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September, 1997 - Rawttenstall
By the age of 10, Phil Lester already knew he was a weird kid.
He could tell by the way his parents reacted to his ideas and adventures, how his brother would take care of him in a particularly concerned way, how his friends would look at him when they were playing outside (both with awe and a bit of fear, if he had to be honest). But probably most of all, because he knew his grandmother was weird (everybody said so), and he really, really liked her.
His grandmother was a psychic, that’s what she asserted, at least. She didn’t have a witch’s house filled with strange things and cauldrons and dead animals, like the movies wanted you to believe witches live like, but a regular grandma house with comfortable couches, fluffy pillows and the smell of tea and something cooking in the oven. There were pictures of him and his brother and other relatives in every room, and ornate plates carefully displayed on the walls. But in one corner of the living room, there was a purple chair and a little side table, and in it, she kept all her tarot maces, crystals and a special tea set. And Phil absolutely loved it.
He spent hours with her on the weekends and some days after school, where she would show him the cards and explain some of them, or tell him how crystals work. On wintery days they would make some tea with loose leaves and he would pretend to read her fortune.
So, the first time someone actually commented on his weirdness in a way Phil didn’t appreciate, he noticed.
It wasn’t a family member, he had heard plenty of those; and it wasn’t one of his friends, who told him that with a smile as they followed his lead down that hole to try and get some sheep bones. It was a new kid at school, the first day of school after summer and Phil hadn’t been doing anything weird actually, the boy just came to him at recess, stood there and with a twisted face said “You’re weird”, and left.
It left him thinking about the word and what it meant. So much so that he went quiet all day and as they were having dinner that night his brother poked him with a fork and asked “What’s wrong with you?”
“Martyn!” his mother scolded, but Martyn didn’t seem to care.
“Do you think I’m weird?” Phil asked.
His parents went quiet and his brother laughed.
“Well, yeah. But that’s what makes you, you.”
“So you don’t think it’s a bad thing?”
“I think throwing stones at stray dogs is a bad thing, do you do that?”
“NO!” Phil shouted, a little too emotional about it “I like dogs! And cats, and pigeons and…”
“Then you being weird is not a bad thing.” Martyn said and closed the discussion, going back to his plate.
Phil stared at him for a minute and then decided that if his bigger brother thought it was okay, then it must surely be.
“Today we went to the hills behind the library and pretended we were rocks rolling down in an earthquake…” he began, and his mother and father smiled.
Years later, Phil would remember that conversation and realized his brother’s statement was a bit bland and probably biased by some event he had seen that same day, but what actually stood with him forever, was that Martyn thought that weird and mean were two different things, and that he could be weird without being a bad person.
His doubts didn’t stop, nevertheless, because the new kid at school wouldn’t stop picking on him. Which was weird, because Phil could understand that someone didn’t like him, what he didn’t understand was that even if he didn’t like him the kid was always following him.
He tried to ignore him, as his mother had taught him, but it was a bit difficult, so on friday he just turned around and dead in the eye, he said “If I’m so weird, why do you keep talking to me? Aren’t you afraid my weirdness will stick to you?”
“I’m immune to weirdness.” the boy said with that grimace he did every time Phil was too close.
“You’re not. You’re being weird by following me around!” Phil was exasperated.
“I’m not weird! You are! And I bet nobody will ever like you because of that!”.
Phil stared at him in silence, slowly walked up until he was inches apart from his face and then he shouted “boo!” and the boy screamed and ran away.
He went home with a note that day, and he had a small conversation with his parents about what had been happening. He felt relieved when his mother looked at his father and shook her head, that look that came into her eyes every time she felt someone was being unjust.
“I’ll go talk to the teacher on Monday.” Then she smiled at him and said “You did nothing wrong, Philip, I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself. But next time, you should tell the teachers when someone’s picking on you.”
“Okay.” he said, and ran up the stairs to his room.
That other boy, he thought, was weird and mean and wrong. People did like him. Phil had friends and a club and a family that liked him.
He woke up the next day and jumped out of bed. He checked his mental calendar and remembered, Saturday 6th of September, today he had a sleepover at his grandmother’s. He went downstairs for breakfast and had a huge bowl of cereal.
“Why don’t you have cereal?” he asked his father, who was having a cup of coffee and buttered toast.
“I stopped liking cereal at some point.” His dad said simply with a shrug “I think it’s too sweet. And I never really liked the ones that don’t have any sugar.”
“Oh, no, those taste like cardboard.” Phil said, shoving a spoonful of Fruity Marshmallow Crispies to his mouth.
“And how would you know that, exactly?” the adult asked, trying to stay serious, but the hint of a smile appearing at the side of his mouth.
“‘Cause I tried it and it’s awful” Phil answered truthfully, his dad bursting out in laughter. Phil smiled, because he liked making people laugh.
“I will never stop liking cereal.” he stated after another mouthful.
“I hope you never do.” his father offered, and went back to his toast.
After breakfast he went outside to visit his rock collection, which he had agreed to release in exchange for his hamster Norris, and told them about his first week back at school. After lunch he played videogames with his brother and they managed to finally finish a Crash Bandicoot level they’d been stuck in for a couple of weeks.
“We’re the Bandicoot Kings!” he stated, standing up on the couch and eliciting a shout from his mother to get down.
“We’re the kings of video games!” said Martyn, doing a little dance.
“The bestest kings of them all!”
“Yeahhhh!”
“YEEAAAAHHH!”
He sat down and looked at his mother.
“Mum, did you play videogames when you were little?”
“Oh, they didn’t exist back then.” She said with a smile. “We didn’t even have a TV when I was a kid, it was too expensive.”
“What did you play, then?”
“We used to play cards, dominoes and stuff like that. Some board games were already around, like Monopoly. And we would go outside and roam the hills and the forest inventing stories.”
“Why did you stop?” he asked.
“It’s just something you do when you grow up.” she said, matter of factly.
Phil sat on that answer and then returned his attention to his game.
“I’ll never stop playing videogames.”
“I hope you never do.” was his mother’s answer, and even though he didn't see it, there was a heartfelt smile on her face.
That afternoon he made his bag and went to his grandmother’s house thinking about a lot of things all at once, and was excited to see what the night had in store for them. Usually she would make a tasty dinner and they would share stories of interesting things they’d seen or learnt through the week, and then they would have hot chocolate and invent their own stories.
“My Philly!" his grandma exclaimed as she opened the door.
“Granny!” He jumped to hug her. “Granny, we did it! We passed the level!”
“Oh sweety, that’s so great! Get inside, tell me all about it.”
She had made cottage pie for dinner and they ate until they couldn’t pass another bite. He told her about his and Martyn’s adventures with the game, about his now freed rock collection, and the last adventures of the Kool Katz.
She told him about her visit to the market that morning, about a funny little fox that she saw while walking to church one day and his last game of bridge with her friends.
“You do still play games then?” he asked, filled with hope.
“Of course I do!”
“Mum says that it’s just something you stop doing.”
“Oh, well, some people stop playing. But your mum was never a huge fan of games to start with, so it makes sense.”
“I’m never gonna stop.”
“I bet you won’t.”
“I will be old and wrinkly and I will still be playing games with my friends.”
“If you marry someone who likes games, then you will be able to play with them too.” she said, and Phil contemplated that option.
“Grandma” he said solemnly “I think I’m too young to be thinking about marriage.”
She laughed loudly for a whole minute and Phil grinned.
“That might be true.” she answered. And then she stood up and began to clean the table, Phil doing his part too. “Well, I have a surprise for you tonight.”
“What is it!?”
“Let’s make some tea and I’ll tell you.”
They prepared the tea on the special cups and put them on a tray. His grandmother retrieved a box of chocolates from some hidden place Phil didn’t know and then they went outside.
“There’s a comet in the sky, and today is so clear that we might even see it!” she said happily.
“Oh, like a magic shooting star?” he asked, and she laughed.
“I’m sure you can ask it for a wish, if you want to.”
They sat in silence, staring at the sky, drinking tea and eating chocolate, and at some point in the night, Phil asked the question that had been still bothering him for the past days.
“Grandma, do you think I’m weird?”
“I do.” she said simply, still looking at the sky.
“Do you think that’s something bad?”
“I don’t” she turned to look at him, intrigued, and Phil understood she was asking him to explain.
“Martyn doesn’t think so either.”
“Then why are you asking?”
“There’s a new boy in school, and he said I’m weird. But I didn’t like the way he said so.”
“Well, that’s his own problem. Because you don’t have to act normal to make him happy. Right now you just have to be happy yourself, without being mean to other people.”
“Grandma?”
“Yeah?”
“I think you’re weird.”
“Thank you dear.” she smiled, and they both turned their eyes back to the sky.
A little bit later, Phil saw the white flash appear.
“There, there, Granny!”
“Oh, there it is, indeed.”
“Magic star!” he stood up and shouted “I wish I can eat cereal and play videogames forever, and I wish…” he looked at the woman sitting at his side, he was young to be thinking about marriage, but he could ask for something better. “I wish I get a best friend who likes those things too, and that likes me for being a weirdo!”