Black soul rose by John Jones... - HTML preview

Jordan

Jordan Northington was the smallest of the group, shorter by a centimetre. He looked to be an ordinary boy, one who would probably end up being a boxer, or a security guard. He had buzz-cut hair, and nobody would be surprised if when he left school he joined the army. He lay on the bed in his small room, contemplating, looking around at the posters on the wall, of the solar system, and of course, most children’s obsession, dinosaurs, with unrealistic plastic stegosaurs and tyrannosaurs on the window shelf. There were also posters of people in martial-arts poses.

His brother Alistair, older by two years looked in.

“Are you sure you’re alright? You’ve been very quiet since you came back”.

Jordan tapped the side of his head.

“Trauma of getting lost”.

“You were only gone for a few hours. It’s not that traumatic,” Jordan simply smiled and said nothing else.

Moments later, their mother Daphne popped in. One of those fussy mothers that wraps their child in cotton wool. Asking if they’re alright or if they need anything every five minutes.

11

The doorbell then rang and she went down to answer it.

“Jordan,” she called up the stairs.

“It’s Brett and Kieran. Come for your karate class”.

“What?” Jordan said, standing up and going to the top of the stairs. Brett was stood on the step in his karate gi with yellow belt. Kieran out in his silver Fiat Punto.

“I forgot,” his mother said. “it’s time for your karate lesson”.

“I forgot as well,” he said, looking annoyed.

“Are you up to it?” she said, “you’ve had a major trauma so are you feeling alright? Even though you know I don’t really like you going to karate as you could get hurt and it’s violent, but I can’t stop you and I know it does you good and you love going, so, it’s up to you especially tonight after your incident. You could stay and I’ll make you a nice cup of hot chocolate”. He wanted to turn and walk back into the bedroom and close the door, but the wide-eyed look on Brett’s face, full of expectancy, made him think it may be good for him, as he needed to integrate, and Brett was the one that got away.

“Alright,” Jordan said, sighing, “for fucks sake,” he muttered under his breath, but it went unheard, and he slowly walked down the stairs.

“Got your bag,” asked Brett. Jordan simply stood, looking confused.

“Go get your bag,” his mother said.

“Sorry, I don’t remember where it is”.

“Oh love, you’ve had such a trauma. I even had to tell him his name, didn’t I?”

She then went to the door beneath the stairs and retrieved his bag with his freshly washed karate suit and fluffy towel.

She gave him a hug.

“You be careful now, don’t do anything you don’t want to do. You can still change your mind you know”. Brett’s expression had not changed.

His shoulders slumped. “I’ll be fine,” and they left. His mother watched them walk to and enter the vehicle. Kieran waved and drove away.

Jordan sat on the back seat, arms folded, quiet.

“You alright?” Kieran asked, looking in the rear-view mirror, “you’re quiet”.

“Yep,” Jordan said, looking out of the window, “I’ve been through a trauma”.

12

“Yes, I heard you got lost. Actually, you know what Brett thinks here. He thinks you got abducted by some pensioners”.

It was clear Brett had been aching to say something, and now his opportunity came he couldn’t stop himself:

“What happened?” he said loudly, turning as much as he could in the front seat.

“What happened? You got taken by those old people in that bus and they said they didn’t need me, and I just ran all the way back. What happened? What happened..?”

Jordan laughed, and laughed loudly, almost sarcastically.

“You think we got taken by some old codgers in a bus. What have you been smoking? We got lost, don’t you remember? It happens, we couldn’t read the maps properly and we went off in a different direction. You were there, we lost you. Then we got found after three hours. That’s it”.

“No..! it’s not. You got taken by old people in a bus”.

“I’m sorry Jordan,” said Kieran, pulling up at lights. “He’s been like this since you got lost. Everything’s fine now. You all say the same thing. You got lost. It’s only Brett here who got confused”.

“I didn’t get confused. I was there. They got took”.

“Nope, sorry Brett. No-one will believe you. We got lost, and we were so traumatised we lost our memories,” Jordan said, with a look on his face that transitioned from a smile to a smirk. Then he winked, and Brett just looked at him for a moment longer, then sat back in his seat, folded his arms and stared at the road ahead.

Kieran though, had been looking in the rear-view mirror then, and thought perhaps Jordan wasn’t really his true self.

‘Old’ Jordan would have been chatty throughout the journey. He loved his karate class and would have probably been talking about going in for his grading and what it must be like to be a black belt.

Kieran became quiet too for the rest of the journey. Something he guessed didn’t add up with Jordan, and it had nothing to do with the trauma of being lost.

He found a place to pull up outside the church hall where other children and some parents were heading for the building, some already in their white karate gis.

13

“I’ll see you in a hour,” Kieran said, as he left them on the pavement to walk to the church hall.

When Kieran had driven away out of sight, Brett stopped and turned on Jordan.

“Okay, what happened? I know you got taken by those old men,” Jordan took a step towards Brett so his nose was an inch from his.

“We. Got. Lost. Okay? That’s it”. Then he stepped back, hoisted up his bag, smiled and said:

“Let’s go and do some chop-socky,” then he headed for the hall.

It was quite well attended. There were approximately thirty children, and those that didn’t turn up already in their suits had to use the toilets to change. Jordan emerged with a grin on his face and joined Brett on the mat.

“What is this?” he said, in his white cotton gi with yellow belt, “I look like I’m wearing pyjamas”. The class leader lined them up and they all bowed, except Jordan.

“Bow to the sensei,” whispered Brett. The sensei didn’t notice.

“Bow to the sensei?” said Jordan, “why?” Brett simply looked at him, confused.

“Memory loss mate, trauma. Remind me”.

“Respect for the teacher”. The sensei wasn’t the thinnest karate teacher there ever was. His well-worn black-belt strained against an emerging beer belly, and he sported an uncombed mullet. He came across as a frustrated rock-star wannabe.

“Okay class we’re gonna start off with some stretching exercises, then we’ll go through forms”.

“Forms? What are we doing paperwork? Have I got to sign something?”.

“Your memories not that bad, surely,” Brett whispered. They then began to do what basically amounted to yoga exercises. Jordan noticed that the sensei wasn’t joining in, just wandering around with his hands behind his back.

Perhaps dreaming of performing on stage. Why do I have to be here, fucking about in pyjamas when I should be rocking out?

After their warm-ups, they regrouped, and the class leader, still with hands behind his back wandered up and down.

14

“Remember students why we do this. To become respected members of society.

For self-discipline, and to grow and transform your balance to transcend and grow your spirit. To use your chi for the force of good where it can be honed and trained to boost your aura where people will automatically trust you. You will excude an aura that puts people at ease, and those who would be hostile will sense it, and they will not attack you. They will hide and be humble around you. Your mental attitude is boosted by the power of the chi which instills automatically the notions of empathy, compassion and patience”. He continued in this vein for a few minutes, and Jordan folded his arms and sighed.

“What’s he on about?” he whispered.

“He does this every lesson,” Brett whispered back, “you’re usually really into it”. Jordan tapped the side of his head.

“Trauma mate,” he said, and continued to listen to ten minutes of karate philosophy.

They were then separated into their respective belt colours, and Jordan noticed the teacher heading towards him.

“Jordan, hope you’re feeling better after your ordeal”.

“Some memory loss”. The teacher nodded. “Brett, you’ll help him won’t you?

you’ve both got your grading in two weeks, so you need to be going through your katas”.

“My what? Yes I think I’ll need a bit of a reminder on that,” Jordan said, looking at Brett. The tutor nodded and walked away.

So Brett effectively had to show him the moves from scratch, believing or wondering that his traumatic event really had more of an effect on him than he first thought.

It was as though he had never had a karate lesson in his life.

Jordan managed to get through it though, and soon went back out to find Kieran parked up nearby.

They were back on the road after a few moments and Kieran asked Jordan:

“Everything okay?”

“No I’m not doing that again. I’m knackered”.

15

“But Jordan,” said Brett turning in his seat, “we’re going in for our green belts soon, we need to practice the kata. I’ll come round after school tomorrow and we’ll go through it in the garden like we do sometimes”.

“No thanks mate,” he said, folding his arms, “I’d rather jump in a canal”. He then looked out of the window, and Kieran and Brett guessed it was futile to continue, but it was very unlike Jordan, the chatty karate enthusiast.

Kieran dropped Jordan back, and on the drive home, couldn’t help but mention that he didn’t seem himself. It wasn’t just that Jordan wasn’t himself.

He ‘really’ wasn’t himself.

Kieran mooted that he seemed possessed by somebody else, but quickly dismissed that. The trauma of being lost and maybe thinking you’ll never see home again could be quite traumatic for an eight-year old, but honestly, amnesia, severe memory loss to the point where he had to be reminded of his own name, and not just Jordan, but all of them.

No, thought Kieran. Something’s not quite right. That was not Jordan, nor even part of him. Could the event of getting lost have had such an effect as to change personality?

Kieran didn’t know much about psychology, but he guessed that couldn’t happen. You get lost, it traumatises you, and you completely change personality.

No, Kieran, thought. Absolutely no chance.

When Jordan got back, his mother, as she did every time he came back from a lesson smothered him with too much affection, as if he’d come back from battle.

Were you hurt? Are you alright? Would you like a cup of tea?

His ‘father’ Keith had returned from his radio-controlled model boat appreciation society weekly meeting, and on his way upstairs, Jordan heard him talking exasperatedly to Daphne.

“…I can’t invite him, you know I can’t. Until he apologises…”

He walked into his ‘brother’s’ room, who was on a tablet with headphones sat at a small cheap desk.

“Forgot to knock as well,” Alistair said, taking off his headphones. Jordan hooked a thumb over his shoulder.

16

“What’s that about?” he asked, “Dad…mentioned that he can’t invite who to what?”

“You really have forgotten everything haven’t you? You were only gone for three hours, what happened?”

Jordan said nothing.

“Don’t you know?” Alistair continued, “fourteen years ago, Dad and his brother had a major falling out, and neither of them will apologise. They haven’t spoken to each other since”.

“Over what?”

“Football,” his brother said. “They both support the same team and one night they were watching a match, and a player got tripped in the penalty box.

Claimed a penalty. His brother said he dived, and it wasn’t a penalty. Dad said he didn’t, and it was. They argued and started shouting in the pub. His brother stormed out, said Dad made a show of him. Neither will apologise. Won’t shake hands. They’re both really stubborn”.

Jordan laughed.

“Are you kidding me? They fell out over that. What a pairing of bone-headed fucknuts”. Alistair shrugged.

“They’re both as stubborn as each other. Neither will apologise, and he’s not inviting him to his presentation ceremony at the club he goes to for some certificate he’s getting”.

“Amazing what adults will fall out over…what the fuck is that?” said Jordan pointing to a small fish-tank on a shelf above the cheap desk. There were no fish inside, and over the top was a wire mesh.

Inside was a few leaves and a Brazilian black tarantula.

“Don’t you remember? It’s Tommy. Tommy the tarantula”. Jordan shook his head and sighed. “That’s a pet is it? Isn’t it really boring? What does it do except fuck-all?”

“Jordan! Language. You never swore since before you got lost”. He shrugged, stepping across to the spider.

“Hello Tommy,” he said, “what’s it like being trapped inside a glass box?”

Jordan turned his head, concentrating.

“He’s speaking to me in my mind. He’s saying it’s fucking shit. Get me out”.

17

“Jordan lad,” Keith said, appearing in the doorway. He had clearly not heard his

‘Son’s’ language, and Jordan had not heard him coming up the stairs.

“How was,” he made a karate chop, “karate tonight,” Jordan shrugged.

“I’m done with it, burn the suit or sell it or whatever”.

“What?” said his father.

“Really?” said his brother.

“But you love karate,” Keith said looking genuinely concerned, as did Alistair.

“You’re obsessed with it,” continued Keith, “you talk a lot about getting your black belt. You’re good at it. You used to practice all the time. What happened?”

Jordan shrugged.

“Don’t know, can’t be bothered with it. You can’t even use it in a real fight.

Your opponent will probably be laughing if you used that out in the street. Mind you, they’ll probably be pissing themselves laughing so hard you could give them a karate chop or whatever”.

“Jordan! Language”.

“…so maybe it does work after all. Make your opponent…”

His father put his hand to his head.

“Oh my…Jordan. You really were traumatised weren’t you. Gone off your karate. Using…language like that. I think I might ask your school for further counselling. What’s happened? and that teacher that didn’t supervise you properly. Rightly he was sacked, but maybe we could sue him. Get him some jail time maybe. I’ll look into that”.

Jordan sighed. “I’m going to my room,” he said. His father stepped aside.

“You still need time to get over your ordeal. I understand”. Jordan closed the door behind him.

“If you need anything, just let me know,” Keith said, his voice raised slightly.

“Would you like a glass of water?”

“No I’m fine…thank you”. Keith nodded and slowly walked back down the stairs.

The cupboards beside Jordan’s bed were mirrored, and he stepped across to it, anger on his face. He whispered, but couldn’t help raising his voice slightly, although no-one heard:

18

“Remember. You’re a kid. You’re a fucking kid. So act like one”.

The school was imposing, too big for a village, as if the village rose up around it, and gave Jordan a reminder of a prison he used to inhabit long ago, way before any of these children’s fathers were twinkles in their grandfather’s eyes.

It was a mass of blazers, and chatter, all congregating towards the building.

Alistair led him across the playground, into the hallway and along to the staff room where he abandoned him.

“Gotta go, see ya later”, and he was off. Jordan entered the staff-room to find couches where several teachers were lounging around drinking tea. One was smoking an ‘e-cig’. They all looked at him.

He was taken to assembly by a learning support assistant who had been tasked with the job of taking and talking to the children who had been lost out on the countryside, offering them help if needed. and giving them their itineraries.

Would they be up to the task of attending assembly, then going to their respective classes? Would they be able to cope in the classroom with learning information if their minds had suffered trauma?

He was brought along the corridor to the main hall where all the children were in assembly. The door was pushed open slightly.

“Remember Jordan, if you don’t feel up to it, like the others, our door is always open”.

“Three hours,” Jordan said, “we were gone for three hours. We’re fine,”

“But we know you’ve had memory loss, and being lost for that length of time can have a very negative effect on a child’s mind”. Jordan just shook his head in despair, and entered.

Twenty minutes later he was in the class he was supposed to be in. Geography.

All the children were sat in their respective places, and Jordan walked slowly across to the only space available.

19

The teacher, Mrs Haversham didn’t seem concerned, the type who simply went through the motions, midway through their career, on auto-pilot. It was just a job. Nothing more.

The other children were looking at him curiously, and even the tutor looked with slight bemusement.

“What’s wrong Jordan?” she asked, “you’re very quiet. You’ve not mentioned karate yet”. Jordan shrugged.

“Don’t do karate anymore”. Some of the other pupils looked surprised and muttered amongst themselves.

“No way,” piped up Alan, usually the class loudmouth, just ahead of a now muted Jordan. “You was lookin’ forward to your grading, your green belt”.

“Meaningless”, he said. Alan, rarely, had nothing to say.

“Okay,” Mrs Haversham said, “continuing on from last lesson, who can tell me what topography means?”

Jordan sighed, folded his arms, and did his best to join in and look interested, but it was difficult. The teacher was concerned that he had forgotten all of the other pupils names and wasn’t his usual, jovial self, genuinely interested in the topic and asking questions.

When the lesson was over, it was break-time, and he followed the other pupils down to the play-ground where one kid accosted him to ask him to demonstrate a ‘roundhouse’ kick.

“Look, I don’t do karate anymore. I’ve given up. It’s just fucking around in pyjamas, philosophising”. The kid just looked confused, not sure if Jordan was joking. He decided he wasn’t, then ran off, and then Jordan smiled because there were several other children, standing looking at him, ones he recognised. They approached.

It was all his field-trip friends. They all shook hands like adults, stating their new found names. Chantelle, Glenn, Ian, Dorothy, Sam.

“Hello, pleased to meet you, my name’s Boyd. I mean honestly, who the fuck calls a kid Boyd? Ridiculous name”. Dorothy laughed.

“Ha, you’re stuck with that now. Mind you, my name’s Dorothy. I feel like an old granny”.

20

They were quite central in the playground and Sam decided it might be best to make their way somewhere less exposed, and they went to a corner and spoke quietly.

Two teachers were patrolling the playground, and their paths crossed. They saw the children huddled in the far corner by the fence, beyond which was a road as they were close to the main entrance gates.

“Look, isn’t that those children that got lost out in the wilds?”

“I think it is, yes. Poor things. They must be giving each other support. They went through a very traumatic experience”.

“Yes. Absolute nightmare for kids that age, must have been terrible, I can’t imagine…”

“I’m just glad that supervisor was sacked”.

“Yes, he should have been jailed. You can’t let kids out of your sight like that”.

“I hope they’re alright. I heard they lost their memories or something. Couldn’t even remember their names”.

“I know, I know…honestly if saw that tutor who caused this, I would lock him up”.

“I couldn’t agree more. Poor kids”. They then wandered away.

“My so-called ‘dad’ is a total fucking loser”, said Sam.