Born Different Page 7

  Gabe had a big decision to make and he thought about everybody else generally without exception, and to him they all seemed to be playing dress up and make believe. There seemed to be no substance. Not one of them was real. The Middles, their ways and their lives were so completely alien to Gabe. The Middles were ordered and they knew where they were going. They did all the things that everyone did. They all watched the same things and did the same things and wore the same things.

  In the middle, there appeared to be no passion, no real celebration or commiseration, no all good or all bad but everything else that was in the middle and grey. The Middles were just one big wave of the rest, all pretty much indistinguishable from each other. All normal and boring. All keen and eager and pleased to keep up the pretence. Gabe thought they lived with no depth of thought or consciousness. They didn’t even know that they were alive. Not really alive! Not really living their one and only lives. They were too busy ticking boxes and toeing the line and pretending to look busy and doing as they were told.

  They were all totally brainwashed and ruled by fear so taking the Valium, the heroin of the masses like Ambrosia, and now so addicted to believing in everything that they were told and sold through all medias and advertising that they were always hungry for more, but in this glazed eye state they were oblivious. Gabe thought that they were oblivious to everything.

  “Did you hear they caught the flasher? He’s only a bloody doctor! See, I told you.” And Frank had told them it wouldn’t be a weirdo, an obvious weirdo, like them. That it would be one of The Middles. The same people who pointed the finger at The Damned always had three fingers pointing back at them.

  The Middles were even oblivious to the fact that they let the real sickos of society hang out among them. Because that was the truth of it, as far as Gabe and the rest of them were figuring it out. Really freaky people; the child abusers, the fraudsters, the wife beaters; these people had to blend in, they had to get close to other people and install trust and earn respect. This was the trick. This was invariably their modus operandi. The way and the only way that they could operate. Authorities and tabloids always blamed the young and the under classes, the punks and the underbelly of modern society. The outcasts and the loners. But if you actually read the headlines, heard the true stories, invariably, in fact almost without exception it was the man next door. The scout leader, the nurse, the bank clerk, the judge, the millionaire, the head of the child protection unit. The unmasked monsters were in reality, the ‘you never would have guessed it’ man or woman. Nearly always. The ones hidden in the camouflage of a ‘nice life’ were the ones that committed the crimes from the absurd to the most heinous. Strange people were often blamed as a smoke screen, using their differences to incite a hostility and distrust, while the ones hiding out in the mass of The Middles got on with the real crimes of the day. The Middles were blinded to the obvious.

  Rarely was it a complete obvious weirdo. That is why it made such big news when it was, and this is what ‘they’ wanted everyone to believe; that there were monsters, and bogey men and strange folk hiding in the shadows, ready to pounce on you if you strayed from the flock. If you didn’t follow the rules. Stay in the boundaries. Play the game.

  But in reality it was here, among The Middles, where the evil hid and they hid well.

  It always shocked and amazed Gabe that the real truth of it all was, that for all the world’s problems, it was far more likely that you would be killed, hurt, maimed, raped, used and abused by someone that you already knew, usually more often than not, by someone that you actually loved. By someone that was supposed to love you. Now how messed up was that? Friends and family members, your nearest and dearest.

  Gabe thought the majority of The Middles probably did nothing wrong and there were probably some good, kind intelligent and creative ones among them but they too disappeared in the wave of them all, the sea of them. They were tricked so as not to appear very outstanding at all. That was what The Middles had done to themselves, banished competition and made everyone the same so even their brilliant could not shine. They gave credence and celebrity to the ordinary, to the talentless. Real talent and perhaps even genius had been ignored and had to go and get a job on the till at Tesco or serve happy meals at the McDonalds on the ring road for minimum wage and forced to deal with middle management. All that middle management created by and for The Middles. All those name tags to pin on themselves so that they could pretend that they weren’t really just a number.

  Gabe got even more despondent thinking about how many potential great scientists, talented artists and free thinkers of the twenty-first century had been overlooked, drugged and trodden down in a misguided attempt to make none of the really average to weak among The Middles feel bad about themselves. They had invented normal and average to wrap themselves up warm in, a one size that fits all, but it was a false blanket, a false crutch. They had bitten off their noses to spite their faces in the grandest of senses.

  Gabe and his gang didn’t like anyone really and mostly, despite all of their justifications; it was simply because nobody liked them. And that was how these things worked.

  I’ll like you if you like me. I won’t like you if you don’t like me. I will hate you if you hate me. Do you love me? Well then I might just love you back. But then again I might not as love rarely follows any kind of rules.

  Gabe had realised something that he thought was almost as near to being a truth as it was possible.

  Gabe had made up his mind. If no one liked him then, sod the lot of them.

  “Are we ready to rock and roll then?” Johnny the natural born leader.

  “Yeah let’s do it.”

  Chapter 8

  The van was hidden in Dave’s garage. Dave’s mum knew better than to ask them what they were up to. She had lived through this sort of activity for so many years that she was an expert at turning a blind eye and a deaf ear. The least she knew the better, even if she always knew perfectly well what was going on. She just noted the time on the clock, just in case an alibi was needed, and she just carried on with what she was doing. Another round of washing to go put on the line before she could have a break and stop for a minute for a cup of tea and some biscuits. She kept her mind busy with looking forward to her Alanon meeting later, where she would have a chance to hear the sound of her own voice.

  “Where the fuck did you get this?” Franks eyes nearly popped out.

  “Does it matter? Friend of a friend and all that. I got papers, you want to see ‘em?” Dave shot back, eyebrows raised.

  “No, no. Don’t worry Dave.” Gabe realised that they were better off not knowing.

  There was a radio inside and not much else.

  “Ok so this is the plan. Frank goes up on to the walls overlooking the area and Gabe, you just sit in the van with the ignition running ok. If you hear from any of us, just drive ok?”

  “Drive where?”

  “Erm, drive where? Just come back here ok?”

  Gabe was beginning to think that this master plan was not very well thought out at all. He had an exam after lunch and he didn’t need this. But it felt a bit too late to back out now. And Gabe also realised that this van would be perfect for transporting his art works down to the school. He did need one last favour.

  Johnny told Dave and Frank to get in the back of the van and he jumped into the passenger seat, leant over and opened the driver’s door from the inside for Gabe. As he did so the interconnecting door to the kitchen slammed shut with a loud bang that scared the shit out of all of them. As one door opened, another one closed firmly shut.

  Sitting in the van in his required spot, with the engine running, Gabe opened the car window and lit a cigarette from the packet Johnny had left in a vain attempt to look a little less conspicuous and obvious. He could see Frank in the distance, squatting up on the wall and vaguely hidden behind the leaves of a tree. Gabe had no idea where the others had disappeared to, somewhere down the back garages of an old run down
estate off the ring road.

  What the hell am I doing here? The thought kept turning over in Gabe’s head. He felt paranoid, he could see a CCTV camera and there were quite a few odd looking people about. Gabe knew he shouldn’t be here, he should have said, ‘No!’ Gabe just had a really bad feeling on him, almost like a premonition that this was all going to end badly. He felt sick to the gills and the tobacco smoke wasn’t helping either. Everyone looked like a potential undercover cop or worse. He had promised himself he was going to change but what if it was all too late now, that this was it. Today would be the day that they got caught or that today would be the start of the rest of his life entrapped in the four walls of courts and prison cells. Why was he still with these people? Gabe didn’t feel that great being in his own skin today. How had it come to this?

  They had surpassed anyone’s low hopes for them. For a second, Gabe had a moment of clarity and realised that he was becoming, if he hadn’t already, which he felt sitting here as a getaway driver to a robbery that he undoubtedly already was, exactly what all others had thought or said that he was. He was fulfilling all of their doom filled prophecies and not fulfilling any of his own dreams. Not one of them.

  Gabe tasted the fear and had to get out and half thought about abandoning the van; here and now was a good a time as any. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t leave his friends in the lurch. But now the fear of taking responsibility and running his own life was at a level that was below this level of fear he had living this sort of life.

  After today he would focus on the sculpture, The Exhibition and nothing else. Gabe knew that the other art students would already be setting up their art work, arguing over their little spaces, unlike Gabe who wouldn’t set up until the last minute. He didn’t like the idea of leaving his paintings in the school hall, showing off before the big event. There was no need. Gabe also couldn’t bear the thought of having to hang around with the others that were exhibiting, banging on about some bullshit or other. Feigning praise that the other exhibitors crap was good, buying into all that installation nonsense. Gabe knew himself well enough to know that, under all the pressure he was under at the moment, it would wind him up so much that he would want to do something dramatic. Something totally out of character, like throw the other artwork, (that was actually just a brick labelled ‘mind’), through the other art work, (that was in fact just a plate of glass labelled ‘conscience’). Just the thought of it filled him with a satisfaction. But more than likely, he would just suppress these feelings and make himself ill. Or worse, just give up. Take his own paintings down and go home.

  He couldn’t afford to give up, not now. All he had was his art. He sensed that his art was his only ticket out. The Exhibition, Gabe had decided, believed even, would be the crossroads and the difference between success and failure.

  Gabe threw his cigarette out the window. He didn’t usually like to litter, but the road he was parked on was like one big open trash can.

  Gabe remembered the envelope that Gina had given him this morning and he took it out of his pocket and tapped it on the steering wheel half a dozen times before he just ripped the top off it. Opening it, he realised that there was not just a photo but a folded piece of paper and another scrap of paper.

  Gabe held the photo and took a good look at his father for the very first time.

  Of course it was his father. It was like looking at a photo of himself but a bit older and in a place he had never been to. The photo looked dated and his father was dressed in all black leather biker gear, but it was Gabe’s genes for sure. On the scrap of paper there was an address, an address in this city. His father’s address? Maybe? Unfolding the last piece of paper gave Gabe the biggest shock of all. It was a pencil drawing; beautiful, fine, energetic and stunning. But the most shocking thing about it was how uncannily similar it was to the sort of thing that Gabe drew and painted. It was not one of Gabe’s drawings, he knew that, but it could have been. He recognised it but at the same time he had never seen it before in his entire life. It was a life drawing of a woman but with wings.

  The questions in Gabe’s mind came thick and fast. Did he know? Had Gina told him? Had he seen Gabe’s art work? Gabe took another look at the photograph and he knew he had to see if he could find him. He needed to go and talk to this man. This stranger that was like looking into a mirror image of himself. It was all so familiar and at the same time, so completely new.

  Gabe angled the rear-view mirror to take a look at himself, to compare his own face to the one in the picture. But all he saw and thought was...You look a mess! It was one thing not wanting to fit in, another looking like a total tramp. If they got some money today, he was going to go immediately and buy some new clothes and do something about his hair. Something that made him look better, that suited him a bit more, that would make more of an impact. Something that would help him to change. It was time for action. For Grace, for The Exhibition, for so many things. And now too, for his dad.

  Gabe was miles away when sudden, heavy banging on the back doors of the van was the signal he needed to put the van into gear. Johnny and Dave scrambled into the back and Gabe saw Frank stand up from his hiding place on the wall and give a thumb up and disappear. Seconds later, he reappeared around the back of the van almost skipping and he jumped in too.

  “Go! Go! Go! GO man!” Dave and Johnny’s faces were red and beaming with the thrill. Gabe had to wait for Frank as he tried repeatedly to get the van door to shut properly. It was a farce, thought Gabe and he could have just giggled, if he wasn’t so scared. The door was still not shut fully when Frank looked like he’d put his all into it so the others grabbed Frank to sit down with them and finally, Gabe put his foot down on the accelerator and drove off and away from the scene of the crime.

  Back at Dave’s, the four of them sat in the back of the van going through their loot. It was an alright haul, a few thousand quid and a few easily saleable things, but nothing massive. Enough but not great. The big cardboard box that Johnny had been so excited about just turned out to be a dead weight full of books and old clothes.

  “We must have missed the big one but they’ll know now that they ain’t safe and that’s half the war won. When the big boys find out that Alistair can’t even keep his own shit safe, they’re gonna be coming to me begging.” Johnny was chuffed with himself.

  “Or guns blazing,” Dave said complete with pistol fingers.

  “Don’t,” Frank was looking distraught, “just don’t!”

  “Take a chill pill Franky boy, I know what I’m doing.”

  Johnny gave the boys their cash, a grand each; not bad for a morning’s work. Easy money they all agreed but Gabe could feel the cash in his pocket and the words banging in his head that he just couldn’t ignore were...Dirty money. And you couldn’t save ‘dirty money’ you had to get rid of it. You had to spend it as soon as possible.

  Chapter 9

  Gabe found himself standing in the middle of a huge shop, the sort of trendy, fashion conscious hip shop that was his worst nightmare. He knew that he didn’t have the option of trying anything on, nor the desire to spend the rest of the morning in here when he had an exam to do in a few hours.

  He stood in front of a rail of shirts and held each one up to himself, one by one. He had no idea. The fussy and flowery stuff looked awful, the green not so bad and the black looked ok, he thought. Is this why men shop with women or people do it in groups? Gabe wondered. How the hell do you choose from all this? Gabe scanned around the store and it just seemed to have racks and racks of clothes. Could they really all be that different? And there were lots of mirrors, enough mirrors for Gabe to see every angle of himself in bright strip light. Gabe remembered why he hated this experience so much. The security guy caught his eye so Gabe picked up a black jacket that was hanging on the rail in front of him, more to look like he was actually here to buy some clothes which he was, than because he liked it. Gabe didn’t know what he liked. Gabe laughed to himself at the stoned looking,
security guard who now seemed to only have interest in staring at him. Please, Gabe thought. This guy was overweight, old and very unhealthy looking. If he had to make a run for it, Gabe reckoned he would be home with his feet up before this guy reached the end of the road. But Gabe had money, he wasn’t going to make a run for it. For once, he was a bona fide customer.

  Gabe put the jacket on and zipped it up under his chin. It was black, it had a hood and it had lots of pockets. Fashionable? Gabe had no idea, checking the price tag it seemed a bit pricey but it was comfortable and it accommodated the wings well. A woman walked past, blonde and slim but she must have been least thirty years old and she gave him a wink. Gabe immediately and involuntarily blushed and lowered his head but a voice in his head confirmed, ‘Sold!’

  He had the cash but not the time nor the privacy to try every damn thing on. He would definitely get the black jacket and then he thought, Sod it! Why not wear all black? Less hassle, more professional, more striking! How much easier would it be to always wear the same colour? No need to ever clash ever again. Genius! And wasn’t that what all the designers of all the fabulous clothes wore themselves? Grace only ever wore black clothes and she might even take notice of him if he was a bit more stylish like her. Dressing all in black, there had to be something in that.

  The clock was ticking, the security guard was watching and Gabe was feeling hot and bothered so he just grabbed a couple each of everything he needed in black. Black shirts and t-shirts, black socks, jeans and jumpers. Everything black! Done.

  Gabe dumped the heap at the till.

  The man on the till, that Gabe judged to be about the same age as him and probably a part-time model or something, was wearing almost full make up and had bright blue hair. As he ran Gabe’s items through the system he informed Gabe of the must-have, last-minute purchases, the special-offers this week, the buy-one-get-one-free. This week it was hair dye and eye liner for men, in any colour you desired; red, orange, green, pink, blue, white, black.