short stories...

..that won't bore thee a short story a day helps you work less and play

Friday, March 11, 2005

(story for yesterday) beetlebum.

there's this guy i used to hang 'round at school with, goes by the name of amos boreland. despite the unfortunate choice of christian name, which seemed chosen only to enhance the terribleness of the one that followed, amos boreland was the coolest kid in my class.
he had everything first; first bike, first fight, first choice when we picked sides, first kiss, first girlfriend, first to drink alcohol, first to have sex, and so it went on.
we had a weird kind of friendship, it was perhaps perhaps on mutual hatred rather than mutual love. yet for some reason we never quite shook each other off. so even by sixth form, we still pretty much hung out with the same people and therfore each other. until the day we went to cambridge.
you probably have heard of the strawberry fair. if not, then it was and probably still is, an annual day of music drinking and lounging by the river, with hippies, crusties, indie kids, pop kids and other studenty types. i think it was held around midsummer.
amos had driven a crowd of us up in his volkswagen camper van... do you see what i mean now? that sort. which sounds pretty cool and good of him, i can admit that now. but the guy was such a fucking fascist about it all. he'd constantly be hinting that we hadn't thanked him enough. not only that, he'd charge us all the most extortionate amount of petrol money, so much so that it would probably would have been cheaper to get the train. but, if you want to hang out with the cool kids, there's always a price to pay. anyway, to get to the point it was sometime very late in the night, and me and this other guy had gone back to the van as the evening had gotten a little too drunken for the both of us. the other lot had stayed out. we'd forgotten to ask for the keys and by the time we only realised this when we got back to the van. with an amazing amount of luck we tried each of the doors, and the driver door had not been locked. we practically hugged ourselves with glee. we said goodnight , fell alseep almost immediately, and that should have been that.
the rest of them returned wht=at must have been a few hours later. amos had realised our mistake and had wondered why we had not come back to get the keys. this was in the days before hand-held moobile telecommunication sets had made an appearance. he woke us both up as he could not comprehend how we had got in without them. then i made the mistake of saying that it had been 'his door' that had been unlocked. amos did not make mistakes ever. period. anyone else's door would have been 'typical', but no, not his door. he was starting to get a bit angry and accused us of 'forcing one of the door open', that one that slides along the side. we denied this of course, as it wasn't what had happened, but he was still not happy. we were bothe made to get out of the two beds and had to sleep in the front of the van. within a few hours, the sun was racing thorugh the windsscreen and it was way too hot to get any more sleep. apart from me and my accomplice, they were all more than comfortable and therefore fast asleep in the back. so we made a decision to get the train home, as god knows what the atmosphere would have been like onj the way back, let alone the price of petrol, and i never was friends with amos boreland ever again. amos boreland, what a name.

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