If Only

It has been said that life is still worth living if the night before is still worth the morning after. Personally, I feel that NOTHING is worth the morning after, especially if you were trying to make the night before worthwhile. However, let us not say that parties, of whatever kind, are a bad thing, even though you're likely to be in a state of limbo for anything between 24 and 72 hours after. Because everything has its price. Nothing that's good in life is ever free. The only complaint I have is the whopping rate of interest you pay on your hangover.

You will often hear people after a swinging party say:

"It was a fantastic party, I enjoyed every minute of it!"

Twenty four hours later when asked the same question:

"Party ?! What party?"

The best party you can go to is one where you can come away knowing that you had a good time., not necessarily remembering HOW you enjoyed it, but at least having that conscious knowledge that you had a good time. That is the happy medium. There are, however, the two extremes either side.

The first is something everyone will experience at least once in his/her life: the bad party. Or it may even be a good one, except that you, for whatever reason, can't get into the swing of things. You walk around with a face like fizz, making everybody else miserable. Thankfully, if that's the word to use, the only lasting consequence is that the host may never invite you again. That can be resolved with a little tactful explanation (a half pound box of chocolates doesn't go amiss either).

The problem is, if you land in difficulties at the other extreme, you really have got problems. This occurs when the party is really swinging ( usually in a clockwise direction as you see it) and the alcohol is flowing down your throat like water down a drain OR when the party isn't quite so swinging but the alcohol is STILL flowing down your throat like it's going out of fashion. In these situations, there are a number of possible outcomes, none of which are particularly pleasant. The morning after, and indeed, many more mornings succeeding, will herald a chorus of IF ONLY".

Let me take, if I may, the classic example that almost everyone quotes and what the Agony columns in newspapers etc are constantly full of. It is hardly original, but then few things in life ever are. The real problem with this situation is, of course:

"It'll NEVER happen to me!"

Thankfully I have never been in the position to gain first hand experience, but I've come close enough, and I know someone who wasn't quite so lucky.

Picture the scene : a typical house party; lots of friends, booze and loud music. You've been mingling for a couple of hours, sampling the hospitality offered by your host's drinks cabinet, and you're ready to take on the world. There's quite a few strangers there (friends of friends you hardly recognise). Imagine, at this point that, for the purposes of this illustration, you ( i.e. the reader) are male. The situation and consequences are slightly different from a female point of view.

Anyway, you mingle, and notice that one or two of the strangers are attractive ones. Being a man of the world you walk into their little group and introduce yourself. You join the conversation and try to sound knowledgeable about the subject matter and impress. Things go well. You single out your "victim" and try to detach yourself from the main group with such original quips as ( in a loud enough voice for the entire group to hear but particularly directed at Miss X:

"Would you like a drink? Come and see what there is in the drinks cabinet."

Easy as that. Things are going perfectly, you're on a roll. You've got the whole world in your hands now. You find a (relatively) quiet spot and engage in some intimate small talk, drinking continually. The party is really in full swing now so you ask the host if there is a quieter spot in the house. as you and Miss X have some "important things to discuss". Your amiable host says:

"Of course, the middle bedroom should be quiet enough"

2+2=4, yes?! The bedroom is perfect. Quiet warm and private. The drink is controlling, you do things you might never usually do, or have never had the bottle to do before. Buttons pop easily, zips slide like skates on ice. Precautions? Pah!

You become aware of a thumping, either inside your head or on the bedroom door (usually both). There are muffled shouts from outside. You take your bearings. On the bed. next to you is a (very) partially clothed young girl with your own modesty barely covered. She's asleep (or maybe dead, you can't tell). You dress as quickly as possible, not easy with a swimming head. You rouse Miss X, who also stumbles around trying to find the various articles of clothing that were so carelessly tossed away. You both leave the bedroom. to various cat calls. jeers and whistles. You ignore them. You are occupied by only three things:

1. You can't walk, think or see straight.
2. Oh God, if only I hadn't done this, that and the next thing.
3. 1+1=3 !

There are various endings to such a story. You can be extremely lucky and find that the only thing your activities produced was a questionable reputation for both you and pretty Miss X, who, for some reason, doesn't seem quite so pretty now. Or better still, you could defy all laws and develop a blossoming relationship with Miss X. But if you have the kind of luck I do, you end up in a whole load of extremely hot water, and unfortunately, not just the morning after.

"If only..." can be an expression of genuine remorse or it can be an expression of vehement anger. All depending on your personality, you can express either. If things come to the worst you'll express it in the form of every emotion you have. Such consequences have their own problems, which do not really need to be explored here, but the morning after syndrome, with the "If Only?" symptoms are all too common and need to be examined. Not by me, or any government appointed bigwig or whatever, but by the individual. The only cure I can think of is, not to ban alcohol at parties or become a monk or extremities like that, but the simple adage of moderation in all things, and look before you leap. Yes, be daring, but be careful!

Missing Person

The house was quiet, as it always was on a Saturday night, but tonight there was something more to it, a deathly hush. There was no sound tonight, no hum of the central heating, not even the sound of the neighbours clattering about next door. Something was definitely missing. Unlike yesterday.

Yesterday the house was full of laughter and shouts, full of squeals of delight as everyone opened their Christmas presents. Hugs and kisses, joyful faces exchanging looks of thanks no words could convey. Only yesterday morning.

Then lunch, the Great Christmas Lunch! No one who was there will forget it in a hurry. It wasn't really lunch, more like breakfast, lunch and dinner rolled into one. No one had eaten all morning and everyone was hungry. Nearly everyone.

Eight pairs of knives and forks rattled on the table in mock impatience amid cries of "C'mon, where's the Grub" amongst others. Only seven pairs will rattle next year. Everyone "ooh-ed" and "aah-ed" as the two steaming turkeys came into view. All eyes followed the turkeys to the table. One pair didn't register the longing of the others. Everyone tucked in as the potatoes (roast and mashed), carrots, Brussels, corn, mushrooms and stuffing appeared and disappeared. Everyone that is, except one.

The eyes that didn't long belonged to the body that would not eat. Mum placed a small plateful in front of her. They stared into each other's eyes, a torrent of telepathic communication passing between them.

"You've got to eat something Susie"

"I can't mum, you know I can't. I'll bring it up if I try"

"Please Susie, for the rest of them."

"I can't!"

"It'll make everybody's Christmas Susie. They feel bad enough as it is."

"I can't!"

"PLEASE!"

All without a word spoken.

Many's the exchange been had consisting of those despairing pleas. Ever since I can remember, this conversation, these despairing words have been spoken, sometimes screamed and shouted, every mealtime.

She always seemed to be left out at mealtimes. Not by any doing of ours but by her own choice.

If we ever went out to eat we would be asked:

"Where's Susie? Why isn't she with you?"

Excuses would be made and any enquiries about her health would be met with:

"Oh she's fine, struggling along."

The painful irony of these words was disguised from everyone except those few who knew her well. She looked fine, she looked well, if a little thin, so everyone assumed there was no problem. She was on the mend, soon be as fit as a fiddle! This attitude, although hurtful, was hardly surprising.

"It's not a disease, it's all in the mind!"

It is very hard to convince people otherwise. This attitude, and the contrary knowledge we experienced, multiplied to give a pain even more acute than any suffered by Susie. And Susie suffered. But she didn't just lie back and take it. She struggled hard, painfully hard. All advice from medical specialists was taken to heart and faithfully executed. All to no avail. Gradually she slipped further and further away from us, both physically and mentally; little by little, ounce by ounce.

My own personal heartbreak paled beside the suffering of mum, and was possibly more harrowing to watch than Susie's own battle. The pain our family suffered, and still suffers, was kept quiet. We suffered in silence.

We too struggled. On more than one occasion, in desperation, we tried to force her to eat. Any observer would have thought we were trying to murder her, such were her screams and wild gesticulations. But she DID think we were murdering her by making her eat. We couldn't do any more than to love her.

She died on Christmas Night, quickly and quietly, relatives thankfully packed off home. She died the best way possible, although she died a thousand deaths along the way. She was always with you, but never there. She never made a noise, but now the house seems quiet without her. Too quiet. Something missing. A missing person.

New Friends

When I look back now, it seems so unreal. For some strange reason these past events take on something of a dreamlike quality. Details are unequivocal in my mind and yet, somehow, the whole thing seems hazy, as if it never happened at all.Gary and Stephen had always got on. Ever since primary school, when they had been thrown together as shy, nervous young boys in a whole new world of school, they seemed to hit it off. Which was surprising to a lot of people. It soon became apparent to both teachers and pupils alike that Gary was just that little bit more confident than everyone else. Gary was never short of a quick gag during class, always had something to talk about, and was friends with almost everyone.Stephen however, was not so confident or outgoing. He kept himself to himself and was largely ignored at first. He tried to be "one of the boys" but never found himself able to fit in. Somehow the two became friends, maybe something to do with opposites attracting, and Stephen broadened his circle of friends through Gary. He also increased his enemies. Gary's one fault was that he teased mercilessly anyone that had something to be teased about, and he drove quite a few people away from himself and Stephen. Some of Gary's confidence rubbed off on Stephen over the years and he came further and further out of his shell and developed a personality and "following" of his own.They had become very close friends. They knew each other's ins and outs and did most things together, but as they progressed through high school, the cosiness lost a bit of its warmth. Both of them met new friends, did different things, and didn't have quite as much in common.You see Gary had developed into the centre of attention, everything revolved around him, or so he thought. He had worked his way into a position of "power". What he did meant things. If you were friends with Gary you were "in". Stephen though, however hard he tried, could not achieve the same kind of attraction as Gary, and he always felt he was playing second fiddle, and naturally resented it. But he still went on in the shadow of Gary. At least he was behind him and not in his way.Anyone in Gary's way was lucky to live to regret it. He didn't just tease anymore; he didn't just make fun if the opportunity arose. He was calculating and heartless, especially if he particularly disliked someone. And if they had a particularly indefensible weakness then they were doomed. It wasn't just Gary's peers who came in for the "treatment" either. Teachers were subjected to his sarcasm and cold wit quite often.I particularly remember a young teacher who started at our school who had unusually large ears, which also stood out, so that, as Gary put it, he had a "head like a satellite". The poor man got quite a bit of stick about it from everybody, but it was, in general, light hearted and without malice. But Gary disliked him intensely.He went out of his way to make the teacher's life miserable. It started off with Gary bringing in an elephant's trunk. He presented it to the teacher and told him he could stand in for Dumbo. Gary continually disrupted classes like this and eventually drove the man to leave the school. Rumours circulated about a suspected nervous breakdown.Stephen was also the despair of the teachers but for entirely different reasons. Gary, for all his faults, was very good academically. Stephen was also very good in his class work but for some inexplicable reason, in tests and exams he was awful. It wasn't for lack of trying either. He spent a good many hours in revision before exams. He didn't fail, which was at least one blessing. but he never passed particularly well either.But despite all of their differences, Gary and Stephen remained reasonable friends. That was of course, until six months ago.For about a month previously, relations between the two were "cool", and I sensed that one of them was close to cracking. The catalyst arrived in the form of a Physics exam. It was one of the semi-important type i.e. an exam that would act as a good indicator to possible future qualifications but was not one that had to be passed at all costs. What happened was that Gary maintained his 80% level but Stephen managed 96%. Considering the fact that Stephen was usually lucky to make 60%, it raised a few eyebrows. None more so than Gary's.In the common room, after the Physics period, there was almost a full house, with everyone discussing whatever they were want to discuss. Gary launched the pre-emptive strike as Stephen walked into the room."Ho! Here comes the Physics genius. Forget the last 4% of the solution paper did we? Or did we deliberately leave it out to make it look good?"The volume level in the room dropped noticeably but Stephen just gave a mirthless smile and came to talk to me."Hey! Are we lesser mortals not good enough for you any more?"Stephen remained ignorant for a few seconds, then replied with:"Jealousy will get you nowhere!""The only thing I'm jealous of is the fact that you got away with it!""With what?". Stephen spat the words."The answer sheet!""Just because I beat you, you think I cheated! My we have got a high opinion of our self!""Don't you think a 36% rise is a little unusual?". Gary's tone was patronising and dripping sarcasm."Don't you think Susan's pregnancy was a little unusual?". It was common knowledge but it had the desired effect."At least I've got the ability!". Gary was now getting angry. "Unlike some people I know who had an operation to prevent it!"The room silenced. Gary's scarlet face gradually began to pale in the ensuing, suffocating silence, as he realised the enormity of his statement. Gary had just severed the last frail bond that had kept the two of them together, secrecy, and was already regretting it.I could almost visualise Stephen's nerve go quietly "ping!". Gary's face was now ashen and the room was still silent. Nobody had moved."I'll bet Angela wishes you'd had the same," said Stephen, just loud enough for everyone to hear."She'll never forget your "ability" will she? That kind of thing tends to be imprinted onto the minds of five year old little sisters for life! You never talk about her do you? No! She's in a home now. Of course we can never prove anything. She was too scared to go to court so you were never properly tried. It never made the national newspapers and your father made sure the local paper never breathed a word, him being the editor!"The silence seemed to deepen further. Gary's face had lost all expression, Stephen's was now scarlet and intense. Gary got up slowly and walked over towards Stephen, every eye on him, the centre of attention again.One or two of the girls screamed as they saw the blood pour from Stephen's face after I'd managed to separate Gary from him. Stephen wiped his hand across his nose and exaggerated the action of looking at the blood. Gary was writhing in my hold, the girls still screaming, as a teacher came into the room and took Stephen to first-aid. Another teacher came for Gary.I can still remember the blood on Stephen's face and the force of the struggle I had with Gary, but it seems so very distant. If the stain wasn't STILL on the common room carpet I'd be inclined to believe it had never happened.We all left school about 4 months ago, everyone going their separate ways. A few of us, myself included, went on to university and are now studying for our respective exams. Everyone disowned Gary after Stephen's revelations.Silly really but true none the less. I thought it would be difficult for Gary to start university but he found a new friend, someone he could relate to and trust. I've been an innocent bystander in all the happenings, an outsider looking in. But it's heart-warming to watch Gary study for his Theoretical Physics with Stephen.

The Needle

The icy grey buildings seemed to spring out at him from around the corner as the taxi took the bend that would lead him to his fate. The snow that littered the roads and paths had partially cleared, leaving frozen, dirty white patches surrounding the area. As they drove into the complex, the buildings darkened and loomed out at him as he passed. The gentle hum of the car engine and the warmth of its heater, Cosseted him in his comfortable seat; a womb he didn't want to leave. But the time had come.

The driver stopped outside one of the cold, bare buildings that used to be army barracks and now constituted a hospital. His stomach lurched painfully.

"Out you get then," said his mum. "Not long to go now"

She smiled cheerfully as she said this, at the same time 'aiding' his departure from the taxi by nearly dislocating his left arm. He mustered a watery smile.

He saw it, but he didn't want to see it; at the same time he couldn't bear not to see it. He saw the sterile, ashen faced surgeon bounce through the theatre doors at the same time as the needle came towards his arm. He felt violently sick. He retched mentally, uncontrollably, but didn't move an inch. His mind fuzzed. He was going to faint! He wanted to faint but he couldn't; he was flat on his back already.

He felt the sharp pain as it pierced his arm, then the dull throb as the injected fluid circulated within him. Oh how he wanted to die. Oh how he... wanted... he wanted.. he... .

The ring of the rapidly opening starched curtains made him start. Or at least he thought they had. Maybe it was.. no! What was that? Maybe it was the.. OOOH GOD! All he knew was that there was a pain, a pain that rifled his entire body from the base of his spine to almost every nerve ending he possessed. He closed his eyes again in a vain attempt to obliterate the ache. His head was fuzzed. What WAS that above his bed? He lapsed again into a healing sleep.

"Plucky young kid if nothing else," said the doctor as he examined the dressing on his patient's back. "Quite a big operation. He'll be sore for a while yet but he'll soon know the benefits"

He passed on, leaving his patient dreaming, blissfully unaware.

He wasn't sure when he'd woken, or even if he had. There was someone there, at the side of his bed. He knew they were there, he could hear them, he could see them. At least, he could see SOMEthing. There were voices, so many voices.

As he stepped gingerly into the taxi (aided somewhat more gently by his mum) he turned to the low, grey, ugly building that had protected him from the worst of the winter weeks. He looked away, knowing he'd have to return again sometime. He knew it wasn't over yet, even if it was only tests to check on his spinal column where they'd taken the tumour from (they finally told him two days ago). He'd heard something about "minor complication.. possibility of internal bleeding.. take it easy... nothing strenuous" He didn't worry about that. Doctors were always saying things he didn't really understand.

The train rattled along, carrying its passengers from one end of the country to another. One of the was Stephen. Another was a man called Ian. They were sitting opposite each other in the carriage. They were soon talking about this and that; football and stuff. Stephen's mum just slept. The train was fairly empty, it was mid-day, but that didn't keep the death toll down.

Stephen heard the bang. It was like a cannon retort; loud. He felt his head bounce off something or someone. There was glass, bodies, luggage, snacks, coffee, everything flying. Screams. People were screaming, yelling, moaning. He saw Ian. He was perfectly still. He saw the small bracelet that identified him as a diabetic. He saw the instructions on the small plastic packet. His back ached. His head was fuzzed. He could hear voices, so many voices. He saw it, but he didn't want to see it; at the same time he could not bear not to see it. The needle.

The small syringe full of insulin was in his hand in front of him. He felt violently sick. He retched, this time very physically. He felt cold. Oh God, his back.

He read the instructions again. He was going to faint! He wanted to faint. NO! He wouldn't. He couldn't!

He could almost feel the sharp pain as he pierced Ian's arm and the dull throb as the insulin circulated. He knelt over the still motionless body. His back ached terribly. His head was fuzzy again. The moaning around him wouldn't stop. Why won't it stop?

He was moaning now himself. Oh please make them stop... make them... please... oh stop... Oh!"

As we commit this young body to the ground, we ask the Lord to remember his suffering and his bravery ...... Ian stood with bowed head in the cemetery. His arm was still in plaster. He could still feel the throb of pain where he'd been injected. It hadn't been professionally done, the ambulance men and the doctors were horrified at the way he'd been injected.

But he was alive. Sore, but alive. Stephen wasn't. Ian knew, he knew. It had to have been Stephen. There was no-one else in the compartment except Stephen's mother and she suffered the same fate as Stephen.

Ian raised his head and gave thanks.