Free Spud - Learning to Fly by John Van De Ruit

looking meat cleaver and lying on the counter was a gigantic hunk of black meat.
    ‘Springbok,’ he divulged. ‘Poor thing – if only it had clung onto life like it clung onto the roof of my freezer.’ He then asked, ‘How do you like your wildlife, Milton – fried in butter or buggered and boiled?’
    Thankfully, we didn’t have to eat the springbok that’s been doing a Walt Disney in The Guv’s freezer since the late seventies. Instead he offered up eggs and bacon and said that occasionally having breakfast for lunch kept his bowels honest and his stools impressive.
    The Guv then began to remove the entire contents of his fridge in search of some eggs. I strolled through to his living room to take up my usual position in the armchair at the window. I nearly dropped the books I was carrying when I realised that there was another schoolboy sitting in my chair. ‘Rowdy?’ I almost shouted. ‘What are you doing here?’ I was attempting to come across nonchalant but my voice emerged as a strident shout. Rowdy was alarmed by my dramatic entrance and staggered to his feet like he was guilty of a heinous crime.
    He didn’t say anything other than an extremely soft grunt of ‘Sir.’ But it was nevertheless pleasing to see that he was looking at me with fear, awe and respect.
    ‘Milton, you must know Simpson,’ said The Guv as he entered the living room with two bottles of wine and a corkscrew. I informed The Guv that back at the house he was known as Rowdy, which amused my English teacher hugely. Poor Rowdy blushed and grinned sheepishly but true to form said absolutely nothing. It was more than a little weird talking to The Guv in front of the silent Rowdy. He never said a word and observed the conversation like he was watching a tennis match at Wimbledon. The Guv continued like Rowdy wasn’t there except he didn’t offer me any wine, which was a disappointment.
    The conversation then turned to cricket and The Guv was utterly appalled that I was playing for the fifths. ‘Fools!’ he shouted while pacing around his living room like a maniac. ‘Have these pedestrian people never heard of the refined art of leg break bowling?’ The Guv raged on about this being a sign of the times and the end of a golden age in cricket where seductive flight and a rotating ball could melt the miniskirts off buxom women.
    I left early. I didn’t feel comfortable sharing my innermost thoughts and feelings in front of the silent presence at the window. I marched back to the house in a rage. I was angry with The Guv for inviting somebody else to our lunch. I was angry with Rowdy for sitting there like an idiot and not saying a word. I was angry that another Valentine’s Day has come and gone without somebody to share it with.
    21:00 Vern lined up the Fragile Five on the top step of the urinal and spent half an hour saluting at them. The Fragile Five never questioned what they were doing, and returned Vern’s three hundred odd salutes with serious faces and complete concentration.
    Something is up with Vern. After years of watching him closely I’ve come to realise that it’s impossible to know what (or if anything at all) is going on inside his head. But the key is to watch for sudden changes in behaviour. At present his new habits include:
    Drawing hundreds of pictures of my laundry bag
    Shining his shoes constantly
    Putting Roger’s tail in his mouth
    Shooting an imaginary gun at the roof
    Drinking out of his contact lens solution bottle

Wednesday 19th February
    Didn’t sleep very well. My mind was churning about yesterday’s lunch and all the other things that occupy most of the space in my brain. I suppose I can’t blame The Guv for helping a new boy who’s scared and homesick – after all that was me two years ago. It doesn’t feel the same with Rowdy there so perhaps that will be an end to our lunches and our crazy discussions about women, cricket and literature. And perhaps it’s also time to accept that