Mates and Mums


“And her bristols was hanging out wit her saying, oh, it’s so cold in here, I’m freezin’ me nips off.”

Angus giggled.  “Ain’t seen me no nips in quite a while.”

“You ain’t never seen no nips.”  Caleb said and pushed Angus on the side of the head playfully.


“What your mum’s when you was suckin’ ‘em last week?”  

Angus giggled again and took a drag on his fag.  “What of it?  A nip’s a nip.”

With this Caleb laughed so hard he rolled backwards onto the cement stair.  

“That’s what I like about you, Angus, always one to make me laugh. A top bloke you are.  Yes, you are.”

Angus liked that, being thought of as a bloke, a mate.  

“Okay, chum.  You’re aces and all, but I gots to get back inside and see where this goes, if you get my meanin’.”

“Full montey; eh?”  Angus remarked.

Caleb belt out laughing again.  He stood, dropped his fag to the sidewalk before making his way up the steps.  “Probably just gettin’ off, but one has hopes.”  

“See ya, mate.”  Angus called back.  “Give us a bell sometime.” He stomped his foot onto Caleb’s dieing fag.  He took one long hit off his own and then set it next to the one he just smashed and smashed his as well.  He made a nasty noise in his throat and spit a grem to the walkway.  The day was gray.  He had nowhere to be.  It felt good sitting and thinking about nips and front bits.  Made a tingle in his drawers, almost like he had to pee.  

The door opened behind him and a biddy with hairy arms, double chin and missing teeth shuffled out with a broom in her hand.  

“Get off your bot, boy, away from me steps.”

The corn husks swished and scraped across the top step.

Angus stood and mumbled “old bag” under his breath as he wiped the dust from his shirt.  

“When is your mama comin’ back?”  She called out.

Angus thought about that for a moment, rubbing his neck like he had a soreness there.  He set his eyes to the old woman and thought about what he might say but then thought better of it.

“Don’t you worry. She’ll be in touch soon.  A good woman, she is.”

Angus didn’t linger.  He moved down the sidewalk to the lunch line in from of St. Margaret’s.  

“The hell with him.  He’s a commie.” The old timer who stood in front of him said to the gent in front of him.  He had his left hand in his pocket.  There was a hole in the lower edge, and his pinky kept jutting out and wiggled every time he spoke.  He had a full gray beard and was dragging a suitcase.  

“What in the hell!” Came a scream up behind Angus.  

A slim middle-aged woman, high heels click, click, clicking, and long, limp blonde hair streaming behind her came strutting towards him.  Her eyes fell directly on him.  A handful of men standing in line stared at her. A man who was drunk tried to grab her wrist.  

“Bug off.”  She whacked him in the head with her purse.

“If it’s any consolation, I was in the lock up.”  She says to Angus, never slowing her pace.

All eyes now move to him, and he shifts and moves a few steps away on the sidewalk.   

The woman keeps talking at him, but he isn’t listening.   His lip trembles but he does not cry.

She stamps her feet, like marching in place.  “Stop, stop, stop!”

Angus does.  

She steps next to him and locks her arms around his head, pulling him close to her bosom.   Bristols, he thinks and giggles.