My Mate Dave (Part 1)

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
Dave is a loud, vulgar, rude, controversial, psychotic human who drinks heavily and does copious amounts of hard drugs. This is the story of how I met this individual and what led us to becoming best friends.

Submitted: April 09, 2014

A A A | A A A

Submitted: April 09, 2014

A A A

A A A


My Mate Dave

 

It’s about ten o’clock on a Sunday morning. Lying in my bed, I’m far from awake as the warm comfort of the duvet cradles me like a new born. The rain batters against the window and the trees howl in the wind like a symphony of destruction. It’s strangely pleasant. The door -bell rings to disturb the peace. It’s a long ring that echoes through the house like a finger prodding my ear drum. There’s no way in hell I’m getting out of bed at 10 o’clock on a Sunday morning! It continues for several minutes, only pausing briefly to change finger; this person obviously knows I’m in the house.

 

I stagger out of bed and throw on a dressing gown with the persistent ringing annoying every second. Running down the stairs, I’m ready for a personal presentation of foul language if anyone’s trying to sell me something. The latch comes off and the bolt is undone. I open the door and he is unveiled. There he stands in the soaking wet with no more than a tight t-shirt on; accenting every fine muscle he so admires. A duffel bag is slung over his shoulder and the coat (which he should be wearing) is tucked under his arm. He must be freezing! We look at each other for a moment until I give the nod of acceptance which he so craves. I know exactly why he’s here, there’s no need for words.

He bundles in like an excitable dog at dinner time; drops all his stuff on the floor and runs upstairs to my room leaving wet foot prints all over the carpet.

‘Two sugars in mine’ he shouts from upstairs.

That’s the kind of welcome I’m usually accustomed to with Dave nowadays. We’ve broken the awkward few years of ‘getting to know’ each other; figuring out what he wants just comes naturally now. You see, Dave has been chucked out of his house yet again, I realise he’s here because he’s got nowhere else to go and I realise he won’t leave for quite some time. This is a process which has happened twice already this year.

I put the kettle on and wash up a couple of cups. I hear Dave rummaging through his duffel bag in search of clean clothes. For all I know he’s already unpacked his stuff into my cupboard. The tea bags are strained and the milk is dolloped in. Weak for me, strong for Dave; strong tea for a strong man as he puts it. Heading up the stairs I ponder whether to bollock him for the sheer cheekiness of turning up uninvited and expecting a bed. The only problem is; he lives two hundred miles away. Rejecting him would be too cruel due to all the distance he has just travelled. He is a sly one.  

 

I head into my room with the tea, only to find him firing up a crumpled cigarette from his pocket.

‘Put it out!’ I sharply insist.

‘Come on man it’s pouring outside, your mums not gunna be home for ages!’

‘Dude she doesn’t even know you’re here to stay, imagine what would happen if the house smelled like cigarette as well!’

My mum hates Dave. From the first time I brought him round in year 9 she immediately found his company insufferable. Over the years she’s accepted that we’re going to spend time together but she reserves the right to truly despise him (something which Dave is fully aware of).

‘What happened then?’ I curiously ask.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Why are you here?’

‘Oh that’s charming! Why do you think I’m here? I wanted to see you!’

‘Aww that’s sweet man, some notice would have been nice but I’ve missed you too.’ A sweet and pleasant exchange but I know there’s more to come.

‘And my mum chucked me out’ he quickly adds. Things are never that simple!

‘Oh right . . . so what happened?’

‘I called her a cunt’

‘You called her a cunt?’

‘I called her a cunt, yes!’

‘Why did you call her a cunt?

‘Because she is one!’

 

It’s sometimes difficult to meet Dave on the same level. I suppose it would be acceptable to get annoyed with a family member every now and then but to drop the C bomb on your own mother for whatever reason just seems far too excessive!  In all fairness I have seen Dave do worse so this sort of incident doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.

‘So how long are you going to stay for?’ I ask in the hope of changing the subject.

‘Hopefully no more than a couple of weeks’

A long silence follows.

‘A couple of weeks?!’

This information comes as a shock to me merely due to the fact that Dave usually only stays for three or four days. Two weeks just seems a bit too suspicious for it to be a one off. Something is seriously wrong!

‘Won’t your mum take you back after she’s cooled off a bit?’

‘Umm . . . it’s a bit more complicated than that man’ he tilts his head and shies away from eye contact.

‘You want to talk about it?’

He comes back up to eye level, looking as if he’s about to burst into tears.

‘No’ he quietly replies.

I put an arm around his shoulder in an attempt to try and relax the situation.

‘Dave?’ I mew.

‘Yeah?’

‘How do you get yourself into these situations?’

 

He lies back against my wall and brushes his face with a grubby hand as if he knew this question would arise at some point. The crumpled cigarette from before is taken out and lit up despite what I said earlier. I take it as Dave trying to subliminally say ‘I’m upset, let me smoke’. He is upset and smoking does calm him so I sit back and don’t say a word. As a final glance I look at his cigarette packet. There are five cigarettes left; something tells me we’re going to be here for a while.  

 

The First Encounter

 

Sorry, we haven’t been properly introduced. My names Andy, twenty- two years old, boiler salesman and your average Joe. You’re probably a bit concerned about the hulking figure who was just sitting in my bedroom. That’s Dave. Best friend, liker, carer and complete psycho.  Throughout my life, Dave has provided me with the companionship and respect any friend should offer, yet it came with much surprise and shock from the very start. You see, Dave is an . . . interesting individual. This is a guy who lost his virginity at twelve, has overdosed on caffeine pills ‘for a laugh’ and finds that taking pictures of his own faeces is comedy gold. Uniqueness doesn’t really cover it.

So why have I chosen Dave? Well . . . beneath the messy exterior lies the best friend that everyone, including yourself hopes to have. You may think that I’m being incredibly presuming or naïve but I’m afraid it’s true. Dave has offered me more than any other individual and for that I thank him. When I first met him though, I fucking hated him!

 

Dave strutted into our classroom with his head held high and asked the teacher if he could ‘fuck her round the bike sheds’. As Dave was a new pupil, it was shocking to say the least yet it drew a lot of laughs and earned him a respectable place on the popularity ladder. I was somewhat taken back by his confidence and vulgar nature. It seemed like his was trying to prove something to a crowd which he knew nothing about. Our school wasn’t used to the controversial or the risqué. In many ways we needed someone like Dave. He brought in smoking, drugs, sex, vandalism, the whole nine yards. People were leaving school and firing up joints faster than you could say ‘ASBO’ and Dave was right beside them holding the lighter and selling them the next hit. Looking back on it many of my old school friends relied heavily on Dave and to his credit, he stuck with them. He wasn’t the type to ignore a chance of making some money and with floods of students conforming to marijuana; Dave must have made a fortune. This of course was none of my business due to the fact that I wasn’t really the type to buy drugs. I lived with two doctors at the time so the initial thought of getting high was quickly extracted as I knew they would find out in a heartbeat. This wasn’t to say that I didn’t notice Dave though. He became a minor celebrity throughout the school. Someone who everyone would recognise regardless of how much older or younger they were. This 13 year old would flirt with girls 5 years older than him in numerous crowds and not give a dam whether they wanted him to or not. He would leave classes and return moments later, drunk as skunk and high as a fucking kite. It was . . . fascinating.  

 

My first real contact with Dave came about a few months after he started. We were paired together for a German class exercise in which we had to role play a scenario where a customer was buying bread from a shop. He slunk down next to me stinking of gin and weed.

‘What are we supposed to do then?’ he glumly asked.

‘You be the customer, I’ll be the shopkeeper.’ He paused briefly looking up at the ceiling.

‘I got a better idea! Why don’t you write down what I have to say and I’ll read it when the teachers near. Deal?’ he smiled a conning grin. And now I paused.

‘I don’t think so mate.’ I didn’t want to admit defeat. Not yet anyway.

He sat there almost stunned looking as if I just farted. He wiped his nose and pulled his chair closer to mine and leant in so no one else could hear.

‘I don’t know you and quite frankly I don’t particularly want to. But right now I’m sitting here so this is how its gunna go. You are going to write down this conversational bullshit on that bit of paper and make sure it’s correct. If you make me look a fool I will find you after school and then make sure you look the fool in front of everyone else at this piece of shit school. Got it? Oh yeah, and I’ll fuck your girlfriend!’

 

This was an interesting point in my life as A) I had never really been threatened before and B) I didn’t have a girlfriend so god knows who Dave was going to ‘fuck’. I sometimes remind him about this little encounter.

 

 

 

 

‘So I was a bit of a dick’ he calmly claims as he lights up his third cigarette.

‘A bit of a dick?’ I sarcastically suggest.

‘Ok, I was a complete arse-hole, you happy?’

‘Why do it then?’

‘I thought being a dick would help me’

‘Why?’

He takes a deep puff and ponders for several seconds as he obviously hadn’t thought about it before.

‘Because that’s what schools want. You can’t escape the fact that the most popular kids in school are the bullies or the arrogant ones. I was merely trying to fit in.’ He was right. Dave is a clever guy when it comes to evaluating a situation.

‘I suppose’

He breathes deep and takes out a can of lager from his duffel bag. It’s now 10:45 in the morning. It’s a saddening sight as he cracks it open and begins to drink deep. You may think that Dave is drinking at this very moment because he’s stressed but I’m afraid that isn’t the case. Dave has now been a functioning alcoholic for almost 2 years.

‘Still drinking then?’ I depressingly ask.

‘Yep’ he admits with an acceptance that must have pained him.

 

During the next few months, Dave’s reputation had started to wane. People had become tired of the whole macho, tough guy routine and didn’t feel his controversy was interesting anymore. Dave had obviously picked up on this and needed a new act. It wasn’t long before he started picking fights on the playing field. Around this time Dave and I had started to get on thanks to a mutual interest of Queen and a few certain films. I was still a bit sceptic of his overall manner yet I found no harm in hanging out with him and having a laugh every now and then. On one particular day Dave decided to pick a fight with possibly the biggest brute in the school. His name was Hannibal and he kicked seven bells of shit out of Dave. After everyone had dispersed, Dave was sitting alone on the field wiping blood off his nose. I approached him gingerly and asked if he was ok. Without a moment’s hesitation he burst out crying and hugged me, sobbing that he was a fraud and that he was a failure, unable to amount to anything. Obviously this came as quite a shock because he had never shown such weakness yet it was that moment in which we truly hit it off. Nothing really changed though. Dave was still Dave. He picked fights, flirted with women and took ketamine on break periods. But now I was there to tut and shake my head for every bad thing that he did. I don’t know whether he took refuge in the fact that someone was disagreeing with his choice of living or whether he enjoyed having someone who countered the destructive behaviour, almost balancing out the madness.

 

People often ask me if I’m scared of Dave and the answer is always no. I admit, he has the temper of an ageing rhino with piles but it’s merely an act half the time. Sadly, this doesn’t change the fact that Dave is a violent man. He once broke someone’s nose because he refused to give him a cigarette. Dave scrubbed it off his conscience within about a day, claiming he didn’t care about that ‘selfish cunt or his nose’. Incidents like this distanced him from many as quite clearly, people were scared off him. Occasionally I feel uneasy if a situation seems to be getting tense but I’m adamant that Dave will never hit me. Unfortunately I feel less optimistic when Dave has been drinking, which sadly is most of the time. Allow me to explain.

 

‘Going out’ has always played a significant part in Dave’s life from as early as fourteen. Whether it be an all- night binge at the chosen nightclub or just a quiet few at the local pub, he would abuse his ‘adult’ figure to indulge in alcohol. To him, it’s a means of verifying that he is the bigger man, the experienced one and in Dave’s eyes the most popular one.

Dave had a procedure you see. Dave has a procedure for almost everything whether he’s arranging an essay or wiping his arse. Four hours before going out he would attend an hours session at the gym in the hope of accenting every fine muscle he so admires. When home he would pull out a bottle of vodka from the freezer and would drink it straight until we arrived. Food? No chance in hell! Dave saw eating as ‘cheating’. The only food he would consume would be breakfast the morning after. The mirror would then be his best friend. He once stood in front of it for almost an hour, re-arranging, combing and admiring. If the vodka had run out, Dave would pull another bottle out and continue just as he had done before. He would usually vomit about twice before his visitors arrived.  When the doorbell would ring he would stash the empty bottles away and pretend like he hadn’t been drinking at all. Most of us would clock on that he was staggering and slurring words though. We would then spend an hour and a half playing drinking games in which Dave would continue to drink vodka. Occasionally he would suggest something disgusting to make the drinking game ‘funnier’. This would usually involve the suggestion of urine or some sort of cleaning product. Every time we would reply ‘No!’ in sync with each other. On one memorable occasion, Dave vomited into a pint class and decided to drink the remains without thinking twice. I also think he holds the record for ‘least amount of shit’s given’ when your friends protest at the levels of disgusting behaviour.

 

On one occasion we decided to go to the local nightclub to join everyone in celebrating their A-Level results. The vibe electrified the entire room while heads of people danced their hearts out to celebrate victory or mask disappointment. One particular individual prompted a riot of admiration due to his phenomenal dance moves; everyone cheered his energy and determination . . . everyone except Dave. When the cheering had died, the young lad went to cool his feet at the nearest bar stool; Dave followed like a prowling tiger. With the slightest whisper in his ear, the individual’s mood had changed for the worst, so much so that he swung with no hesitation in the direction of Dave’s face. That phenomenal dancer left the club that night in an ambulance with a broken nose and two cracked ribs. Dave tried his best to justify his actions by claiming it was no more than ’self- defence’ due to being victim of the first punch.

He never did admit to what he whispered in his ear that night. His stubbornness on the matter only prompted mixed feelings towards him as opposed to the praise and glory he so thought he would have received. Personally, I was disgusted in his behaviour. 


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