Metropolitan Lines Issue 2 - Brunel University

gilt-framed picture of his own slimy
visage before he falls asleep. He sits
on the edge of the sofa a little too
close, with his legs wide open. The
towel between his manhood and my
gaze is thin and I’m starting to feel a
tad uncomfortable. “Are you tickling
my foot, honey?” he asks with an
expectant raise of eyebrow.
“No, you wish,” I simply answer.
He looks to his foot; jumps up
immediately and begins shouting
hysterically, “Get it off me. Get it off
me. Please do something!
Anything!”
His towel drops to the floor and
he is left stark naked, gripping his
manhood, shaking like a scared little
child.
I jump up too and begin to
bellow, “What’s wrong? What do
you want me to do?”
“Didn’t you see it? The spider? It
was huge! It ran over my foot. Can
Scarf Me Up
Scarf around my neck,
And the old lady in mustard leggings,
Flagging
Tesco bags,
Gently flanks me,
Serpentining through hoodies,
With the goodies in her denim trolley.
A rising grey,
She gazes up at me -
hair in disarray -
Eyes,
Blasphemous black.
Beautiful.
She smiles,
‘Make sure you stay warm, dear.’
A scarf over the mouth,
Things are different.
People edge away,
Even someone’s carrier bag skirts round me,
‘Guttering, choking, drowning’
Under our windless bus shelter.
you look for it?”
Hopping from one foot to
another, I can’t help but laugh at
him.
“A spider?” I almost mock.
“Arachnophobia is a valid fear,
you know. Not something to
ridicule. It affects millions of
people.” He preaches the last bit as
he runs to the bedroom to, I hope,
put some clothes on. I look for the
feared animal, expecting to find a
hairy fiend. Instead I discover a
medium-sized house spider,
cowering in the corner. I pick it up
and set it free. Perhaps getting rid of
him will be easer than first expected.
Five: Teacher’s Pet
It is nearly the end of term. It has
been 6 weeks since parents’
evening, and Sam has become my
new best friend. Giving him jobs to
undergraduate poetry
50
undergraduate fiction
do within the classroom has
boosted his morale and at the
moment his disruptive behaviour is
gradually improving. Currently, he
is my book monitor. I have become
very attached to seeing his cherubic
features in the morning, so much so
that I feel a pang of disappointment
when he is late or absent. However,
there is still a tiny part of me that
wishes his behaviour would slip ever
so slightly. Then I would have a
perfectly valid excuse to see his
handsome father again. Somehow,
unfortunately, I think Sam has
learnt his lesson. My plan for
removing the unwelcome
houseguest is coming together
nicely. I just hope and pray it works.
The classroom is empty, apart
from Sam. I can see him placing
textbooks on the appropriate tables
through the rectangle of glass in the
door.
“Morning, Sam,” I offer
cheerfully as I plonk my heavy pile of
marking on my cluttered desk,
making pencils fly off in every
direction. As I turn round he is
opposite me, rocking from side to
side, gripping something nervously
with two hands behind his back.
“Can I ask you something, Miss
McKay?” His voice is trembling
slightly and his cheeks have turned
hot pink.
“You know you can, Sam.” I offer
softly and perch on the edge of my
desk, so I’m not towering over him.
“Well, it’s just, if you want to. I
mean you don’t have to or anything.
Only if you want to…” he trails off.
“If I want to what?” I ask
expectantly. He is really rocking
now and his head is lowered, I
think, with embarrassment.
“Come and watch me play
football on Saturday?” He asks the
question as a mutter and looks up
eagerly with his huge, watery blue
Shane Jinadu
Metropolitan Lines Summer 2008
A Lesson Learned
Laura Brown