New In An Old Town

He was waiting for me that afternoon in the school bike sheds.

 “Yo, Jay.” I said, all casual but actually shitting myself.

He stared while I unlocked my BMX. 

“You think you’re good on that dun’t yuh.” he said.

My pride meant I couldn’t deny it but my fear of being seen as a big head meant I couldn’t agree either. I shrugged.

“You ever bin on a half pipe?” he said.

He knew I had. The shitty local paper had printed a picture of me in a BMX contest. My mother had sent them the story when we arrived from London. 

“A bit.” I said.

“Ever heard of Caractacus?” he said.

This was the thing. He was the most feared kid at school. Sullen and unpredictable with a presence even the teachers were wary of. But he wasn’t thick. I shrugged again.

“He ruled around here. Before the Romans came.” he said.

I nodded, I knew some of the ancient local history by then.

He pointed towards the hills that rose over the town. Even from a distance you could see the undulating shape of the Iron Age fort cut into the earth of the tallest hill.

“Up there is where the last battle was,” he said, his jeering slur replaced by sudden sharpness, “My pa says sovereignty was never ceded.’’ 

He continued: ‘It’s like a half pipe up there, where they dug those big gullies.’

‘Fuck, yeah.’ I said, feigning enthusiasm.

‘I’ll beat you on it.’ he said.

Analogue social post: cafe, Coldale.