Convo Three – Recreation in Nine Conversations

You know those movies that you see where someone is being bullied by someone bigger, richer or more part of the in-crowd? Well, this is what was going on. It was a sunny day in LA and the kids were doing what kids always do on days like that: being bored and looking for something to alleviate the feeling. Trouble and the causing thereof were their chosen outlet.

‘Hey, look at the freak!’

The freak, to be fair, could have been anyone, because we all, if you look hard enough, have something that makes us stand out. It could be that slightly too bright orange coat that your gran insisted on buying you from town when you made the mistake of telling her that you liked the colour (when actually you meant that it would look cool on the cover of an album of psychodelic rock music). It could be the way that your Converse boxing boots are a little too new-looking. Heck, it could even be the way your hair hangs over your eyes a little bit too much.

For Randi, it was the hair.

Wanting to hide was something Randi experienced all her life and hiding behind her fringe was just one way in which she expressed this. Black, straight hacked from left to right, because that’s the way she held the scissors, and just an inch above the end of her perfectly retroussé nose. In fact, she had no reason to hide her face, or her violently violet eyes except for the fact that she felt like doing so.

‘Hey, freak, we’re talking to you!’

Randi didn’t know. She didn’t think of herself as a freak and even if she did, she wouldn’t have noticed anyway. Randi lived in her own world; one that was infinitely more peaceful than the raucous realm of the early twenty-first century. Makes you wonder why she bothered with the fringe, right? Well, there you go: another modern mystery for you to ponder.

She only noticed them when one of them tripped her.

I’ll not dignify them with names. It’s not as if they’re going to be about for much longer anyway. Lets just call them idiots one to three. They were all pretty nondescript anyway, so no loss if I don’t describe them either. Just three idiotic kids intent on being idiotic kids in order to relieve their boredom for a few minutes.

‘Ha ha ha, now you look even more stupid than you did before, freak!’ said idiot one.

While I remember, don’t get on my back about the lack of sparkly dialogue. I mean, we’re talking about idiots here, remember? Just focus on the message, right?

Here’s a fun fact for yah: the term ‘imbecile’ was once used by psychiatrists to mean people with an IQ of between 26 and 50, which was somewhere between ‘idiot’, with an IQ of 0 to 25 and ‘moron’ with an IQ of 51 to 70. So, yeah, to avoid any doubt, I’m not talking about that. They were just straightforward American idiots in the style of Green Day. Google it if you don’t get the reference. I’d put a link in for you but I have to imagine that paperbacks are still alive and kicking by the time you read this. Anything else would be a tragedy.

So, yeah, lets skip forward a bit, because I’m getting a bit bored here, and if I’m losing interest then what’s that going to say about you?

Randi tripped and would have fallen were it not for her hero, Sigmund Carl the Third, or Ziggy as he like to call himself. Even his mother couldn’t be bother to bestow him with the hereditary nomenclature passed down to him from his saintly grand-pater via his borderline abusive and solidly dissipated pater.

Ziggy played guitar. I mean, with a name like that he had to, right? But that had nothing to do with the way he idolised Randi who, typically, did not know he existed. That is, until now.

Imagine some girl swooning and some guy catching her and holding her in that swoon position, with her arms pinned to her side, her back slightly curved and her eyes, with hair fully swept back from her face, gazing upwards into the rapt eyes of her saviour. Well, it was like that.

“Beat it, punks,” said Ziggy; and they did. Sure, there was a bit of back-chat and cat-calling, but neither Ziggy nor Randi noticed. Like I said, he was rapt and she was that kind of a girl.

Ziggy set her, reluctantly because this was actually the first time he’d caught more than the odd glimpse of her face, back on her feet.

‘Erm, thanks,’ said Randi, which was the most she’d said for over a week, her other attempts at conversation with her parents being in the realms of ‘yes’, ‘no’ and ‘maybe’. She then smiled at him.

‘No probs,’ said Ziggy, all aflame with fright, longing and a kind of angst he could only put down to the fact that he was in love with the most beautiful girl in the world who had now turned on her heels and walked away from him as if he didn’t exist.

And that was that for that.

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3 thoughts on “Convo Three – Recreation in Nine Conversations

  1. Pingback: The Idea – Recreation in Nine Conversations | Robert C Day

  2. So creative, Robert, especially this part: “So, yeah, lets skip forward a bit, because I’m getting a bit bored here, and if I’m losing interest then what’s that going to say about you?” ~ I like how you talked to the reader, which isn’t something I see very often.

    Liked by 1 person

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