From the Treeline We Came Running

I don’t know why it’s the first thing I recall, but I vividly remember thinking about my trainers as I ran that day. See, what they’d done is just beneath the shoe’s sole, the rubber was in a kinda cross-hatch pattern to keep the heel supported. I know that now, but at the time I thought they did it – get this – so that when the flimsy fabric soles wore out, you had no choice but to replace em’ right away. They’d dig right into your skin if you didn’t. Used to give you the worst blisters you’d ever seen in your life and when you’re moving like that; all junked up on adrenaline and scared out your wits, that’s exactly the kind of thing that really sticks with ya. You ain’t got time to think of anything else, it’s just what hurts and what doesn’t and if it don’t hurt, you keep movin’. Darn right I got a new pair of Jordan’s after that! I reckon my Ma would’a bought me the whole damn shop when I met her at the station, and she couldn’t have afforded none of it mind you.

Jesus, what else? Um, you know I obviously wasn’t thinking it at the time we – well yeah, didn’t have the time! But now I tend to find myself thinking about the stupid bastards who did the whole damn thing. I don’t like to get too involved with media or that sorta thing so I couldn’t even tell you their names these days. They’ve been all locked up for years anyhow, might as well save the memory for people who I can talk to, you know? But yeah anyway, I can only remember one of their faces oddly enough. There were three of em’ and they were pretty savvy too with keeping us in the dark about the whole thing. They didn’t want us you know – knowing their identities; their faces especially and we laugh about it these days because they used goddamn underwear to cover themselves! I always thought that was just mad, ain’t it? You’re telling me you’re gonna spend all that time planning it all out, rifle an’ all, then do it with a pair of boxer-shorts over your nose?

So yeah there was one face I saw. The voices are another thing entirely I mean – we’re talking three big-ass men here and I was what, eleven? Near scared us to death just with their damn yelling. But the face I saw didn’t look nearly like all them mugshots you see on the news. Cause they’re always kinda samey, aren’t they? They’re either big boys, all kinda round and pudgy lookin’, or they look like they haven’t eaten in God knows how long. Purple around the eyes and bony cheeks. But yeah this lad just looked like a teenager, and I think it threw me off a bit because, I reckon I thought criminals had to look like criminals. They had to look a bit off or like they’ve got a little somethin’ else happening behind the eyes, you know what I mean? Something not quite right.

This bloke was just a young man.

He was twenty-two, I think they said a few weeks after. Honestly you would’a thought he was twice that if you’d heard how loud the bugger could shout. He must’ve had the energy of a young’un I’ll tell you that much, but it was deep too. Had that sorta throaty sound smokers get when their throats have worn away a little bit. God the man could shout…

Apart from that, I remember being surprised by just how fast I could run. You know, the younger lad with us, he was tripping all over the place and to tell you the truth I was probably stumbling like a drunk myself. But it felt like we were in and out of there in no time at all. Honestly the speed that the youngest fella must’ve been going to keep up with us, he must’ve been exhausted the poor sod. If I’d had half a’ mind I probably would’ve stuck him on my shoulders, but you don’t think about that when you’re a kid really, do ya? You think you’re in the dark, near enough on your own and if you stop, you aren’t gonna get out of there. So we just ran, just like that. Didn’t know where we was going or whos’ was chasing us; just that we needed to be as far away from the godforsaken yelling as possible. And you wanna know how old that little one was at the time? Five. He was five years-old, running for his bloody life. Couldn’t see nothing mind. I mean this was the seventies, couldn’t just switch on your hand-held and shine a torch in front of you. I’m talking pitch-black, no trees or nothing. Five years-old and I mean Jesus – how hard would it have been to just turn around and check on the little lad? Probably would’a be quicker to be honest, the amount of time he spent tripping over his own feet. It just didn’t occur to me.

You know tell a lie, I think when I actually sit down and think about it, that’s the first thing I think of. I had a little brother just a – he would’a been a couple months old or something like that, so I was used to hearing crying. God knows this wasn’t the same though. Cause you can imagine it, can’t you? Running like that with your tail between your bloody legs but when you’re five? I can’t even imagine. And I was there, maybe a couple metres in front of him. Just this constant, horrible wailing sound. If he stopped running or took too long pulling himself out of the dirt when he tripped, that boy thought he was gonna die.

And I was right there.

The funny thing is I’ve got this image stamped in my head of what he must’ve looked like, running like that. Little hands trying to grab the back of my jacket, tryin’ to pull me back so we didn’t leave him behind. It’s made up it… I mean I didn’t look back once. But it’s still there isn’t it? And God, the noise.

I’m sorry. Do you mind if we take a quick break?