Catch You When You Fall

By

Daniel Jama

1 Broken Identities: Catch You When You Fall

Timi didn't feel like trying any more. He had been trying too hard for too long to make

people like him. His father had recently moved them from up North down to Brixton, a

scummy part of South London, even though Timi had just a year left before he would be

finishing school. He had used up all of his charm and patience in his last attempt to make

a friend of Sophie Cummings. Not beautiful, not ugly. Not particularly popular, or even

much liked. The perfect target for someone like Timi, who had struggled to make friends

since his first day when he fought with Brian Hampton, one of the most popular boys in his

year, and beat him badly. Sophie sat in the cafeteria alone, reading, with her tray pushed

into the middle of the table to deter would-be joiners. It didn't stop Timi, though. He was

neither wise nor polite enough to accept the warning sign.

“D'ya mind if I sit here, like?”, Timi asked sheepishly, struggling to smile.

His hands were silently shivering, almost rattling his tray stacked with food. She looked up

from behind her book, ironically titled “The Joy Of Talk”, and her face creased up at the

sight of him in his faded blue hoody and creased grey jeans, too short for his legs. She

shook her head violently and quickly went back to her book. He stood determined,

deciding his next move.

“Why not?” he said hesitantly, instantly afraid of the answer.

“I just want to read alone.” she said with a sigh, without looking up.

Timi sighed loudly, turning a few heads, but instead of walking away he slid his tray down

opposite her and sat down. He picked up his fork and plunged it into a sauce covered

sausage, but he didn't even get to take a bite.

“Go...” she slammed her book down, knocking over the contents of her tray. “Away!”

she concluded, so loudly the entire cafeteria fell close to silence, and all at once looked

over at the pathetic new kid, publicly rejected by the shy, year eleven geek. This infuriated

him, and after digesting the situation, he grasped the sides of his tray and launched it

across the table at Sophie. She tried to jump up but the table knocked her back down into

2 Broken Identities: Catch You When You Fall

her seat, and she couldn't avoid the assault of beans and sausages. Timi was already

stomping out of there before she stood up and began to weep pathetically in front of

everybody. Nobody laughed at her though. They didn't care enough. They just went back

to whatever they were doing before the freak show.

Who the fuck does she think she is? Timi thought to himself, as he rushed past the

teacher on guard at the front gates.

“Excuse me, where's your pass?” the wiry, moustached teacher shouted. Timi was

already away, but turned back and gave him the middle finger anyway. It made him feel

better for a second, but the sudden look of resignation on the teachers face made him feel

guilty, and he had to turn away and just keep on walking. He walked to the end of the

residential street that his school occupied, turned left onto the main road, where the traffic

was heavy, and then took another left into the park that sits at the back of the school.

The afternoon sun sat directly in front of him, on its way down after a short but

intense day of shining. The length of the winter days doesn't change between the North

and South, he thought, as he made his way through the park. He was almost out of the

park, when a group of boys playing football in the caged, tarmac pitch to his right caught

his attention. They were shouting, pushing each other against the fencing, swearing loudly.

Timi, rarely discouraged by anyone and especially not hooligans like this lot, decided to

take a seat on a nearby bench and watch for a while.

It wasn't long before one of the boys, a slight, blonde-haired mess, noticed their

solitary fan, seemingly engrossed in their afternoon kick-about. It didn't take long for the

others to see what he saw, and soon they were all still and just looking at Timi. It took

about ten seconds for Timi to realise they were all staring at him, the intruder, before he

got to his feet and began to calmly slither away. He didn't get far, barely even a few steps.

“Oi, where'd ya think yer goin'? Come 'ere.” the blonde mess shouted.

Timi stopped in his tracks, and just for a second was afraid to turn around. He closed his

3 Broken Identities: Catch You When You Fall

fists tightly, preparing for battle, then turned around and began to walk over to the cage

where they had all grouped around the wire-frame door, waiting for him. As Timi got

closer, one of the boys kicked the football at the cage causing it to rattle thunderously,

probably to try and scare him he thought. He tried his hardest not to flinch. He counted

them on his way over; Eight of them in total. Even in his ghastly mood, there were too

many to handle alone.

“Alright?” Timi asked rhetorically, unsurely, as he slowly approached.

“Oh, Northern boy, yeah? Fuckin' love it! What you doing 'round 'ere?” asked a

stocky, cockney skinhead at the front of the group, next to the blonde.

“Just moved 'ere.”

“Shouldn't you be in school?” asked another sheep among the flock.

“Can't be arsed. Kids there are dickheads.”

“What's yer name then?” asked the blonde.

“Why?” he asked, scrunching up his face.

“D'ya wanna play footy?” asked the stocky skinhead.

Timi gave a slight, wary nod.

“Tell us yer fuckin' name then.”

“Or you too scared of gettin' your uniform dirty?” came the taunting, dareful question

from a generic voice at the back of the group.

“Name's Timi”.

“Right Timi, come'n then” said the blonde mess.

They spread out, trying not to encircle Timi as he bowled into the cage and threw his

blazer down behind the goal. Before he could get a touch on the ball, the skinhead

grabbed it and threw it at him. Timi barely caught it, just stopping it from smashing him

square in the face.

“Sixty seconds, knock-outs. You're in goal” said the skinhead, winking at him.

4 Broken Identities: Catch You When You Fall

Timi gripped the ball as hard as he could and threw it all the way to the other end of the

pitch. They all chased after it like a pack of ravenous dogs, and Timi smiled. He smiled

because he felt accepted for the first time since he had moved to London. Even if it was

just the primitive, uncertain stage of acceptance, it still felt good. It felt like how it used to

feel, when he and his old friends would endure long nights of football on the constantly

wind-beaten school field, followed by a skunk-packed joint to be smoked under the

drooping willow trees a few minutes from the streets they grew up on.

Timi arrived at home with a variety of feelings flowing through his mind. After a few

hours with his new friends, it was clear that they were unlike any other people he'd ever

known. They were slightly older than him, already out of school. He enjoyed their

company, the banter and laughs they provided, but there was a certain issue that he

couldn't quite ignore for any great length of time, although, he wasn't exactly sure if it was

an issue or not. It was something they had talked about briefly.

They were sitting around on the gravelly surface of the cage, cooling down after a

couple of hours of intense football, savouring the shade of the proud English Oak trees.

The conversation was light-hearted and free-flowing. Then Tony, the blonde mess, brought

up something about a meeting that they were all going to in London, making sure they

were all still up for it. When Tony asked Timi if he wanted to go to the BNP meet-up with

them, Timi just shrugged, half-smiled, and mumbled “maybe, I'll have to see”. He was

happy to be invited but inside him, a huge torrent of confusion was building up and

colliding with his relief, each feeling contending for first position in a league of importance.

As he sat there listening to their conversation, he realised that it was some sort of political

get-together, but he'd never really been interested much in politics. At first, he was unsure

of how to feel about what he'd heard, especially since he had never considered himself a

racist. But as they spoke more, revealing little droplets of information about the group, their

policies and actions, he found himself agreeing with many of the things they were saying,

5 Broken Identities: Catch You When You Fall

and feeling comfortable with it. It felt almost as natural to agree with them as it did to play

football with them.

He thought better than to ask for his Dad's advice on the matter, and in any case,

he was halfway through a week of nights at work, so even if they did happen to cross each

other's paths, he'd have very little interest in actual conversation. Timi was sat on the bare,

wooden floor of his undecorated bedroom, when he decided to chance a phone call to his

Mum. He debated the idea in his head for a while though, before actually picking up the

telephone. He always had doubts about calling her, ever since she had moved in with her

boyfriend who had made it perfectly clear that he didn't want to know her kids and had no

allowance for compromise or negotiation on the matter. He took the chance and dialled.

After all the time he had taken to build up the courage and dial, there was no answer. He

didn't even leave a message. Now I have no-one else to talk to about it, he thought to

himself as he sat firmly on his cold bed. He literally had nobody else to turn to, and for the

first time in his life, he had to make what felt like a serious, life-defining decision all on his

own. So he kicked off his socks, threw his t-shirt on the floor and decided to play some X-

box.

After a couple of days of what he considered serious thought, mostly spent with the

boys in the park, playing football and consuming beer, he had decided to attend the

meeting with them. He reasoned with himself that nothing much could go wrong; that the

worst that could happen was that he'd get lost or not enjoy himself. He felt relieved when,

as he told them the news, they all smiled and applauded, and Tony ruffled his hair and

said “Good boy, you know it makes sense”. That old friend, acceptance, warmed Timi

greatly, and he felt a strong surge of self-worth shoot through him. He felt like he had

found some sort of calling, beyond anything else he had felt connected to or bound to

before he had met them. Before he left to go home the leader of the group, the skinhead

by the name of Plank (so-called because as a boy he'd been known to beat up kids with

6 Broken Identities: Catch You When You Fall

his skateboard), gave Timi a list of recommended viewings on youtube. “Some videos to

get you in the mood for the meeting” he promised Timi with a knowing smirk on his face.

“See what it's all about,” he added, “ why we have to get the scum out of our country”. The

list of videos included “Muslim extremists clash with far-right as Royal Anglian soldiers

parade” and “Jihad against the West”.

That night he watched the entire list that he'd been given with concentrated intrigue.

They had the effect that Plank secretly desired, suddenly making him feel like he had an

enemy to hunt down and eliminate. He sat at the computer afterwards, sickened and

bemused, and began to do his own research, digging out any videos and articles that he

could find, supporting his new belief. As he watched, he thought about ways that he could

hurt the Muslim population. Ways to find them and extinguish them, without himself being

caught and punished, or retaliated against. While being sucked into a montage of soldiers

being attacked and trains being bombed, he had completely forgotten about his childhood

friend, a Muslim named Faizan, with whom he had spent most school nights playing

football with or walking the streets. He also failed to remember his Doctor, who had treated

him for years, always with such care and finesse, never giving cause for worry or

complaint. Instead of thinking about them, Timi turned off his Dad's laptop, made himself a

glass of milk, and went to bed in a rage of racial confusion.

His rage was fully on show at the meeting. He expected a small gathering at a

bench, or a medium gathering outside a church, but instead he was happily buried in the

middle of a violent clash between Muslims and the West. The Police were also there, but

were outnumbered and relegated to the role of spectators, unable to get near the centre of

the conflicting groups. People had shown up in the hundreds, hyped by all of the Internet

build-up. The language was loud and colourful, and the violence brutally realistic. His new

friends had disappeared a long time ago. To his left, a bald black man had a bearded

Muslim on the floor, gripping him by the throat, punching him repeatedly, causing blood to

7 Broken Identities: Catch You When You Fall

spatter in all directions without prejudice. Directly ahead of him, a brown man with an

angry expression was shouting something about Western infidels and their ways. Timi was

shocked at his own, similarly racist, automatic response. Then he felt a sharp pain brush

the top of his head. He turned to the sound of a bottle smashing and a small fire starting

amidst the crowd. Fists were being shook high, and voices exerted to their limits, when he

realised he did not want to be there. He felt scared. He stumbled back, grabbing the

jackets of men beside him, as the Muslims marched forward in purposeful unison. Timi

sunk backwards into the crowd, as they marched forward beyond him, and into a battle

resembling something like a Roman clash. He finally reached the back of the crowd, and

stood crying in fear, with his hands grasping the back of his head. He sunk into the ground,

only to be enveloped by a set of arms that he recognised the feel of from his childhood, but

hadn't felt for a very long time. He looked up to find his Dad, consumed by his own set of

feelings, but still able to give so much to his Son.

8 Broken Identities: Catch You When You Fall