A haemorrhage and a Lawnmower

Ashley Hayes entered her stuffy living room. A woman with freckles dotted all over her skin and limp brown hair curled her thin, wobbly branch legs into the folds of a tartan cushion. Flickering lamp light glimmered down into a humble pair of ocean eyes as she gazed up unknowingly at everything and nothing at all. Ceiling tiles and the future. Curtain railings and forgotten visions. Dust mites and the meaning of life. Ashley Hayes could be an awful nuisance. And was 22 - punchy, inquisitive, yet so very sombre. An odd combination. But she wasn’t to blame. Ashley Hayes was lost. In such a boring place to be lost in as well let it be noted. A forest. So conventional. Whether she met up with Little Red Riding Hood, Goldilocks, those Blair Witch Project kids and the rest of the Too Stupid To Fall Into a Less Predictable Narrative gang remains to be seen. Nonetheless, this is where you will find Ashley if perhaps you are after her for unpaid bills and wish to incarcerate her. Or of course if you wish to just pop in to say hello. She liked it this way. Tree after tree enveloping her ongoing malaise for humanity. But the being lost part was on purpose. She lived in Lost, she was ‘Lost’. She was lost in herself, so she decided to live there - in a vague breach of logic. Had it worked? Of course it hadn’t. Ashley was still as miserable as ever. She sought to fill a gap that had been savagely wrenched from her life, her thoughts, her memories. She wasn’t even trying to be momentous or figurative. She was genuinely a jigsaw short of a few pieces (in want of a more adventurous metaphor). It’s a shame because it was a vaguely nice jigsaw too. It had a whimsical cartoon rabbit on there somewhere and a sunset at it’s most majestic. The part where it resembles a splodge of orange paint that the artist of the sky couldn’t be bothered to rectify. Ashley Hayes had forgotten. Forgotten so many things too. Some were stupid little things like forgetting to buy milk so she eats her cereal dry one morning. Disgusting. She hated that. Or forgetting the time of her favourite TV programme and thus never coming across it again. It had never occurred to her to purchase a television guide. Then there are bigger things. Like forgetting her family. Forgetting her name. Forgetting her whole being really. And the thing that makes all that vaguely bemusing is because Ashley Hayes isn’t very forgetful usually. One thing Ashley hadn’t forgotten was when the doctors told her she had been in a coma for five years give or take. Another was that her family had never come back to help her, abandoned the house and just given up and had not been able to be contacted since. Another thing she remembered was that she had forgotten to turn off the lawnmower.
When Ashley stepped out to retrieve the rogue garden appliance it was to her utmost surprise (And our utmost amusement) that the lawnmower was rip-roaring up and down the garden like a hamster on helium, tearing up the precious lawn that was the only thing she really had to care for. Sheets of turf scattered for miles and a garden officially massacred. A masterpiece. This sudden complete and utter turmoil of a creation that for a few years now Ashley had honed and nurtured was met with a surprising reaction of nonchalance and indifference. It even surprised Ashley herself that wonderful layers of luscious green blades no longer would greet her every morning and make the world seem slightly more colourful. Instead all that met her now was brown sludge. So the chase began to assassinate her garden murderer. As she wrestled the lawnmower to the ground, she tripped. But not because of the intoxicated machinery - but on something else. Something lumpy and peculiar that was definitely not some sort of weed or green irritation at all. Ashley swept away pale auburn strands that tickled the groove in her nose so merrily and picked up the new addition to her garden. At that moment a new piece to the jigsaw was added. A blob of colours, red, green and yellow most particularly were hastily painted into place. Silver foil wrapped over what could’ve been anything. A crumpled package from the past. A cross examination did do nothing to diagnose it. Days past and it remained an indecipherable mess of an item but Ashley abandoned all housework, all gardening to stay with this lump of colour in desperate need to work out it’s secret. For some reason - this wasn’t some sort of everyday household rubbish - and she lived near no idiotic teenagers who could’ve planted it. Ashley had cleaned the creature, straightened out it’s box-shape with the iron, and picked aside lashings of soil that collected up in every crevice. A week of solid concentration passed by as Ashley came no further to a conclusion. It was by this point that Ashley had completely lost sight of everything else that wasn’t a peculiar implement in her garden and the house she dwelled was nought but an empty shell. Overly hasty, instead of giving up - and perhaps doing a bout of shopping (She still had no milk after all) was to order greasy take-out food instead. The same boy always visited. A black mop crowned along his head, and a gangly pale body draped in woolly jumpers from the 80s and flares so flared they looked like they had been designed for a trapeze artist. Despite his over-friendliness and desire to chat every time another 12’ margherita graced the front door step - Ashley ignored his oafish presence to return to her package of underlying mystery. But one day - the pizza imp decided that he could wear the most disastrous jumper in the world and he would still not get noticed. And it was essential he would get noticed. As he thought he knew her…no. He knew her. He knew her very well. Or at least he thought he did. Perhaps melted cheese and stuffed crusts were all he really knew anymore. But Ashley Hayes had something. And Anthony Miller had seen it all before. He blinked. And years and years suddenly slipped behind him for a moment.
“Excuse me miss, don‘t suppose I could have a word could I?” An irresolute but defiant voice chirped as the door began to shut upon his bore-ridden life once again. But not this time. Ashley caught the handle and clutched at it. The door handle was more of a chalice of social reawakening now. Or perhaps it was still a door handle. It wasn’t too important to say the least. But it was true - Ashley was alone. She hadn’t spoken to anyone in so long. Not properly. Ashley’s mind lingered to something crumpled and colourful on her desk down the corridor, but she scrunched it up and threw it aside in her mind and swung open the door. The boy had an oddly peculiar nose that curved outwards. Then inwards. Than outwards again. It would’ve made a fascinating rollercoaster.
“Is there anything wrong? Did I not give you the right change? I’m terribly sorry wait there..’ Ashley fumbled around with her purse more clumsily than she was fumbling around with her words.
“No no, miss, not that at all. It’s just I..’ He faltered. He didn’t quite know what to say. Was there an actual point that needed to be brought up at all? He had a ‘feeling’ about her. This was ridiculous even by a 22 year old pizza boy’s standards.
“What is it?” Ashley asked, a clueless look glazed across her pale complexion and funny little freckles.
A pause swept by the two of them. A ghostly pause that singed their lungs and allowed niether to speak. But Anthony breathed and his chest lessened it’s harsh grip.
“I think I know…do you remember me?’ He timidly questioned. Ashley gazed into his brown eyes with interest, but didn’t know how to tell the boy she did not.
“I don’t remember a lot of things” Such a sad sigh she breathed out after explaining to him. She briefly mentioned a car crash. A coma. A haemorrhage and a lawnmower. She went from brief to highly detailed, but the words flooded out. She didn’t even know if this boy, this man - he was much older the more she looked at him - cared. But Anthony lapped up every word. Knowing now he was right! He always had a knack for faces. She was who Anthony had pondered over. In a way Anthony felt he had always known…the simple order of the same pizza all the time was so typical of her. But the tragedy of her story - and the intrigue of the parcel made Anthony decide not to worry her over who he was right now. What’s another nameless pizza boy?
So Anthony was a stranger for an afternoon as he immersed himself in this odd crumple of paper. He missed his pizza round for a couple of days as the pair puzzled over the massacre thing. And inevitably, as people do - the mystery object became neglected in favour of Ashley and Anthony’s new friendship. Chit-chat replaced dissembling, laughter replaced examination.
‘The day it happened.’ Ashley murmured, as her stiff thin fingers trembled along a flimsy piece of green cellophane. ‘The day of the crash…was my 17th birthday. Or so I had been told.’
But Anthony already knew.
‘The doctors said that I was so close to dying…’
But Anthony already knew.
‘And when I finally got out - my family had gone. Eloped. They couldn’t find them. Said they didn’t want to deal with what had happened from the grief…hadn’t even stopped to hope.’
Already knew.
‘And I can’t remember them…or why they left. I can’t remember my own mother’s face…’
Knew.
‘Apparently one person stayed with me all the time. And I should never know him? Isn’t that sad, Anthony? Anthony?’
Fade out. Fade out.

Anthony Miller could be an awful nuisance. He was 2 weeks late with his Science project and was already in detention for the rest of the millennium. But detention in a cold dark school room with Mr Yates was hardly a desirable way to spend a bright summer’s afternoon. The sky was clear, and inviting. An ocean of crystal blue waiting to be swam in. So Anthony decided the detention could wait, and sped at the speed of light on his bike to his favourite garden. Acres of luscious green blades waiting to be crushed. Talking of waiting to be crushed…a familiar body had launched itself upon him, and he was buried in pale thin hair and a bony, but sprightly little frame.
‘You great oaf, Anthony - you can’t keep skiving Yates!’ emerged the clear ringing voice through layers of arms legs, heads and hair.
‘Get off Ash! ASH!’ He had screamed over and over until the words melted into each other. But those flimsy paper arms were unpredictably powerful like iron staffs. How embarrassing.
‘You wanna stop over? We’re having pizza for tea’ Ashley proposed, a glimmering smile emblazoned upon her lips.
‘Eurgh I hate pizza…’ Anthony wretched.
‘Besides, I bet you’d never hear me say this but Im gonna do my Science project tonight.’
Ashley rolled on to her front with her scrawny legs dangled in the air, brushing against the light wind.
‘What you going to do for it then?’
‘Something really smart…I’ve got to impress Yates’
‘So nothing then. A cardboard box with a bit of rubber stuck to it and you can call it your brain.’ A shrill giggle bounced across the grass and soared into the sky.
‘Shut up Ash, my mums going to kill me if Yates doesn’t get to me first…plus the only reason I’ve left it so long is because I know everyone’s gonna laugh. I hate it when they laugh…’
‘Okay okay. So do something we’ve done in Science and impress Yates! He’ll love it! Like erm. Well what’ve we done in Science recently?’
Anthony crossed his legs and his scabby knees. His brow furrowed.
‘I don’t remember.’
‘Not even yesterday?’
‘I’ve slept since then!’
‘So?’
Ashley sighed. He could be so stupid sometimes.
‘Let’s play tig.’ So the two nine year olds took chase around the garden of lush green. Their footsteps punctuating the beauty and time Ashley’s mother had sacrificed for it.

Focus.

‘Anthony?’
Anthony faltered.
‘Sorry. It’s just…’
Fade out, Fade out.

Sellatape. Glue. Glitter. Flimsy rolls of crêpe paper. Felt tip pens. It was all it took to create a masterpiece. Their Magnum Opus.
‘What is it?’ Mr Yates asked with a leering cynicism caught in his throat.
‘It’s a memory machine sir.’
‘What?’ A man of many words, Mr Yate decided just one was needed to tear apart poor Anthony’s science project he had spent all day and night on.
‘It’s a box that keeps memories for if you forget them! You press this button here…’
‘What you mean that Smarties lid?’
‘Erm yes…’
‘We truly have reached the 21st century haven’t we Mr Miller?’

Laughs and giggles plagued the classroom. Only a girl at the back with fine light hair remained as solemn as a beefeater.

‘And right here is where the memories are kept - and you put this net here over your head like that and then…’
‘Jab your finger on to the plastic button, that’s the pinnacle of technological history right there. Step down Miller, and take your empty cereal box with you, there might be a few crumbs at the bottom you can have for tea considering you’ll be very late home tonight.’
The man was literally a pantomime villain. Anthony grimaced as he glanced at a man who very clearly needed a purple cape adorned around his shoulders.

Focus.
‘What is it Anthony?’
‘I always knew they would…’
‘Would what?’
Anthony looked at her. How could she not remember?


Pools of rich caramel chocolate poured into an ocean of deepest blue. Mahogany blended into the twinkling clear water, sweeping the blue with splashes of deep brown. The artist of the jigsaw slotted another piece into place, and smiled a humble grin as he spent hours perfecting that final flicker. That last glimmer of melancholy that glistened away in their eyes until Ashley found Anthony’s lips. As they kissed, all motion blurred. The object got knocked on to the floor and smashed in two. It had been a shell. Preserving within it a 2 weeks late Science project. Their Magnum Opus. Had merely been an empty cereal box with a net attached without her. But she had made it what it really was. It was her memories in that box. Anthony’s hands rested lightly upon Ashley’s tense shoulders, his fingers trying to sooth her. She was nervous. She had always been nervous.


‘Anthony come back! Come back Anthony!’
Four pairs of scrawny legs merged into a haze travelling at the speed of light down road after road until Anthony fell head-first into freshly cut grass, tears streaming down his red raw face. Blades plastered all over his cheeks.
‘It doesn’t matter Anthony, it’s just a Science project! Mr Yates is an idiot! He’s never liked you because your dad beat him up once! Come on Anthony please…’
‘I’m not bothered about being laughed out or Yates! They were your memories in there. We tried it out! We tested it and it worked! And now you don’t have memories because you put them all in here! And the buttons fallen off! I can’t get them out again! And now you won’t remember that we’re friends anymore…’ And then sobs. Oceans and oceans.
‘I’ll never forget anything Anthony. I’m really clever.’ she said soothingly her arms stroking his shaking back.
‘We’ve got to keep it safe before Yates smashes them all up. I knew they’d laugh.’ he whispered. And so we dug.
Severed daffodils where draped over the garden fence. Grubby child’s fingers clawed hungrily at the fresh soil beneath them. Ashley’s mother gazed sadly from the window as she saw her garden in shreds, but didn’t stop them. She simply gazed, with eyes splashed with such a perculiar shade of azure as layers of luscious green blades no longer would greet her every morning and make the world seem slightly more colourful. Instead all that met her now was brown sludge.
‘That’s deep enough isn’t it?’
‘Of course it is it’s not as if we’re hiding a dead body’
And so the children dumped their project into the pit below, forever to be kept - a memory that would last forever. Hidden away from the laughter. And as the shell cracked open, Ashley finally remembered. She remembered her life, and she kissed Anthony deeper. She remembered her mother, she held Anthony tightly. She remembered her love. The puzzle was complete. The artist threw his paint box to one side and slept. Like Ashley and Anthony slept. Their pale skin meshed together.
And in the morning, as a bright burning sun shone over a massacred garden, a neglectful pale haired family munched soundlessly on a lavish breakfast that would never fill a certain void - and a failed Science teacher made redundant who now sat alone staring into dust mites that would always just be dust mites - Ashley Hayes remembered the most important thing of all.
‘How much milk do you like in your coffee Anthony?’ she asked - as the white droplets sprinkled merrily into rich warm tea as she crunched on delightfully soggy cornflakes. Imagine cornflakes dry. She hated that.


Sophie Hall



PS: I finished my exams. :D