The Big Adventure
Written by elementalWithin
a.k.a Kelly Oldham
Pain lanced my shoulder as I’d tried to pry my wrists free from the metal clasps binding them; my arms were sore from remaining at an awkward angle too long already. I smelt an overpowering odour; it had taken me some time to untangle the combination – sweat and earth. I had been sure the sweat was mine. Funny, there I was bound and blind folded and all I could think about was: ‘Is it me? Do I smell?
I wasn’t sure how I’d gotten there, that I had been certain of. My blood had seemed to pound so furiously in my head that I wondered if someone had beat me with a sledgehammer; but I wasn’t sure. I had known that I didn’t know how I had gotten there. Sure, my head had hurt like hell; sure, the blind fold was so rough that my eyes itched like I’d rubbed chilli powder in them; and sure, I knew my name was William but I preferred Billy. Ask me how I’d gotten there though, and I’d have to say I had no idea.
I had sat in the rather uncomfortable wooden chair debating my options (which, I may add, were few and far between). I’d wriggled my arms trying to find a position that didn’t make me worry I’d reached my flexibility limits and my arms would suddenly detach themselves and fall to the ground like some scene from an Itchy and Scratchy sketch. The slight shifts in weight distribution had rocked the chair from rear leg to front leg and back again. How I have always, and still do, hate uneven furniture.
The sensation had reminded me of times sat in my Mother’s rocking chair with her. Every night the same ritual – she’d gently pick me up, and sit me on her hip as all Mother’s seem to do so naturally.
“Now, come on little Billy, up we go…”
As we climbed the stairs she’d count them, encouraging me to do the same. Her voice, though beautiful in speech, was better suited to song and once we’d climbed the stairs she’d sing. I would strain my eyes, trying to stay awake to watch her so she’d repeat the same sweet lullaby while rocking us in her chair.
Golden slumbers kiss your eyes,
Smiles await you when you rise.
Sleep,
pretty baby,
Do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby.
Cares you know not,
Therefore sleep,
While over you a watch I'll keep.
Sleep,
pretty darling,
Do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby.
Soon enough though, I’d fall sound asleep. One day though, it seemed I’d grown too old over night and the ritual stopped. To begin with, she’d sing to me once I’d climbed into bed on my own. Within weeks though, this had stopped too. I’d lie awake for hours wondering if I’d done something to make her stop. I’d wondered if my Mother even still loved me.
I remember arriving home from school one evening and the house looked gloomy. The curtains were still closed. Dad had fallen asleep in his armchair by the fireplace that wasn’t lit; a can of beer had dropped to the floor from his open hand, leaving a frothy stain on the cream carpet.
“Dad?” I’d called to him. I’d shook his arm like people do when they try to rouse someone from slumber. He’d awoke with blood shot eyes that seemed unable to focus on me. I still remember the heavy beer smell on his breath as he coughed in my face.
“Hey son!” he’d seemed to make an attempt to sound cheerful but another coughing fit spoiled the effect, “time for bed! Off you go!”
“Dad, it’s 4.30pm!”
“It doesn’t matter, off to bed! Don’t expect your Mum to tuck you in; she’s gone and won’t be coming back. Just you and me, kid. Now off to bed!”
I’d shakily climbed the stairs trying to make sense of it. I was 9 years old. I’d known kids at school whose parents had separated but I’d never thought of mine doing the same. I’d never thought my Mum would ever leave. I’d sat in that same rocking chair for hours thinking of her, as my Dad drank himself to death.
For the days, weeks, and months that followed I’d continued to convince myself that she was coming back. I’d still sit in her chair until I’d rocked myself to sleep; I’d thought if I’d stayed there just a little longer she might just turn up and carry me off to bed. As the months turned into years, I grew to hate that chair and any reminders of her. She had never come back and I’d never heard anything from her. As a child, I couldn’t understand this and, to be honest, I still don’t.
So, as I’d sat trying not to move in that damn chair, I was again reminded of her. I hated that even 20 years on the thought of her still hurt me. As far as I knew, both parents still kept in touch with their kids when they separated; but not mine. My Dad grew more and more withdrawn, seeking solace in the bottom of a bottle (or can as the case would be). My Mother became nothing more than a conflicting memory. I’d found it so hard to fit those juxtaposed images together so they became one person. It didn’t work, it didn’t make sense.
I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore, I’m a grown man who has learned to fend for himself. I don’t need my Mother anymore, it would have been nice to have her in my life but she had chosen to leave. I’d realised long ago there was no point procrastinating; life is for the living and I’d intended on seizing every moment as if it were my last.
That’s exactly what I’d done. Once I had finished college, I’d gone off to travel the world. I’d visited so many beautiful places and I’d done some many wonderful things. I’d picked fruit in Florida’s orange groves for the extra cash; I’d chased sea turtles 40 feet below sea level - just for fun; I’d even planned to climb Everest but an unfortunate accident involving a sand buggy and my femur put a dampener on that idea.
All that faded in comparison to my last adventure – love. Oh yes, I am very much aware of how cheesy that sounds. I’d be the first one to laugh if someone had told me that but yes, as I sat there bound and gagged, I had started to think of love. I was thinking of how, despite everything and no matter how much experience you have, you can never be prepared. You never know what to expect. You could read all the guide books in the world and still you would never quite be sure. Personally, that’s one of the greatest things about it – it’s so unpredictable, but so addictive!
One day you could be arguing over the most trivial things; the next you could be so passionately engrossed in every tiny detail and revel in it! You find the right person to share your days with and love can truly be the most wonderful adventure of your life. The most thrilling rollercoaster; the ultimate adrenaline high; a no holds barred all access pass to the greatest wonder in all the land! I feel at this point I should probably make some kind of disclaimer - there is, after all, no guarantees that a person may ever feel as crazy about someone as I have done. That said though, love affects people differently. Some people prefer ‘the quiet life’, others like romance, I just so happen to love adventure. So, I suppose that is how best that I can describe it – it is as good as (if not better) than the greatest thing you have ever done, if it’s right. Only, if it’s right.
So there I was - blind folded and sore beyond belief and thinking of love. It was at this point that I’d felt so utterly helpless. I couldn’t recall a single moment passed childhood that I’d ever felt so vulnerable. I suppose it didn’t help that, for some reason, I appeared to have been missing all my clothes. Yet another puzzle I was trying to work out. The throbbing headache I had really didn’t help the thinking process either. I guess I then had being cold to add to the list of things to be thinking on: blind folded, bound, sore, vulnerable, and cold.
As I’d shivered and groaned on my rickety old chair (that I did not want to think about), I had become distracted from my train of thought by footsteps. I could hear voices muttering behind me but I couldn’t then make out what they were saying.
“Hello? Who’s there?” I’d called. I suppose, at that point, I hadn’t really thought that one through. For all I knew, they were axe wielding maniacs coming back to finish me off. I suppose if they’d left me there, they’d of known where to find me whether I called out or not.
A bark of laughter surprised me from one side, I’d been so preoccupied with the footsteps approaching I hadn’t even considered there’d be someone there already.
“Who’s there?” I’d tried so hard to sound tough but it’s pretty hard when you’re the one unable to move and very conscious of being naked. It had sounded suspiciously like I was losing my voice.
The footsteps had sounded very close now, so close I could hear them talking. It had sounded like two men and they were discussing football. Typical really, isn’t it? I’d asked what I’d felt at the time was a very astute question but all they cared about was bloody football! As they’d bickered amongst themselves over who the best players were, I’d begun to realise that I’d recognised the dulcet tones of one of the men.
“Rob? Rob! Is that you?”
The group of men had laughed. “Well, I’ll be damned! There was me thinking he’d be too mashed to know his arse from his elbow!”
“Rob, you jerk! Get me out of here!”
“Don’t be daft, Bill. This is the most fun I’ve had in years!” the group of men continued to laugh hysterically, so much so one of them started with the hiccups.
“What the hell are you going on about, Rob? I’m frickin’ freezing! Get me out of here!”
“Gee, I would Billy, but we’re having some technical difficulties…”
“What do you mean technical difficulties?” my fists had clenched in frustration, straining my already sore muscles.
“Well, we seem to have lost the keys somewhere between the door and you…”
“Well, I’m glad you guys are finding this so frickin’ funny but you need to get me out of this! Where are my clothes? Oh my God, am I cold!” the more I’d thought of my position, the more uncomfortable and grouchy I became.
“I suppose we could cover you until we find the key…” Rob had suggested.
“Oh, hang on a sec…” one of the other men added, a flash of light pierced through the blindfold. “There! Now he’ll always remember what an amazing night he had.”
All three men laughed again as my blindfold was removed and I was draped with a coat. I’d squinted to protect my eyes from the seemingly harsh sunlight that came streaming through a battered barn window. “Where the hell am I?”
“I dunno. Some farm about 15 miles from town.” Rob had shrugged.
“Who are they?” I’d pointed to the other men.
Rob had grinned at them, “well, you travelled so much that you didn’t really get chance to meet many people around here, so I took the liberty last night to invite some old friends of mine to help us celebrate!”
I remember at that point feeling very confused, the sunlight hurt my eyes and it seemed to hurt my head all the more too. “Celebrate what?” I’d ventured.
“Well, your stag night of course! You didn’t think we’d let you get married without a proper send off, did you? Good bye Mr Bachelor, hello Mr Shackles.” Rob had slapped one of his friends on the back, “great idea about the handcuffs, by the way. I’d never of thought of that!”
