday.”

“Why?” Matt looks like he’s genuinely trying to understand me, so I plough on.

“Because it doesn’t
do
anything! We’re like ostriches, sticking our heads in the sand and avoiding life – but pretending we’re not! We’re not
achieving
anything; we’re just going through the motions!”

“I disagree.” A short, sharp shot that disarms me quickly.

“What?”

“I think you’re wrong.”

My PS, seemingly unfamiliar with being told it’s wrong, is now having a minor psychic crisis. It looks like I’m going to have to fly blind for a moment.

“OK, Matt,” I nod, using the old “I’m using your name so you know I’m serious” tactic. “What, then? What are we doing when we play those games that’s so life-changing? Tell me.”

“We create things, Archie. We create things out of nothing. We’re like alchemists.” Matt’s obviously been practising his shooting skills.

PS:
Don’t listen to him. He is seeking to unbalance your psychic alignment
.

“‘Alchemists’? What are you talking about? We’re people who don’t fit in and have no hope of fitting in while we’re locked in our bedrooms, playing the Game! We should be out there – taking risks!” I think I’ve fired off a good one, but Matt just stands there, blinking.

“And fitting in is taking a risk, is it?” I can almost feel the bullets whizzing past my ears. My own incisive aim seems to be a little bit off.

PS:
His argument is rooted in fear. He is not truly in tune with himself
.

“You know what I mean! What’re you going to do: spend the rest of your life in your bedroom, playing with models?”

“Probably not, no. But I don’t need to fit in to be happy.”

PS:
Show him his own fears. See how strong he is
.

“Are you happy being a Geek?” I’ve said the dreaded “G” word – that which must never be spoken. Like saying “Voldemort” or “Sauron”. My developing senses discern a change in the atmosphere, as though a dark cloud has gathered over the group. On the face of it, Matt seems unfazed by the accusation. He rocks back on his heels, considering what’s just been said. Ravi and Beggsy look to
their leader, tarred with the same ghastly, geeky brush.

“The way I see it, Archie,” he begins, “everyone’s a Geek of some sort. Football, films, music – it doesn’t matter what the interest is; if you’re fascinated by it, then you’re a Geek. Simple as that.”

My PS falters. Has Matt got a point? As if sensing my hesitation, he continues.

“In fact, the people who are the best at what they do are all Geeks. Scientists, sportsmen, actors, musicians – the best ones are
Super
-Geeks; they’ve turned their obsession into a career, doing things they love. What’s wrong with that?”

My PS has nothing left but cruelty. While this goes against the whole psychic-alignment theory, it does get me out of a big hole, very fast.

“And what are you going to be? The world’s biggest
loser
?”

Matt smiles, but it’s a sad one.

“See you around, Archie.” Then he turns on his heel and walks back towards the Hovel, Ravi and Beggsy trailing in his wake.

PS:
See how he crumbles in the face of the truth!

But all I really see are three guys, who used to be my friends, walking off to go and do something they love.

“…so leave a message after the tone and we’ll get back to you as soon as we can.
Beep
!”

“Uh… Hi, Sarah… It’s Archie…Could you give me a ring back on this number…?”

After leaving my new number, I bravely hang up.

This psychic transformation stuff’s getting difficult to handle. All I seem to be doing is creating a bigger mess than I was in in the first place.

PS:
Do not waver from the path of the Gargoyle
.

For lack of anything that resembles an intelligent thought, I start to wander in the direction of Sarah’s house. Perhaps this is what it feels like to be a Gargoyle: friendless and alone. Perhaps this is all you get for your affirmations and meditations. Perhaps I
am
a Gargoyle.

With this image in mind, I lumber along the pavement, feeling more and more like I’ve been carved from stone. I feel ugly and desolate. The only hope I’ve got is Sarah. I round the corner to her road and stop outside her house. The black and white cat appears and loop the loops round my ankles, but I can’t be bothered to stroke it. Aslan’s a shit name anyway.

The door knocker might as well be made of plasticine for all the effect it has. Sarah’s out. Perhaps I should meditate and try and summon her, using my psychic abilities? Even my PS has the dignity not to respond to that one. An unpleasant feeling is bubbling
inside me and I sit down on the pavement with my back against Sarah’s garden wall, to try and figure out what it is. For some reason, it feels like I’ve been trying to wear a hat that wasn’t designed for my head. Before this train of thought gets a chance to pull out from the station, a car slams to a halt in front of me.

It’s Dad. Here we go again.

But instead of the expected Face, Dad looks flustered and winds down the passenger window.

“Archie! Get in the car!”

Something’s wrong.

“What is it?”

“It’s Tony – he’s had to go to hospital.”