The Challenge That is Tony

by Pedro

The Creature from the Black Lagoon

Late May, Year 10

Mum corners me at breakfast.

"What have you got planned today? Tony's away isn't he?"

She's right. Tony and his parents are away for a few days. His grandma is moving into sheltered accommodation and they are helping her move and clear her house before it goes on sale.

There is something about Mum's tone and choice of words that makes me think that she is not just enquiring after my potential whereabouts. There'll be a chore she has in mind for me!

Fortunately, Paul texted me last night. His dad is home on leave for a few days. Paul wants to get out from under for a couple of hours.

"Paul said he would come round. We'll probably grab my football and go to the park."

"Nothing special, then. Good. I've got some papers I need to look through for your Dad. You can run to the supermarket for me, please."

I was right; that last is an instruction, not a request.

"Can't it wait till this afternoon?" I ask, hoping to get excused. "Paul's coming this morning. His dad has something lined up for him later."

"Only if you don't want any lunch. There isn't even enough here for a sandwich."

She's right. I toasted the last two slices of bread for my breakfast.

"If you get on with it," Mum continues. "You can be back before Paul gets here." She hands me the shopping list she has been writing while we've been talking. "I'll find you some brass while you get yourself organised."

I go upstairs to brush my teeth and whatever. I take the football with me when I go back down.

"Give Paul my ball if he arrives before I get back," I say as Mum hands me some cash. "Tell him I'll meet him in the park."

To save time, I take the direct route to and from the supermarket. Normally I would go the long way: through the park. Much nicer than walking along the busy road. Especially on a day like today. It must have rained heavily during the night. There are loads of puddles where it hasn't drained away properly. The passing vehicles can't normally avoid them and they send spray all over the pavement. By carefully judging the traffic I manage to avoid getting drenched.

Until the last puddle.

Which the driver could have avoided as nothing was coming the other way.

Bastard!

My trousers are soaked.

When I get home, I shout to Mum that I'm back.

"Paul has been for the ball," Mum says as she comes to help put the shopping away. "He's turning into a good-looking young man."

She might be right but I still have to say something. "Mum! Are you perving on my friends?"

She picks up on my disapproving tone.

"No, of course not. But I am allowed to appreciate beauty when I see it."

I recognise the expression on her face. The one she gets before teasing me.

"After all, there isn't much beauty round here," she says, staring at me.

For once I have an answer.

"Something to do with genetics. Blame the parents!"

" Touché. "

When we have finished with the shopping, I tell Mum that I have to change out of my wet trousers and why.

"If there was that much rain last night, the ground will be soft and muddy. You'd better put on your football kit."

She has a point.

I have finished changing and I am wondering where I have left my football boots when I hear Mum shout from downstairs.

"There's something here to see you."

I miss her choice of pronoun. "Who?" I shout back.

"The Creature from the Black Lagoon."

" Who ?"

"I said 'the Creature from the Black Lagoon'." She pauses briefly for effect. "But there again it might be Paul."

What's he doing back here? I haven't been that long nipping to the shop.

"Send him up." Except, I realise she just has by calling him 'The Creature'. I let out a groan at my dreadful thought-pun.

"No way! Not in the state he's in. I'm not letting him in the house!" Mum shouts back. "Come down. And bring your bath towel with you. It probably needs a wash."

I can't immediately reconcile the two halves of Mum's statement. I grab my towel and go downstairs.

"We're outside," Mum shouts when she hears me in the kitchen.

Going through the open door, I see what she means about Paul and the black lagoon. He is standing there, soaking wet. His arms and up to his waist are covered in thick mud. Mud that has an evil smell. One that I think I recognise.

"You look - and smell -as though you've been bog-snorkelling (*). What's happened?" I ask.

"Never mind that!" Mum interjects before Paul can reply. "He's freezing. He needs to get out of those wet clothes and into a warm bath."

I can see Paul has gone pale and is shivering. It's not a cold day – the sun is now out – but there is a bit of a breeze. Evaporation from his wet clothes will be making him cold.

"I'll go run the bath for him," Mum continues. "You, help him out of his clothes. Let him have the towel to preserve his modesty. While he's in the bath, get a bucket of water and rinse those clothes out before we put everything in the washer."

Mum goes inside leaving us to do as instructed. I ask Paul again what happened but he is tight lipped, too busy concentrating on peeling off his wet gear. Not easily done. No doubt Mum will also want to know and he won't want to have to repeat everything. I guess once is going to be embarrassing enough!

When he has stripped off, Paul goes for his bath and I get the bucket and work on rinsing out his clothes and scrubbing his sneakers. I rinse the ball off while I am at it. Once again, I've ended up with the shitty jobs!

I hang the sneakers up in the sun. They won't be fully dry before Paul has to go home after lunch but at least they'll be clean.

Of course, I manage to get some of the muck on my football kit, so that will have to go in the wash as well.

Paul comes out of the bathroom and into my room when I go up to change. He's had a good long soak in the tub and now looks a better colour! He has the towel round his waist. I tell him the towel will also have to be washed and hand him my bathrobe. I know, he's taller than me but it'll have to do. He swaps over with care so I don't get a chance to perv. Same when he first stripped off. I don't know why he's worried. I know he's not interested and I've seen him often enough, getting changed at school. Maybe it's because this is more intimate — just the two of us in my room.

When I have swapped from my football kit, I gather up everything that has to be washed, put it in the washing machine and set it running. Mum has made sure I know how. Yes, I do remember to add detergent and fabric conditioner.

"Cuppa?" I ask Paul. "Biscuit?" Silly question really.

"Please."

There's a shout from where Mum is working on Dad's papers. "If you're mashing, I'll have one, too, please." I should have guessed.

Drinks made, we move from the kitchen to the room with more comfortable chairs. Mum joins me on the settee. Paul takes a chair opposite us, carefully arranging the bathrobe to make sure his bits are covered.

Mum opens the conversation.

"Paul, what time are you expected home because your clothes won't be ready for at least two hours? Do you need to ring to say you'll be late?"

"Dad has something planned for this afternoon and wants me home for half past two. Otherwise no problem. I did say I might get a snack for lunch while I'm here."

Paul then realises he is being presumptuous. "Is that okay with you, please?"" he adds.

"That's fine," Mum agrees, then smiles. "Not that you've got much choice in the matter. Unless you want to walk home through the town naked."

"He could have gone straight home," I say in Paul's defence. Except that leads me to ask why he didn't.

"Here is nearer the park and I had to bring your ball back."

"You could have brought it tomorrow," I tell him.

"Except you wouldn't know where I was. And I would probably have been grounded. Dad would have gone off on one if I had gone home all clarted up like I was. I would never hear the end of it after I'd had to explain how it happened."

Mum and I chorus the obvious question. Paul relaxes into his chair, one foot on his knee, before commencing his tale.

"I was jogging around, practicing dribbling the ball when I see Donny walking along the path in front of me. He seemed totally oblivious to his surroundings, so I thought I would wind him up by kicking the ball to hit him. He's far enough away that I will have to kick it hard. I take aim and put as much power into the shot as I can."

"What did Donny say when it hit him?"

"He didn't. He never knew I was there. I sliced the shot and it went sailing into the duck pond. Right in the middle. I had to wade in to fetch it."

In the duck pond. No wonder I thought I recognised the smell. I had to paddle in it myself a week or so ago.

"Been there, done that," I laugh. Then I think of something else. "But the pond isn't that deep."

"It is in the middle, and the water level seems higher after all the rain last night."

Paul gets a sheepish look and squirms in his chair.

"The worst part is Susie was walking along the path on the other side of the pond. You know how I fancy her. She must have seen the whole thing. She doesn't think much of me as it is it. Now she probably thinks I'm a complete prick."

"Well, I can see you are!" Mum comments.

"Mum, really!" I'm flummoxed. I thought she liked Paul.

I turn to look at her. She has the same look she had when she was teasing me earlier. I follow her gaze back to Paul. And understand what she meant. The bathrobe has fallen open and Paul's tackle is on display. He's uncut.

"Well, I can see everything he's got. Take him upstairs and find him some briefs," Mum instructs.

Paul and I are both pink with embarrassment as we retreat.

I dig out a clean pair of boxer briefs for Paul to put on. I can't resist ribbing him.

"Got you in my pants, at last."

He rolls his eyes. "Geez! You're as bad as your mum." Then he thinks of something else and looks troubled. "She wasn't perving on me, was she?"

"Nah! You were flashing. Everything on display. She couldn't help but get an eyeful."

Paul puts on the underpants and his modesty is restored.

"What was it your mum called me? 'The Creature from the Black Lagoon'?"

We agree that it doesn't sound like something she had just made up so we go on-line to see if we can find a reference. Turns out it's the title of a 1954 horror movie.

"How would she know about it?" Paul asks. "That must be well before she was born."

True.

We talk about this and that until I hear the washing machine start its spin cycle. It's nearly finished. We go downstairs so that I can put the load in the dryer. That will be quicker than hanging it outside on the line.

Mum must have heard us as she comes to supervise.

"Do you boys want some lunch now?" she asks when she is satisfied I have set the machine appropriately. "The washing should be dry by the time you have finished. Paul will be able to get home well before half past two."

Do we want lunch? Another silly question!

I put the kettle on and make the tea while Mum makes us some sandwiches. We all sit round the kitchen table.

To make conversation while we are eating, I ask Mum how she knew about the old horror film. "… you can't have seen it, surely? We looked it up. It was released well before you were born."

Mum laughs. "I always wondered where my grandad got the name. I hadn't realised it was a film title, and a horror movie at that. But that figures. He always used it to refer to my dad's mother-in-law — that's my maternal grandma — behind her back. She was from the Isle of Axholme, the fen country to the East of Doncaster. There is a strange feel to the place, compared to here. I've been there a couple of times. It can be really spooky when the mist is rising from drainage channels.

"As you can imagine, people from places like that get stigmatised. The saying is they are wary of outsiders, all look the same, have webbed feet and are generally a bit odd. Grandad was right to some extent: Grandma was a bit odd."

Paul gets us back for teasing him earlier. "Is that where you two get it from then?"

Mum tries to parry: "I used to I think you were a nice young man!" but I just laugh along with Paul.

Mum and I regale Dad with the story while we are having our evening meal.

Dad looks at Mum, a grin on his face. "Are we going to have to change our name to Robinson? So that you are Mrs Robinson?"

It goes over my head, but Mum obviously gets the reference.

"I wasn't trying to seduce him. You know me better than that!" she bristles. "And he wasn't trying to either!"

I come to Mum — and Paul's — defence. "Paul didn't realise the robe had slipped and left everything on view. He would be mortified if he thought you thought he did it deliberately."

"Rose, like an old trout!" Dad is still looking at Mum. His grin is even wider. He thinks he's won a point. I think he's living dangerously.

Hostilities are temporarily suspended when Mum changes the subject.

"Is everything alright with Paul? He seemed reluctant to go home to spend the afternoon with his father."

"He's reticent about it. However I think things are strained when his dad is home. Paul and his mum appreciate what he does for them. But they have their own routines when he's away on his contracts. Having him home disturbs that, especially as his dad expect things to revolve around him and to be done his way."

"Bit like here then," Mum scores half a point before moving on quickly. "Support him as best you can. He's a good kid from what I've seen of him." Oops, half point lost again.

Dad, however, ignores the double entendre and agrees with Mum's guidance.

When Mum goes into the kitchen to get our afters, I ask Dad about 'Mrs Robinson'.

"It comes from 'The Graduate', a classic film from the late sixties. Your mum and I have caught it on the telly a couple of times." Dad doesn't say any more because Mum has returned with dessert.

I find a synopsis on-line after we've finished the meal and I've gone up to my room. No wonder Mum took the bait. Especially after I had accused her of perving on Paul this morning!

Later, I go downstairs to fix myself a cuppa. I make one each for the 'rents as well. There is music playing as I take them through to them. A folk music style, I think. I can hear the lyrics refer to 'Mrs Robinson'. I ask what it is.

"It's an album of songs from the film, 'The Graduate'. This is the title track," Dad replies.

"Yeah, and there's another track title we could do with more of round here," grouches Mum. "'The Sound of Silence'!"

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