Post by eswtg on Jul 7, 2008 9:59:54 GMT -5
and another....
Friends
Yes, I remember him, he was a sweet kid. Well I say “Kid”, he was more like 25 I think. His name was Danny. He was sweet but it was clear he had problems. Suppose I thought of him as a kid, you know, cos of the way he was.
He lived in the flat opposite me. We crossed paths now and again and he’d always say the same eager little thing.
“Hello Mister, Mister Phillips. How are you today?”
He had that big grin and that slight stutter, a bit podgy, you know the type, he was a bit simple. Sorry, I know that’s probably not the right term but you know what I mean. He had learning difficulties and such. There he’d stand in his door way or in the hall or wherever it was I’d see him, in his shabby red tracksuit, rocking back and fourth slightly.
I’d answer him the same every time.
“Hello Danny, I’m not bad at all! Thank you for asking.”
It’d make him smile even more, sometime giggle. Suppose just interacting with people, using the skills he’d been taught made him happy, maybe feel normal, poor kid.
I bumped into his social worker leaving his flat once. Nice lady, friendly type. She explained his situation, no real details, just who she was and that she popped round to check up on Danny as he lived independently. Every Sunday she said she popped over.
It was a Tuesday when I first saw signs something was up. I came across Danny down stairs in the main hall. I noticed his awkward, slightly hunched frame as I came through the main doors. He met me with the usual chirpy greeting and I responded almost automatically.
“Hello Danny, I’m not bad at ….”
It was the bruising on his face that made me stop.
His eyes still had their eager enthusiasm but his smiling, chubby little face had an angry red blemish spreading out from his left cheek bone.
“Bloody hell Danny, are you ok? What’s happened to you face?”
“My new friends” he said in an unexpectedly chirpy way.
He’d looked weirdly proud of himself, strangely obliviously to the bruise and the split lip that parted further the more he grinned.
“Friends?” I asked. “Friends don’t really do that to each other mate”
I think I leaned in automatically to put a hand on his shoulder.
“Its just my new friends” he beamed and turned away from me and quickly scurried out of the flats and into the estate outside.
I wished I’d have said or done something more, guess I just put it down to his difficulties you know, something I didn’t understand.
It was the following Saturday things happened. It’s an old council flat so the walls aren’t too thick, must have been about 9 in the evening when I heard the shouting, a group of voices, yelling and shouting loudly. When I got closer to my front door I could hear banging too, as well as the laughing.
Oh god I remember it. I opened my front door to find the door to Danny’s flat wide open. The halls are only short and I could see into his living room. The place was trashed and there were two figures with their backs to me. They were jeering and laughing at something in front of them. It wasn’t obvious at first, I could see someone in front moving and thrashing around, gesturing toward the floor. It was then I saw him, curled up on the ground, just visible through the legs of his audience, little Danny, confused and crying while the teenagers taunted and kicked him.
He must have seen me, he whimpered and stretched out a hand in my direction. That’s when they turned and saw me in the doorway. It happened so quick, they came towards me shouting. I think one of the girls threw a can or something. I wish I could have done more but being old, I feared for my life. I turned to my flat and slammed the door behind me. I hid in the next room, trembling trying to phone for help while they hammered on my door, swearing and laughing, oh Christ, that laughter!
I don’t know how long they were out there, but the police found me in my living room sometime later, shaking and tearful. They arrived after my call but found the flat trashed and empty. Graffiti and beer up the walls but no Danny.
It wasn’t till the next day they found him, battered and drowned in the canal on the outskirts of estate.
A group of drunken youths had been spotted making their way there, just “a group of rowdy teenagers” one witness put it and amongst them a small hunched figure in a red tracksuit with what he thought were his friends.
*** The above is based on a factual story. A young man with learning difficulties who wished to live independently had regular visits from his social worker and his brother. When asked about bruises on his face by a concerned shop owner, his reply was that it was “his friends” and even though it was pointed out this was not the behaviour of good friends his happiness at having his own “friends” remained undeterred
A neighbour called the police when he witnessed local teenagers beating him and trashing his flat the following weekend. By the time the police arrived he was gone. He’d been led to a canal, forced to get in, beaten with sticks and drowned***
Friends
Yes, I remember him, he was a sweet kid. Well I say “Kid”, he was more like 25 I think. His name was Danny. He was sweet but it was clear he had problems. Suppose I thought of him as a kid, you know, cos of the way he was.
He lived in the flat opposite me. We crossed paths now and again and he’d always say the same eager little thing.
“Hello Mister, Mister Phillips. How are you today?”
He had that big grin and that slight stutter, a bit podgy, you know the type, he was a bit simple. Sorry, I know that’s probably not the right term but you know what I mean. He had learning difficulties and such. There he’d stand in his door way or in the hall or wherever it was I’d see him, in his shabby red tracksuit, rocking back and fourth slightly.
I’d answer him the same every time.
“Hello Danny, I’m not bad at all! Thank you for asking.”
It’d make him smile even more, sometime giggle. Suppose just interacting with people, using the skills he’d been taught made him happy, maybe feel normal, poor kid.
I bumped into his social worker leaving his flat once. Nice lady, friendly type. She explained his situation, no real details, just who she was and that she popped round to check up on Danny as he lived independently. Every Sunday she said she popped over.
It was a Tuesday when I first saw signs something was up. I came across Danny down stairs in the main hall. I noticed his awkward, slightly hunched frame as I came through the main doors. He met me with the usual chirpy greeting and I responded almost automatically.
“Hello Danny, I’m not bad at ….”
It was the bruising on his face that made me stop.
His eyes still had their eager enthusiasm but his smiling, chubby little face had an angry red blemish spreading out from his left cheek bone.
“Bloody hell Danny, are you ok? What’s happened to you face?”
“My new friends” he said in an unexpectedly chirpy way.
He’d looked weirdly proud of himself, strangely obliviously to the bruise and the split lip that parted further the more he grinned.
“Friends?” I asked. “Friends don’t really do that to each other mate”
I think I leaned in automatically to put a hand on his shoulder.
“Its just my new friends” he beamed and turned away from me and quickly scurried out of the flats and into the estate outside.
I wished I’d have said or done something more, guess I just put it down to his difficulties you know, something I didn’t understand.
It was the following Saturday things happened. It’s an old council flat so the walls aren’t too thick, must have been about 9 in the evening when I heard the shouting, a group of voices, yelling and shouting loudly. When I got closer to my front door I could hear banging too, as well as the laughing.
Oh god I remember it. I opened my front door to find the door to Danny’s flat wide open. The halls are only short and I could see into his living room. The place was trashed and there were two figures with their backs to me. They were jeering and laughing at something in front of them. It wasn’t obvious at first, I could see someone in front moving and thrashing around, gesturing toward the floor. It was then I saw him, curled up on the ground, just visible through the legs of his audience, little Danny, confused and crying while the teenagers taunted and kicked him.
He must have seen me, he whimpered and stretched out a hand in my direction. That’s when they turned and saw me in the doorway. It happened so quick, they came towards me shouting. I think one of the girls threw a can or something. I wish I could have done more but being old, I feared for my life. I turned to my flat and slammed the door behind me. I hid in the next room, trembling trying to phone for help while they hammered on my door, swearing and laughing, oh Christ, that laughter!
I don’t know how long they were out there, but the police found me in my living room sometime later, shaking and tearful. They arrived after my call but found the flat trashed and empty. Graffiti and beer up the walls but no Danny.
It wasn’t till the next day they found him, battered and drowned in the canal on the outskirts of estate.
A group of drunken youths had been spotted making their way there, just “a group of rowdy teenagers” one witness put it and amongst them a small hunched figure in a red tracksuit with what he thought were his friends.
*** The above is based on a factual story. A young man with learning difficulties who wished to live independently had regular visits from his social worker and his brother. When asked about bruises on his face by a concerned shop owner, his reply was that it was “his friends” and even though it was pointed out this was not the behaviour of good friends his happiness at having his own “friends” remained undeterred
A neighbour called the police when he witnessed local teenagers beating him and trashing his flat the following weekend. By the time the police arrived he was gone. He’d been led to a canal, forced to get in, beaten with sticks and drowned***