WHAT WE CALL THINGS (a.k.a. Read This Carefully...Trust Me...)

Names always seem to escape me. 
They must remember you from something truly horrific then, someone said. Of course I know their real name, I'm just calling them someone.
Don't be silly, I said, I'm much better with titles.
Titles? Someone chortled. I don't know how they managed it but it was a pure, wholehearted chortle with the right inflection and everything. Titles aren't impressive, they said, you can distinguish between a male and a female, a single woman and a married woman - shocker. Isn't that cruel though? Making a woman establish her marital status?
That's what Ms is all about, I believe. I said  this with a slight nod of one-upmanship but then realised that this argument was actually fucking ancient.
Well it is a can of worms, someone said.
True, I said, but how about the way we turn titles into contractions of themselves? Why is everybody okay with that?
Like Dr and PC?
Well not PC, that's an acronym. 
We're both talking about police constables, yes?
Yes. I rolled my eyes. It pisses someone off because they can't do it themselves.
And we always take the first and last letter of the word, don't we? Someone leant back. The title, I mean. There's always an 'r' involved somewhere.
In the big ones, absolutely. In the popular ones.
Always two letters too. Or three.
I flicked the concept down the unfurling trail of my mind. Two letters. Most two-letter words are prepositions, the ones with vowels anyway: to, on, of, in. There is 'by' of course, how could I forget by? The only preposition without vowels. Titles don't have vowels, none of the ones I know. And actual names? Jo. That was all I could think of, that's the only one that ever comes immediately to mind. It's a contraction, a nickname. All other two-letter names are nicknames really. I don't like any of them, they're all jarring. I didn't tell someone this, it seemed like they would hive-mind with me again.
I have a name, you know, someone said.
I know, I said.
I'm just saying because you never actually use it.
Well, I can't remember it, can I?
I suppose what you're trying to say is that I should just be happy to be known by you, someone said, to be acknowledged.
Be happy that you're someone, I said, I'm only ever someone until you know me, same goes for everyone else. You're someone to me always. I want to preserve you in that state.
I suppose that's quite beautiful. Actually.
Yes it is. I then stood up. Even though it is just a pronoun. 
As I left I heard another typical thing from that typical someone. I believe it was: I'm a pro. I hurried away before the inflection could rise.

01/01/2014 - LOTS OF LITTLE SECONDS

Lots of little seconds that drive by in Italian trucks – they say it’s like something we heard when I could still go back inside the questions, maybe later. Why not take the car on the left? Why not let the foe go and stick to the villain instead? They say you know where you are with him, sat somewhere atop a vendetta bridge with your legs dangling down over the provocative dead. The shop owners want to keep you in hiding but you’re making it hard for them with your American GI speedsters and your maleficent basket wielders. She was a beauty with brown acres but we keep her in mind for all forms of orange caressing, she is the only one who can manipulate the axe in such a way. The bottles they bring would bring a tear to the eye of most stricken girls with their nightsticks and just wanting to pay attention becomes a task of drinking whiskey whilst giving off airs of the sober man with a ribbon in his hair on a dare.

What is wrong? I don’t believe in daughters that carry their own bruises on their own shoulders and let them hobble the beady curtains via pathological invention within the borders of braced permission. Come this Sunday and see the pub signs march out their names in golden grass and green sands. Come out of your hovel and let your car exhaust sputter for the sake of the windshield which doesn’t see so much clouding as it used to. The silver platter has laces and button-up issues that would cause a fugitive to seek out letter owners for their smooth, circular faces. Look up and say thank you or else you will receive the worst cold that a lifetime could preserve. They could break you and probably plan to, either on or across rocky terrain. Your shirt is riding up in the crotch and that’s normal when the girls go off in a tizzy.

Save it for the pick up, save it for the furry fists to implement with matter-of-fact starters. Please don’t hurt Adrian any further than is deemed humanely necessary. I am a depressed switch that tells the children to stop in black showman numbers and wait their turn. Get the violence out of the way and, no matter your height restrictions, the new year is good for you, as good as the breadth of your socks on your worst day.

All this falling about is gregarious and involves elaborate headdresses that I wouldn’t even consider whilst in delicately-toed company. You are exempt from the party because then the ends would justify the means and the wheelchair wouldn’t have to go anywhere anyway. The tunes start up again and we all have settle down for the sake of the old respirator in the back of the dentist’s. This is a wedding band and this is the strand of the year that is waiting to be pulled out. The days want to make love to you and yours.

31ST DECEMBER

When he arrived, Ben was already sat at the table folding a paper aeroplane. He took his seat and watched his old friend creasing the middle at crooked angles. He couldn’t remember ever showing Ben his technique for making aeroplanes, his old technique.

‘Annabel managed it then,’ Ben eventually said.

‘I suppose she did.’

‘Well, if she’s good at anything, it’s manipulating. Always has been, you’ll remember.’

‘I didn’t know her very well before.’

Ben glanced up. ‘A master of manipulation. Or is it a mistress?’

‘Maybe madam.’

Ben laughed. ‘They’ve got me bang to rights before you ask. I did it.’

‘But why did you do?’

‘He stole my dog tags; beat the shit out of me with his mates. Then I saw him at the bus shelter. All alone. I didn’t need more than that.’

There was a silence. He tried not to look directly at Ben or his handcuffs. Instead he reached out for the aeroplane. ‘May I?’

‘Go on then.’

He unfolded the wings and then smoothed out the middle crease. He made the overall shape smaller but lighter. When he was done he held it up.

‘But will it fly?’ Ben said.

            He smiled.

30TH DECEMBER

            He let Annabel walk ahead of him as they passed the empty duck pond. He hadn’t quite managed to wipe the sleep from his eyes yet.
            ‘Is he doing all right?’ he said.
            ‘Yes but its Ben.’
            ‘I get it. I remember his outbursts at school.’
            ‘Didn’t he knock over one of those big tables in art class once?’
            ‘And marched off down the hallway humming Ride of the Valkyries.’
            ‘He’d been on a war movie binge.’ she dashed a pebble across the water. ‘I think.’
            He considered touching her arm but kept his hands in his coat pockets. Feeling a loose button, he pulled it out and passed it to her. ‘To throw,’ he said.
            Annabel smiled and moved further up the pond. ‘So you’ve been feeling depressed, is that it?’
            ‘I suppose so. It’s more a lonely thing though. When I realise that I’m alone.’
            ‘Then perhaps you should see Ben. He’s getting sick of me and dad constantly visiting.’
            ‘I’d certainly like to. It’s just its hard. I can go out but not for very long.’
            She turned to him. ‘Visiting hours aren’t very long.’
            He nodded and watched fresh ripples. The pebble landed on the bank.

29TH DECEMBER

            He refreshed the internet article on his computer. He read it again, word for word, just in case he'd somehow got it wrong. When he was satisfied that both the surname and date were correct he pulled out a slip of paper with Annabel's phone number on it.

            'Hello?' she said.

            'Hi. Is this Annabel Tyler?'

            'It's you then.'

            'Yes. I thought I saw you the other day in Bright and Earl. Was that you?'

            'Yes.'

            'So how are you?'

            'I'm fine. But it is rather early.'

            'Oh, sorry. Yes, it's...sorry.'

            'You're ringing about Ben, aren't you?'

            He clicked off the webpage. 'I just read.'

            'You just read? Christ, it's been a year!'

            'I haven't been right.'

            'What do you mean?'

            'I just...I dunno, I just haven't been right.'

            'You must've had something bad then. They're still talking about Ben on the street.'

            'I don't get out much. Yesterday was the first day in a while. Look, can we talk? Like I said, I've only been able to read about it.'

            'In person?'

            He gulped. 'Yes. If you like.'

            'I have work today. How about tomorrow?'

            'Okay.'

            'The park?'
            'Okay. Sorry. Bye.' He put down the phone. He breathed out.

28TH DECEMBER

            'And is that the receipt?'

            'Oh, yeah.' he passed it across to the customer service worker.

            A cacophony of beeps started up. He turned his head to yawn.

            'Hey,' a voice spoke up beside him, 'Just cleaned up the condiments aisle. Joe told me to tell you.'

            'Right,' the customer service worker said.

            He glanced up at the sales assistant. He mouthed 'Annabel' though she wasn't looking at him. She left as quietly as she had appeared.

            '£5.20, sir.' the customer service worker held out the exact change.

            'Cheers,' he said, slowly pulling out his wallet. Money still in hand, he walked away.

            An hour later, he was still in the shop. He scrutinised the electronics section, eventually pulling out a self-stirring mug.

            'I was fairly certain it was him.' he recognised Annabel's voice instantly, even from behind a shelf.

            'And you didn't say anything?' the other voice was husky but feminine.

            'Can't, can I? He's a customer.'

            'Rules don't work like that. So he knew your brother?'

            'They fell out a year back.'

            'But he knows?'

            'It's public knowledge.'

            He replaced the mug on the shelf and moved onto the next aisle.

            'What's happened to Ben?' he eventually said.

27TH DECEMBER (a.k.a. Part 1 of a 200-Word Episodic Short Story - just go with it, until New Year's Eve...)

            He slid the bowl of cereal out of the way and picked up the remote control. The toy helicopter was in the middle of the dining room table, one of its rotor blades still slightly crooked at the tip. That was how it had come out of the box, the blade jammed into one corner without thought of padding or appropriate packaging design. He considered straightening it out again but flipped the 'on' switch instead.

             The little green light blinked on the side of the helicopter. He pushed down on the activation button and the rotor span fast; maintaining a straight, steady circular motion. Carefully he pushed up one of the analogue sticks. The helicopter dithered briefly in the air before collapsing on its side. He stood it upright and turned it off.

            He grabbed the box and opened it up, pocketing the receipt. He tried to give each of the helicopter blades enough room to hang low inside. The lid wouldn't shut properly so he left it and finished the four soggy spoonfuls of cereal.

            After washing it up he climbed back into bed. The shops were probably open but he hadn't slept right. Boxing Day had hurt.