David’s stories have appeared in print and online at Impspired Magazine, Duality Books, Spillwords Press, Punk Noir magazine. His plays include, I’m Still Here, performed live on Resonance 104.4FM Radio, and Shinwell: An Extra Break For Breakfast, published by Steve Cawte at Impspired. He adapted and directed his story Into the Breach, as a short film for the Rise of The Resistance festival, screened at Bloomsbury Theatre and Welcome Collection. A founder member of the punk band Vee V V (Edils Records), David finds his stories when he’s out and about, or they find him. He lives in South London.
Letter to Herself
I’ve never been back to prison since. Not that I’m, like, counting the days, I have better things to do with my time.
I turned 40 in prison. The big four oh no I’m forty! A watershed no matter where you are or what people might tell you to sweeten the pill. I lost a few pounds while incarcerated. Mind you, I ate little. I looked fabulous, my dah-lings…
I’d been having a relationship with this guy. Knew he was married. Said he was ‘experiencing structural problems’ within the marriage. I mean, who uses that kind of language regarding affairs of the heart? He’d gone off her, the wife, that’s all. Thought he was clever. He was. Smart. And gorgeous. Like a young Harrison Ford (from that film Working Girl?). And damn it, I was in love with him, in love with him, damn it.
He fixed the ‘structural problems.’ Went back to his wife. One night, after I’d been on the sambuca, which at the time was having a renaissance in the clubs and bars that I frequented, this idea dropped an egg in the storm-tossed nest of my mind. That’s my excuse. Of course, I sat on the egg and waited for it to hatch into a plan. They say plans need silence. They say sambuca and ketamine don’t mix. I wasn’t listening, my head was a dance macabre of indignation. Fucking furious I was. And happened to have one of his golf clubs….
I set about his beloved Porsche Cayenne coupe with an intoxicating vengeance tasting sweeter than the elixir of life itself. The windscreen exploded into a million sparkling slivers; I put the devil’s claw to the pristine cobalt blue paintwork; smashed the headlights so that they would never flash their amorous intentions again.
A twisted spiritual lifting it was.
I shouldn’t have sent a gazillion texts. I’m not proud of myself. Wasn’t fair on his wife and… and all the rest…
His name was Martin. Still is!
Was a chipper I used on his Porsche Cayenne. Nicked it from the back of his Volvo Estate. Used to pick me up in the Volvo after having a round. A chipper with a thick head on it, I said in court, which raised a laugh… Hahaha.
Prison taught me something I’m still in the process of learning. I realise I don’t have to rush things. Nor give in to the version of my (inner) voice that means me harm. Who came up with “’tis better to give than receive” – his name was Platitude or something? Well, it’s a maxim suited to someone like me. Though, I avow, not so easy to sustain.
He is forgiven. Which sounds rich, don’t it, me the perpetrator bestowing forgiveness on Martin the victim? I held him responsible, you see, for making me behave the way I did. Love is a dangerous thing in the wrong hands.
Leah, my padmate, was quiet that morning. She was fussing with her hair. Staring into the wilderness of grey walls, I rolled a smoke. Cuppa tea and a bread roll… closed my eyes to forget that I’d become forty. Back to sleep. Big deal. When I opened my eyes, the door was open, Leah was gone. I heard the hum of voices associating. I didn’t feel like associating. Then I saw – and still see – propped up against the kettle on our bitty kitchen shelf, the white envelope with my name in red ink stretched across the middle. The cheapest type you might get from a petrol station, you know what I’m saying? And me I’m in tears of laughter reading the names and best wishes from all the girls on the wing.
It wasn’t the best birthday party I ever had. But that card was priceless. I’ll keep it forever.
I’ve got people around me. Quite a few who support me. And they know who they are. Does it sound like I’m going into an Oscar acceptance speech?
Three years out of prison now, and I’m never going back.
Every day I offer gratitude. And receive love in return.
impspired 