Primal
by Marie Basting
OMG. What the hell am I doing here?
I blame that film with Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman, you know, The
Bucket List. Every biddy now seems to have one; a list of stuff they must do before
they snuff it. Maybe I’m wrong, but I can’t see how doing a couple of cool things last
minute is going to make up for years of sitting on your backside watching
EastEnders.
Anyway, Nan’s racing through her bucket list. Last week it was going up
Snowdon. (On the train obviously, walking up would have finished her off.) This
week, it’s a classical concert.
Mum was meant to bring her, but she got called into work. And so Nan asked
me. I tried to say no. But then she looked at me with those I’ve got cancer eyes and,
well, here I am.
Nan looks like a little kid in a sweet shop. She’s just sitting there, staring at the
orchestra tuning up, with the maddest grin on her face. Tuning up, yeah right;
personally I’m tuning out. It’s painful man. Why can’t they do this before they let the
audience in? I think about sticking my fingers in my ears but then Nan smiles at me,
and well…
I follow Nan’s gaze towards the stage. What’s with the penguin suits? The
penguins seem to be competing with each other:
My violin’s louder than your violin.
Up yours mate, I’ve got a double bass. Now have a bit of that.
Someone throw them a pilchard please!
The place is really filling up now; a stream of grey candyfloss and combovers.
I run my fingers through my thick chestnut hair. Is this what I have to look forward to?
A slap-head and a Mrs with a perm?
I loosen the button on my shirt and waft myself with the programme. They
have me trapped now, surrounded on all sides. There’s even a Zimmer frame
blocking the entrance to the aisle. I mean, what if there’s a fire!
“You OK lad?” Nan touches my arm gently. “You look a bit flushed.”
Someone moves the Zimmer to the back of the room. I breathe out.
“Yeah, Nan. Fine.” I just have to navigate the first-world war veterans now.
Nan goes back to ogling the orchestra; I go back to worrying about my escape
route. I glance towards the exit. The stream of grey has turned into more of a trickle.
The usher goes to shut the door and takes a step backwards as a small tornado
enters the room. Young people, my age, or similar. They fight back their laughter and
eagerly hunt for their seats. Some of them are carrying instruments. Probably music
students.
The room is silent now. Nan looks all dreamy, like she’s just fallen in love or
something. Erg, biddies snogging. Gross.
The conductor enters.
Why is everyone clapping? I mean, they haven’t done anything yet. They
might be crap.
I put my hands in my pockets and stretch out my legs under the seat in front
of me.
Nan smiles at me again.
I take my hands back out my pockets and clap.
Clarinet.
I’m back in primary school. Miss Meade and her gigantic smile. Peter and the
Wolf. We dance around the school hall, twirling, laughing, falling…
The notes are dancing now.
So is the conductor. Look at his combover fly.
The violins join the dance.
Hey, that one has a crop like Anne Hathaway, she’s well fit. Maybe you don’t
have to be a complete dork to play in an orchestra.
Cello now…
What’s that guy doing? I swear he’s going to saw the thing in half. God, I
sound like my Dad, old man joke or what.
Wow!
Where did that come from? The sound is massive. Serious drama, like the
sort of music they play in The Godfather when something big is about to happen.
Cymbals.
How do you end up with that job? And the glockenspiel? What’s that all
about…?
Hey baby, how would you like to come up to my room and see my
glockenspiel?
Unlikely.
The clarinets kick in again. The cymbals guy goes back to picking his nails.
Wait a minute. Yeah, right - Micky Mouse. That’s where I’ve heard this before.
From the Godfather to Disney Fantasia, how mad is that. This would be so cool on
mushrooms.
I wonder if any of this lot ever did mushrooms? That fella there looks like a bit
of a hippy. He’s trancing. Holding his head in his hands, staring into nothing. If he
took his hands away, would his head roll off?
I’m being weird now, aren’t I? It’s just, well, it’s like this music is messing with
my head. It’s kind of cool in a way. Well, not exactly cool but—
Cymbals again!
I sit up. That was loud. I mean, the biddies will have a heart attack. They’re
getting well into it now: if you can call nodding your head occasionally and tapping
your foot being well into it.
Hey, Anne Hathaway is preggers. Eek, she’s like thirty or something! Oh well,
not like I was going to get off with her anyway. Though I reckon, taking your nan out
would score major points with most girls.
Wait, where’s the conductor going? Fag break already. I want a job like that.
Twenty minutes work and then you get a cup of tea. The rest of the penguins have
started playing musical chairs. The double bass move to the front. Harp too.
Nan looks like she’s about to wet herself with the excitement.
She knows it too. This is about to get primal.