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Porter Wade

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Chapter 2

Bad Date 1

“Do you shave son?” asked Porters dad over the dinning table embarrassing the shit out of him in the process.

“No dad” said Porter without making eye contact with his dad

“What’s the lady’s name Port that you are keen on?” asked his mother applying butter to her boiled potatoes and buckets of salt.

“Fiona” said Porter shifting around in his seat and wishing he was 10,000 leagues under the sea to escape the inquisition he was going through.

“What religion is she son?” said his dad and he snapped some pork crackling between his teeth.

“Not sure dad we haven’t talked very much” said Porter starting to sweat with the grief he was feeling.

“Ya have to know these things if its gonna work son....find out ok....but watch out if she’s a catholic they love having lots of lil catholics ok?”

Porter sat there without moving a muscle and couldn’t believe what he was hearing from his parents before he went out to the party he was invited to go to. He spent all of his pocket money on a present, went to the barbers so his hair was really neat, his mother ironed every article of clothing he was wearing on his body to perfection and he was ready. It was just unbearable suffering through the dinner inquisition and he could hardly wait to be on the way to the birthday party.

“Ok lets get you gone Port” said his father grabbing the car keys off the kitchen bench and looking at his son. Porter stood up from the dinner table and kissed his mums cheek then thanked her for his dinner and moped after his father who would not let up about catholics and their place in religious history.

The drive to the party was going to suck.

And it did all the way to the party. Porter was so relieved to see his dad drive away into the night and he turned to look at the house and heard all the latest music being played and people talking incessantly to each other in the back yard.

This was it.

He checked his clothes, wallet, present and his breath.

He set off up the drive way to the front door.

He rang the bell.

The door opened.

There standing before him was Fiona’s dad.

Porter extended his hand and shook the hand that came at him. It was like shaking the Hulks hand and he felt the bones in his hand creak under the strain. A firm handshake was needed to establish a bond of trust and respect even if it meant going to the local casualty ward later to have his hand re-set in plaster so once the meet and greet was done Porter shuffled off, shaking hand to bring back the circulation to it, and mingled with the party guests and supposed friends he knew from school.

Porter had good eyes and could see Fiona talking to two of her girlfriends and giggling so he gulped some deep lungs full of air and approached the birthday girl with his hands sweaty and his knees about to give way.

Fiona made eye contact.

Porter stopped looking at the floor and made eye contact with her.

“Happy Birthday Fiona...here is your present I got for you and I must say...how pretty you look in that marvellous dress”

Fiona looked at Porter then her girlfriends, took the present from Porters hands and shook it violently back and forth then put it on the table behind her and replied to his opening remarks.....

“So Porter you are saying because I am in a pretty dress I have value?”

“No I just paid you a compliment....” explained Porter ...nervous now.

“It's a good thing you are short Porter and boring because guys like you don’t like tall girls so its sucks to be you I’m not into shallow guys” blurted Fiona while her girlfriends giggled incessantly while standing like guards either side of Fiona.

Porter felt his eyes fill with tears.

He turned and walked out of the busy noisey room and made for the front door. Once outside in the cold night air he walked two houses away from the party then sat in the gutter and cried his eyes out. He was so full of nice expectations and as of right then they were all trashed and burning in flames of abject disappointment. What a cruel thing to say to some one who was being nice to them. He just wanted his dad to pick him up but he didn’t want to risk going back into the party and taking the chance of having his hand mashed up again or running into Fiona so he stood up and just walked home instead.

When he arrived home he went straight to bed dressed in what he was wearing including his shoes and cried some more into his pillow before sleep and exhaustion took over his body.
It was the week end and he had Sunday to recover before school on Monday. When he woke he copped another torrent of abuse from his father because he didn’t hear him come home so he drove to the party to pick him up.

Communication son!!!!

Communication !!!!

Communication !!!!

This was all his dad did and said at the breakfast table so this week end that he had put so much love and trouble into was dead in the water and completely and utterly fucked. After breakfast he went back to bed and slept till lunchtime.
Then he did his homework and started to read The Hobbit.

This form of escapism worked a treat and he wasn’t so hard on himself after a few chapters but his father niggled him all afternoon and well into the evening for making him drive all that way to the party when he was already home in bed.
So that was his first bullshit attempt at trying to win over a young lady who only really invited him there just to get a present then sling off at him so he would leave. She had her manipulation schedule down pat and it worked repeatedly well for her for years until she was hit by a bus and killed when she was 33. Porter didn’t go to the funeral, but his dad did.

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