Alex Kicks The Bucket Page 3

  The stranger stopped him, halting the busy flow of foot traffic. The crowd swarmed around them, cursing under their breaths, checking the time on watches and smartphones.

  “What happened?” Stephen said.

  “Smoked it all away, I suppose,” Alex said, not meeting his gaze.

  “What would your parents think of you?” Stephen said.

  “They don’t give a shit about me,” Alex said. “They only carried about my brother, William.”

  “I doubt that,” Stephen said.

  “They haven’t spoken to me in ten years,” Alex said. “I think that says it all. We were never close after he died.”

  “Have you made the effort to reach out to them?” Stephen said.

  Alex did his best to dodge the question.

  “I could do something crazy,” he said, walking briskly past Stephen.

  The stranger looked after him, exasperated. A few more people walked right through him, too busy to even realise what they were doing.

  “What’s that?” he said, catching up to Alex.

  “I could quit my job,” he said. “I’ve always wanted to tell Hamish to shove his pizza where the sun doesn’t shine.”

  “Quitting a minimum wage pizza job isn’t actually the sort of life changing event that you should reserve for your last day, kid,” Stephen said. “Though, to be fair, it is a very common goal. Why do you all hate your bosses? They keep you alive.”

  “Doesn’t mean they aren’t dickheads though,” Alex said.

  “How the hell do you afford a flat in London on that kind of salary anyway?” Stephen asked.

  “Paul pays most of the rent,” Alex said, looking somewhat shamefaced.

  “Ah,” Stephen said. He awkwardly cleared his throat. “Well, let’s do it then. I could go for a slice of pizza.”

  “But you can’t eat,” Alex said.

  “It’s not like you eat pizza for the nutritional value, Alex,” Stephen said, “I can still taste.”

  Kate had dragged herself onto the next bus into the city. Her parents had a house in one of the richer suburbs of London, not far from West Brompton.

  She had put on some make up, but she still looked exhausted beyond words. It was a beautifully, sunny day, and she’d put on a pair of old jeans and an oversized jumper. The bus was muggy and stunk of piss, and she was sweating under her clothes.

  She was listening to her iPod, skipping through a series of increasingly miserable songs. Eventually something happy comes on, but then her iPod displays the low battery message, and dies.

  “Fuck this,” she muttered.

  The old lady beside her gave her a dirty look. Kate turned to the window to watch the world go by. Her view was obscured by grime and bird shit.

  She got off the bus near a shopping centre with a multi storey car park attached to it. Car parks in London were like being sent to purgatory. Why anyone would ever want to own a car – never mind drive it – in the city was an absolute mystery to her. It would be a hellish nightmare, but then again, life didn’t feel much better than that at the moment.

  She took the elevator up into the car park. She shared it with a young people who couldn’t seem to keep their hands to themselves. Jingly, Italian sounding Muzak played through tiny speakers. She pressed herself into the corner of the lift while the couple slurped each other’s faces and moaned loudly, grinding their bodies together. She put her face in her hands, embarrassed because of their display, and embarrassed because she couldn’t remember the last time she was that intimate with anyone.

  21:35:00

  “Is Stephen your real name?” Alex asked, as they made their way to The Pizza Place, which was the actual name of the pizza place. “You said it, back in the café.”

  “And I said it’s a name,” Stephen said. “Maybe not mine, but I like it.”

  “So, what’s your real name then?” Alex said. “Or is it one of those cases where if you tried to pronounce it, my brain would explode?”

  Stephen shrugged.

  “I don’t really have one,” he said. “If I ever did, I’ve forgotten it.”

  “I guess Stephen will do then.”

  They stop at a set of traffic lights, waiting for the green man to appear.

  “So is that what you really look like then?” Alex asked.

  “Full of questions, aren’t we?” Stephen said. “No, I chose this look.”

  “Why?” Alex said, staring at him.

  “I like that Jim Carey movie,” he said. “The one with the animals.”

  “You’re just not what I thought the grim reaper would look like…” Alex said, looking him up and down.

  “I’m not death,” Stephen said. “Do I look grim to you?”

  “Well, not in the traditional sense of the word,” Alex said, laughing.

  Hamish was not happy to see Alex. The Pizza Place is a miserable looking dump. Small, rickety wooden tables with old condiments, leading to a counter smeared with grease.

  A menu from the sixties and a till from the seventies, and for some reason, it’s open before midday on a Tuesday. Even stranger, perhaps, is that there are actually customers. A young and beautiful couple tentatively poke at a pizza that looks capable of eating them instead. They must be tourists.

  Hamish was a big guy, a mountain of muscle. A self-made business man owning a series of greasy late night food places around the city. He was sick to the back teeth of little shits like Alex.

  English was his second language. Turkish was his first. His fists were his third.

  “Bastard,” he said, as he stormed around the counter towards Alex. “You’re late, you fuck.”

  Alex looks too afraid to speak. He turns to Stephen, taking in the flowery shirt and the off brown chinos.

  “And who is your boyfriend?” Hamish said, jabbing a finger in Stephen’s direction. “Is he why you are late?”

  Stephen grabs Alex’s hand, with a shit eating grin plastered on his strange face.

  “That’s right,” he said. “We stayed up all night doing MDMA and having hard core sex.”

  Hamish’s eyes just about exploded out of his skull.

  “We’re in love,” Stephen said. “It’s 2017, get over it.”

  Alex swiped his hand away.

  “This is the twentieth time you’ve been late this fucking week,” Hamish said, towering over Alex, almost nose to nose with him.

  “Twentieth?” Stephen said.

  “This one was your fault,” Alex said. “The other nineteen, I am ready to accept the blame for.”

  “You are fired Alex,” Hamish said, turning away from him. “Take your lack of personal hygiene, your below average IQ, your crippling drug problem, and your nerdy shit, and get the fuck out of my restaurant.”

  “Restaurant,” Stephen snorted.

  Hamish didn’t hear him.

  “You can’t fire me,” Alex said. “I quit.”

  Hamish just laughed.

  “Call it what you want, kid,” Hamish said. “Just fuck off.”

  Alex swung for the man, catching him on the side of the head. Hamish barely reacted.

  “Oh shit,” Stephen said.

  There was a moment of intense silence. The beautiful couple were watching the events unfold from the window now. Their pizza lay abandoned on the table, struggling to breathe.

  Hamish laughed.

  “Get out,” he said, “before I make you into a pizza topping. Last chance.”

  Stephen grabbed Alex from behind, pulling him towards the door.

  “Come on, slugger,” he said. “Let’s roll.”

  Alex looked over his shoulder howling at Hamish.

  “That’ll teach you to mess with me,” he said. “Remember this day. Remember the day that I broke you.”

  “Get out!” Hamish howled. “Get out before I tear your arms off and beat you to death with them.”

  “You heard the man,” Stephen said, pulling Alex out the door.

  “He can’t kill me,” Alex said,
laughing.

  “Yeah,” Stephen said. “But he can still rip your arms off.”

  They stumbled out into the street, and the beautiful couple from before make a hasty exit down the road.

  “What’s next then?” Stephen said, pushing Alex away from him. “Want to rob an old lady? Howsabout we find an opponent more matched to your pugilistic skills? Like an infant?”

  “Shut up,” Alex said, jumping away from him. He bounced from foot to foot, grinning. “That was great. That was fun.”

  A backpack hit him across the side of the face. He fumbled, catching it in his hands.

  “And take your shit with you!” Hamish screamed from inside the restaurant.

  Alex opened the old bag, and started to paw through it.

  “Oh sweet,” he said. “My comics. Oh, and my work stash too.”

  He pulled out a small bag of the green stuff. Stephen snatched it off him.

  “That won’t work on you anymore,” he said. “You should probably bin it before you get arrested. Not how you want to spend your last day, trust me.”

  “Are you serious?” Alex said. “So I can’t get high?”

  “Or drunk,” Stephen said. “Or off your tits on ketamine or MDMA or blasted sky high on a needle full of heroin.”

  Alex dropped the baggie into a bin as they passed it. He started to leaf through one of the comics. Stephen peers at it over his shoulder.

  “Fantasticman,” he said, snorting. “Wow, what garbage.”

  “Shut up,” Alex said. “I haven’t finished this one. It’s dark and gritty now. They deal with some really heavy stuff.”

  “Like what?” Stephen said. “The issues of wearing latex outside of porn sets?”

  He grinned at Alex, but he wasn’t listening. He had his nose buried in the comic, reading it as they walked.

  “I think I just added something to my bucket list,” Alex said.

  Stephen glanced over at him.

  “No,” he said, “No way, José.”

  “I’m going to be a superhero,” Alex said.

  “No you are not.”

  “I’m going to fly,” Alex said.

  Early that same morning, Alex’s housemate, Paul, pulled himself from his bed, running late for work, as usual. He could get away with it though. Alex wasn’t quite sure what the guy did. He was a banker of some sort. Everyone loved Paul, except for anyone who had been majorly affected by the recession and was looking for someone to blame.

  He was a great looking guy; even other guys would say so. He had a lean, yet muscular body, perfect hair, and a beard so flawless you’d think that it’d been stuck to his face like he was made of Lego.

  As he got ready for work, brushing his teeth and singing to himself, he had the strangest feeling that he was being watched. He was, Stephen was behind the shower curtain.

  The curtain twitched, and Paul turned, holding his hands out in front of him in some sort of karate pose. There was nobody there. He took a deep breath and inhaled a blob of toothpaste foam. As he coughed and spluttered, Stephen slipped into Alex’s room, and waited.

  Paul took pride in his car, even though driving in the city was like putting razorblades up your urethra. It was a fifth generation BMV 7 series, long overdue a good clean. He hopped into it, and opened the glove compartment. It was filled with pills and drug paraphernalia. Enough goodies to make Kate jealous.

  He swallowed a handful of something, and turned on the radio. He fiddled with the tuner as he did. He couldn’t start driving until he found something good to listen to.

  The car had Bluetooth, he had just never bothered to set up. The radio was better, you never knew what you were going to get.

  As he fiddled, Alex fell into the alleyway behind him, slamming into the concrete. He found a station playing terrible classic rock, and settled for that. He drove off, singing badly to a song that his vocal skills were likely improving.

  20:30:14

  Stephen and Alex stood in a long line of people with questionable hygiene.

  “Twenty hours,” Stephen said. “Twenty hours and thirty minutes.”

  Alex casts a dirty look over his shoulder. He was holding a fantastic man costume gripped tightly in his hairy hands. He’d asked Stephen to look after his backpack. Stephen put it inside his shirt, and it was gone.

  Alex had told him to make sure he gave it back, but Stephen raised a good point. Did he really need it anymore?

  Alex had reached the front of the cue. He passed the costume to the man behind the till. He was fat and balding with a weird ponytail. He wore a faded The Simpsons t-shirt that looked too small for his bulk. It was from back when the yellow family looked all weird and homer talked about frosty chocolate milkshakes.

  “Can I rent that?” Alex asked, pointing at the costume.

  “We don’t do rentals,” the guy replied.

  “Undoubtedly due to the hygiene of your clientele,” Stephen said.

  “Come on,” Alex said. “You know I’m good for it. I’m in here every other day. I spend most of my wages in this dump.”

  “A considerable sum,” Stephen said.

  “I just need it for one day,” Alex continued, ignoring him. “I promise, I’ll bring it back tomorrow.”

  The guy at the till glanced at a poster of Michael Keaton as Bruce Wayne on the wall. Underneath were the letters, W.W.B.D.

  “Alright,” he said, sighing. “Don’t tell anyone.”

  “Great,” Alex said, grinning. “Here’s a fiver for a deposit. I’ll bring the rest of it tomorrow.”

  He took the costume, handed over the change, and they left.

  “You’re a despicable person,” Stephen said. “If there was a hell, you’d be getting a mean tan this time tomorrow.”

  Alex stopped in his tracks.

  “There’s no hell?” he asked. “Is there a heaven?”

  “I’ve said too much,” Stephen replied.

  “Is there a God,” Alex asked?

  “No comment.”

  “That means there isn’t!”

  “That means no comment.”

  In the men’s bathroom, Alex was appraising himself in the Fantasticman costume. It was a little too snug, in all the wrong places. Stephen sat in the sink beside the mirror, watching the other man frown at himself in the mirror.

  “Something’s off,” Alex said. “I don’t look like a hero.”

  “That’s an understatement,” Stephen said.

  “What should I change?” Alex asked, pulling at his face like it was made of rubber.

  “Can you get a six pack in less than twenty four hours?” Stephen said, patting him on the stomach.

  “You’re not helping,” Alex said.

  Stephen pulled an electric razor from his shirt.

  “A shave and a trim would do a start,” he said, firing it up. “You look like a Jew’s genitals.”

  “Where the hell did you pull that from?” Alex said, looking at the razor rather nervously.

  “Aren’t we past that yet?” Stephen said, hopping off the counter. “I can do weird shit. I can make stuff appear from my shirt, I can teleport, I can shape shift, get over it.”

  “You can shape shift?” Alex said.

  “Can’t you?” Stephen said.

  “You didn’t tell me that before.”

  “You never asked,” Stephen said. “Come here; let me shave you, monkey boy.”

  “Wait,” Alex said, pulling out his phone. “Let me take a selfie.”

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Stephen asked, as Alex pulled a stupid face and posed with the phone.

  “I’m live tweeting my day,” Alex replied, as if Stephen was an idiot. “Once I jump off the building I’ll totally be trending.”

  “Is it possible that an entire generation of children were dropped on their heads at the exact same moment?” Stephen said, messing with the settings on the razor.

  “Hashtag immortal,” Alex replied.

  “Get over here,” he said, grabbing fo
r him.

  Alex shuffled forward, standing awkwardly as Stephen sized him up. He ran his fingers through Alex’s hair.

  “You’ve got a lovely mane,” he said, in a seductive voice.

  “Shut up,” Alex said.

  “Smells like strawberries,” he added.

  “Shut up and shave me,” Alex shouted.

  A man walked into the bathroom, turned, and immediately left. There’s a moment of awkward silence.

  “So,” Alex said. “Is this how things usually go for you?”

  “Yes,” Stephen said, “I shave everyone.”

  “No,” he said, “I mean the meandering. The aimless sort of… I don’t know. I’m not really going anywhere, am I?”

  Stephen stuck his tongue out of the side of his mouth, concentrating on Alex’s hair as he began to shave.

  “Look at it this way,” he said. “You’ve spent the last twenty something years of your life in a walking day dream. Moving through life without any real sense of purpose…”

  He paused, turning the razor off and on again.

  “Oops, almost took off an eyebrow.”

  “Be careful,” Alex said.

  “Anyway, you can consider your last day on earth to be your entire life condensed into one day. Why would anything be different? Folks don’t get epiphanies, they get sad. I think it would be a lot kinder to just let you die after the twenty four hours without any prior knowledge at all, but there was a landmark legal case and now in the event of a mix up like this, twenty four hours of notice is mandatory.”

  He paused, looking at Alex, who seems to be listening intently, strands of shaved hair plastered to his forehead.

  “What?” Stephen said. “No questions? Don’t you want to raise your hand and jump up and down and scream please sir please?”

  Alex shrugged.

  “I’m learning to roll with it, I guess,” he said.

  “Good boy,” Stephen said, ruffling his hair. He continued to shave him. “Anyway, humans by their very nature, suck at life. They suck at defining what it means; they suck at investing their limited time well. Condense a life time of sucking into one single day, and you don’t get a glorious last hurrah. You get the capacity to suck stronger than even, to suck as strong as a black hole.”