Chapter 8
I don’t have a clue where I am. For the last few hours, I have literally just walked anywhere, for had I took a bus or in particular the tube, even if I get off at a random stop, at least part of the destination will have been prescribed for me. And I would know where I am. I haven’t wanted any of that. So I have walked. For all I know, I could have just walked around in a big circle and am now just a street away from where I started. Somehow I doubt that, but you never know. London has always seemed to me to be a universe in its own right, and who knows, as with the universe itself, London may just fold in on itself, so that there never is an escape.
Whilst walking, I just wanted to see where chance lands me. It is hardly an active motion of mine to go wherever a whim may take me, but in a world full of choices, I wanted the choices to find me. Maybe this is freedom, maybe I am enslaving myself to fate. But I think this is kind of the point of my little journey, to find out. I haven’t yet found an answer, I haven’t found out if there is an answer.
But I’ve also taken the time to think about what I want to do with my life. In truth, there are not a lot of options open to me. I’ve never held down much responsibility in any job I’ve ever had. Never needed to exercise my brain too much. But I think I could change that. Find a course that I want to do, and get qualifications. I believe myself to be useless, but I’ve never believed myself to be stupid. As to what course, and at what level, I don’t yet know, but the idea is appealing as it would give me a chance to stand above the crowd a little. Not a lot, but enough to get the ball rolling. I think I’ve said before that a lack of confidence has been one of my biggest enemies, and this would be a great way of tackling that, after all, the point of a course is to get things wrong, to learn. In other words, to stop being afraid of making mistakes, and stop being afraid of asking questions for fear of showing my ignorance. It is all a learning process, and then, one day, I’ll be getting things right and people will be asking me things.
Is this all I’ve been doing the last day or so, if not my entire life? Trying to hide myself away for fear of being seen as ignorant or stupid? That my aggression comes out, as with Mitsuko, not because they think I’m useless, but because I’m not allowing myself to be useful? No wonder people have such a negative impression on me. Jeez, that’s quite a revelation.
I notice that the light is beginning to fade from the sky. It must be late afternoon, and I haven’t eaten all day. Checking my pockets I have little on me. Enough to buy something to get me by.
I wander into the nearest newsagent/off licence which they seem to have everywhere in London. I’d gamble that if you got rid of all these, the whole economy in London would collapse, fuck banks and the stock exchange and all that shit. This is an industry that seems to be desperately under-rated.
This particular shop is big enough to pass itself as a supermarket, in other words it is a fairly deep newsagent with a couple of aisles. I wander aimlessly around, confronted once again by choice, feeling as if I am inserting myself back into the real world. Eventually I decide upon a sausage roll and a packet of crisps, reasoning that we all need to eat and that isn’t a matter of choice or freedom or imprisonment, and that I happen to like these particular food groups. I take my position in the small queue.
My attention, not that it was particularly on anything at this point in time, is distracted by the sound of a car screeching to a halt, somebody getting out whilst leaving the engine on, and pushing his way to the counter. My attention, still on mild curiosity levels is now completely focused by the inclusion of a gun.
“Freeze, suckers!”
The two people in front of me, a teenage girl who finally stops her loud chewing of gum out of fright and an old lady, do just that, as I do. I don’t know about the other two, but I feel completely alienated from myself, this place and the action that is happening just feet away from my physical body. As for me, I am just an observer. Everything has shut down, I just watch, admiring the shop owner for staying so calm.
“Good day, sir. How may I help?”
The robber stands there amazed that the shop owner apparently has not got the point. He shoves the gun right into the shop owner’s face. “Empty your till, fool!”
The shop owner does so, counting every penny. “Very good, sir. That is £259 and sixty p. How would you like to pay?”
“Ah, but it don’t work like that.”
“I am sorry, but it does. This is a shop, you see. And you come in and say that you would like such and such. And then I say that such and such would total to so much. Then you would pay for so much. As the contents of my till is £259.60, I would like to know how you are paying. I take card, but not cheques. Cash would be preferable. If you do not pay, then that is robbery.”
“But I am a robber, which makes me exempt from paying. This whole government of ours is built on this simple premise. And many rules and laws adhere to this fact that robbers, thieves, etc. do not have to pay for their goods.”
“But that is not how it works here. You see, this is a shop, a place of transactions and according to Collins Concise Dictionary and Thesaurus, the definition of a transaction is thusly, 1. Performing of any business. 2. That which is performed. 3. Single sale or purchase.”
“Yes, but I am a robber, I steal. From the same source, the definition is to take without right or leave.”
“I see your point.” The shop owner becomes more protective of the contents of his till.
I stand here and watch this and I know this not to be right. Reality is slowly merging with the place that I have been occupying for the last few moments. There is something that I must do. And perhaps stopping what is going on may be the answer that I am looking for. I know, however, that I am far too afraid. Not only this, but I have left the F.I.B. and therefore I have no such responsibility.
No, let’s not deny the facts here, I am a coward. Regardless of what capacity I find myself in, I would not be able to resolve this situation.
“Freeze F.I.B.!” The words, undeniably, are mine. Everyone has turned around to face me, including the gun. My mouth has acted long before my body or my mind have been able to prepare themselves; I am stood here, still in the queue, still with the items I was going to buy held against my body. I have neither a badge nor a weapon to hide behind, also I know I am unable to run away.
This is one of those rare moments when I want weird things to start happening. Anything that would cause a distraction. They happen so often at random, but also when I am heavily stressed, the reason, I guess why I had so many attacks yesterday. Yet I am not stressed, and nothing is happening. I am calm, I don’t know why, I am calm. I think it’s because although the gun is pointed at me, I am not the target. Secondly, I remember what Hemmingway said last night about nervous people being more likely to shoot, and this is not a nervous person. He is someone full of confidence and has possibly done this many times before. Somehow, I realise that this could give me the upper hand if I play my cards right, and I could take control, rather than if he was nervous in which case, the only thing in control is chaos. I know that the last thing he wants to do is fire his gun. It would cause unwanted attention and, if caught, would only heighten the charge.
“Freeze, F.I.B.,” I repeat again, putting my items on the shelf beside me, freeing my hands.
“You’ve got no authority here, fuck off.”
I wish that my anger would explode like it did last night and tear the gun away from his hand, or cause loads of items to fly towards him, but nothing is happening. Instead, the robber just turns back to the shop owner, who starts putting the coins into bags to pass over to the robber. I have no idea what I was trying to do, nor do I know what to do next. I am stumped, quite frankly, but when he turned away from me, it hurt my pride. I try to remember where I last saw a police station but I can’t. I don’t even know whether to assume if there is one around here or not. Slowly, so as not to attract attention, I put my hand into my pocket, where I know I have a mobile phone. But the robber isn’t stupid. He’s been looking back, checking on us, and he sees me.
“Good idea, empty your pockets and put your hands on the shelf there. Anyone moves and…” he indicates his gun, “well I guess you can imagine the consequences.” He comes to me first, knowing I am the trouble maker. But I refuse. Well, I say I refuse, I just stand there, not doing anything, just looking him in the eye. He is very calm, unlike me; I am shaking like a leaf. I don’t know if it’s visible or not, but I am shaking. He reaches his hand towards my pocket, but I just firmly move it away with my own hand. Frustrated and not wanting to take any shit, he thrusts the gun into my throat, pushing himself into me and forcing me against the shelf. I am unable to move, the weight of his body still pinning me.
It is at this point that we hear police sirens, a moment of anticipation from everybody, and concern from the robber himself. But the police car passes, obviously a different crime somewhere else. He relaxes and I make my move. Allowing the weight of his body to anchor me in three dimensional space, I have moved both my feet against the side of the lowest shelf. In his moment of distraction, I doubt the robber noticed gravity trying to pull me down against him. The shelves are against a wall, I don’t know how secure they are, but I guess that they are going to have to be secure enough. More nervous after the scare of the police, the robber wants to hurry things up. He relaxes himself against me, no doubt just wanting to get the money and leave as quickly as possible, but I act quickly, allowing the relaxed weight to give me just enough leverage. I push out with my feet, and grab him by the top of his coat. Taking my unexpected weight, he falls with me on top of him. But he hasn’t yet let go of the gun. He moves to point it at me, but I swing out with my arm, knocking it out of his hand. It doesn’t exactly fall far, and both of us scrabble to get it. In his desperation it is the robber who accidentally knocks it out of his reach.
Now I have the worry of keeping him pinned down as he is bigger and stronger than me. One flip or twist of his body will be enough to topple me over. Immediately I try to lay myself as flat on him as I can, instinct rather than any wrestling moves I may have half remembered from the television. It’s to no avail, however, as I am just pushed off him, away from the gun. He scrabbles over and retrieves it. Keeping it pointed at me, he heads towards the counter and grabs the money. I go towards the door, thinking I may be able to stop him there. He just points the gun at me. I stand there, again not moving, knowing that this is lunacy, doubting Hemmingway’s words. A gun is a gun. I may have thought I could have had the upper hand because he was so confidant, but let’s face it, all I’ve done is to make him mad, and potentially irrational. Nothing but stupid heroics that could have put anyone in the shop’s life in danger, especially when the gun was being thrown around.
I move out of the way to let him through, and he exits the store, right into a couple of policemen walking towards the store. Unable to hide the gun in time, he is arrested as he tries to get into his car.
I am detained here for a little while, by now starving and unable to pay for the goods as the shop owner has no change in his till. We all make statements and it is here that I learn that whilst the robber was distracted by yours truly, the shop owner took the time to push a silent alarm under the counter. I am told off for my foolish bravado, and any attempts to explain that I am a member of the F.I.B. are merely just laughed at, especially when I am pushed to tell them in what capacity. The old lady hates my guts, it is pretty clear, and the teenage girl, in her arrogance is just impatient to get out, not seeing what the problem was and that they can’t arrest her. Like, totally. As for the shop owner, he cares little for me as well, just wanting to know when he can get his money back, inflating the amount stolen by every passing minute. I’m kind of disappointed to hear this, as I wonder why I bothered to stop one crook to help another who is only now revealing himself as a crook. If there is any justice in this world, I wonder if it is actually ever deserved.
But I can’t deny that I am on a high, as I managed to prove myself to the world. I have done something, I made a decision and followed it through, I didn’t back out half way. I certainly didn’t run away. There is a slight nagging thought that it wasn’t my problem to run away from, but I counter that by stating I made it my problem. I stood up to someone, and resolved the situation. I head back in a daydream, my confidence boosted to unprecedented levels, the acknowledgement for perhaps the first time in my life of self-esteem. It is only when I am on the 253 to Camden from Upper Clapton, as I discovered was where I was, that I realise that I am going back to the house, back to Hemmingway and Mitsuko and back to being in the F.I.B., even if its just for the next two weeks. I’m tempted to get off at the next stop and continue my adventure but I remember repeatedly saying that I was part of the F.I.B.. I didn’t escape it after all. And that’s all I was doing, just running away. If this little experience has taught me anything, it’s that I don’t need to run away and that I do deserve to be there.
I get off in Camden, doubts as to whether or not I really should return, but I force them away. My high is declining rapidly but I continue to search for the street that the house was. It takes me an hour, and finally getting there, I hesitate for a long time before knocking as I don’t have a key to get in. I could just run away after all, never have to put up with all that shit again. But if I run away now, I’m allowing myself the excuse to run away from anything that faces me in the future. I knock, immediately regretting my decision, but the door is opened by Mitsuko before I am able to make a last second decision to run after all. She doesn’t look too happy to see me, she doesn’t look too displeased, either. She calls Hemmingway on his mobile, and I can hear his relieved voice from the phone, even if I cannot hear the actual words. And this gives me a little ego boost.
Fifteen minutes later, he is back. I explain myself, what happened, and I use this opportunity to stand up for myself, that they need to give me a little credit. I am here to learn I state, and I will make mistakes that I promise to learn from. There are only frowns at this; apparently, this is not the job to make mistakes as mistakes cost lives. Likewise, I am going to ask more questions and get myself more involved in the investigation, getting them to fill me in on what’s happened. I don’t know if this everything, indeed the truth, but it is a start. At the mention of ghosts, I begin to wonder if I should really be getting myself more involved. At the mention of some kind of reflection that comes to life, I wonder if I am too involved. I bite my tongue, not wanting to say anything of my own experiences. There is just an urge, a strong urge that this is my battle, and that I should not take any help. I alone have to resolve this. If I take help, especially from these two, then I am merely weak. I’m not quite certain where these thoughts come from, but it pushes me towards making them agree not to keep me locked up. Again I keep quiet the fact that the consequences of me being locked up could be quite catastrophic.
I go to bed that night happy. I feel I have achieved a lot today, and the better memories, my heroics, my standing up to Hemmingway and Mitsuko keep me awake, but I am happy to let that happen. On the odd occasion I remember the mirror, but I am in too much of a bubble to let it worry me. My ego may definitely be inflated right now, and god knows I needed it, but I can tackle it. It thinks it’s won? It doesn’t know who it’s dealing with.