Cringe: Ten Stories

By Gilbert Cheron

Here are 10 stories written by first-time author Gilbert Cheron. Gilbert provides us with a host of personalities who have one thing in common the pain and joy that is the human condition.

His stories cover the full spectrum of human emotions with the main focus being the bitter-sweet experience of unfulfilled hopes, aspirations never quite realised and simply coping with whatever life chooses to place upon you. Gilbert also explores the less visible and less obvious things that nonetheless leave a lasting impression, those that result in loneliness or rejection, as in Missing Persons, The Set Up and Writer's Block.

But there's also the humour that is essential in the lives of every one of us, as well as the just plain mundane routine of everyday life like that explored in Saturday's Ritual. But don't think this book carries a message of despair: the message is one of hope!

The stories describe the journeys of several people through life's unexpected and unsettling phases: journeys which ultimately lead to the discovery that there is indeed a place for everyone in this world, even those who exist on the fringes of society as in Small Time Crooks, Her Problem and My Only Child. Through many of the stories is an undercurrent examination of modern western society, particularly the influence of the media, sport and technology on our lives; laced with a gentle satirical bite much in the manner of a poor man's Fellini or Raymond Chandler.

The formality of capital "l" literature won't be found here; what you will find is an informal, fresh and deliberately ragged style perfectly suited to the urgency and relevance of the message Gilbert has to deliver.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Apr 22, 2021
• ISBN: 9781922565303

Book preview

Man

Happy Birthday (collage)

I’ve known Andy Penn since High school.

I lost contact with him for a while in his mid and late teens till he was about 20, while he was going through changes, running away from family matters and from his own past.

I stayed within the confines of suburbia, taking up an apprenticeship with the PMG.

Our present group of friends have known one another for over 30 years.

We’re all retirees now in our mid 60’s and meet up at least once a month for a meal and a chat. It’s funny, but when we see ourselves, we see ourselves as more youthful. Our thoughts, our perspectives are from those much younger than our physical age. I always get a shock when I accidentally glance at my reflection and see an old man staring back at me. If we’ve learnt anything it must have been subliminally.

Andy and his partner of 20 years or so, Amelia, still love to travel overseas regularly.

I remember the time they went on a trip to Melbourne, 15 years or so ago. Upon their return I went over to their house for a drink.

Amelia was at work and Andy was in that chatty mood as he proceeded to tell me all about how he felt on the trip and all the feelings and emotions it conjured up.

……….

It was mid December but the weather was still pleasantly warm as they headed for Melbourne to get away from the party-like atmosphere; revered ceremony associated with someone’s 50th birthday. Just the two of them, that’s all he wanted.

Andy was never the party type; staring into people’s eyes, talking, emulating some idol, connecting with some dream girl.

He doesn’t think he’s got your classical romantic profile and always felt like an idiot actor whenever he made a move for someone, he found attractive.

He’d see himself act out his pathetic role, as in an out of body experience. He would react awkwardly, some might say distrustfully, to every one’s reaction to his initial action that was of course just another reaction. He felt like he was being judged to be inadequate.

People sitting back, just staring and watching.

Sometimes he could not bear to look them in the eyes for fear of spoiling their ingratiating positions and causing tension or deflation.

It was like a constant battle of wits, playacting, seeking of approval and acceptance.

He didn’t need a party; a gathering of lost souls, to remind him of where or what he was.

The drive to Melbourne was mesmerising; the surrounding fawnlike hills framed the sundrenched landscape like a giant sleeping kangaroo.

In the distance, patches of velvety light brown splattered with unidentifiable black dots looked like an aboriginal painting.

Here and there, clusters of sun dried yellow paper daffodils gave the landscape a budgerigar olive green tinge.

There were also patches of what looked like skin grafted areas and patches of offensive cultivated intense dark green.

A soft breeze wafting through the open window played with his mind taking him back in time, not in a haunting way but in clear yet hazy unspecific calm reflective images; the way an ancient breeze makes you feel as it carries the distant sound of children playing in the schoolyard when you are all alone in that quiet empty moment.

……….

…The Australian psyche in the vast emptiness of this countryside hangs heavy on its existing dwellers like ghosts of the past; closed-in musty darkness with some sort of political history; genocide through political prowess, sickly white plague, long tradition of underground political activities; nicotine-stained fingers and moustache, dirty long fingernails. Federation homestead in the Blue mountains; time crawling by, traditional home cooking in a changing modern world, long red hair flowing with baby in her arms, breastfeeding invisible-wall resentment; wrong move, skeletons in the closet, dusty haunting furniture filled with old books about brave pioneers. Neo bushrangers: fighters, activists out on a death trip, stoned out of their minds, sitting by the campfire, sickness all around from a long line of alternative lifestyle, fighting the establishment; posters of Spike Jones in Balmain in the 70’s; intellectual ockers, Whitlam on the throne, artists congregating in the inner west and inner east, D.H Lawrence in Oz…

Cities sprawling out: Opened city flood gates: Bob Marley and the Wailers; vagabonds extraordinaire, black innovators’ curse though their feats cast a very long shadow nevertheless; now the shoe is on the other foot - losing battles- elephant’s memory, enough is enough: fear and jealousy on both sides. Owner’s rights faction: self righteous hypocritical opinionated factory girls- bitter and twisted- IT literates; immigrants with no 50’s and 60’s to refer to- get over yourself- here & now- abstract paintings of many coloured dots, street stalls; smell of East Indies cuisine wafting through, the now generation wearing designer label replicas; storm in a tea cup…

……….

It had been a terrible year after the shock of dealing with Amelia’s diagnosis at the start of the year; a blur of trips to specialists, superstitions, reflections on one’s life, fate and destiny, self blame, paybacks for past sins, constant positive thinking, stepping lightly, caring and wondering, emotive roller coaster moments, what ifs and wedding bells.

At the time they couldn’t think of anything else but the matter at hand and only for that day and yet with some future in mind.

During the ordeal you realise that the world just keeps turning and that it will not take your place, it knows and sympathises with what you’re going through but keeps its distance, it’s not interested in being your nurse, it has set up specialists for exactly those moments, it will catch up with you when you’re feeling better; you’re the only one that can get you out of these down times.

You try and philosophise about life, its fragility, its preciousness and all the melancholic thoughts that go with these traumatic times.

But as soon as you pass through those tempestuous times you find your life hasn’t changed dramatically, it wasn’t like a bolt of lightning that struck you down and changed your life the way the Holy Spirit allegedly strikes the wicked and the lost and offers them redemption.

It’s life as usual once again, everyone has forgotten, your personality is still intact, you don’t see life in a whole new perspective, it’s just the same, it’s the same you with one more experience under your belt.

But of course, for the patients who have gone through it, it’s a different matter; no matter where you travel to, the experience is never too far from your everyday life, there’s always something lurking inside your mind, nothing can be taken for granted and you wonder how long this calm will last?

But today wasn’t the day to be thinking about those times. After all, this trip was for Amelia as well, who had just been to hell and back and needed that well-earned trip.

Lucky Town c.d. playing in the car, wheaten velvety scenery all around, trouble left well behind, nothing left but to enjoy these halcyon moments.

First stop, Rutherglen where their friends Jim and Susan were meeting them for some wine tasting and conversation; some well-deserved escapism.

……….

Rutherglen is a quaint wine region town with typically quaint shops of arts and crafts, antiques and second hand, supposedly, collectable wares.

The two couples woke to a crisp sunny country morning filled with luring scents, mesmerising colours and swirling daydreams. Over breakfast, Andy and Jim discussed the plans for the day.

So we’re totally in your hands today, Jim, where are we headed?

I want to show you the real Rutherglen that I used to visit during the ‘70’s.

What’s the real Rutherglen then?

You know, the little family run wineries where the importance is placed on making quality wine which reflect the region’s character.

Sounds great. That’s exactly what we’re looking for. We’re not keen on those big commercial vineyards.

I agree with you. If the powers that be had it their way the whole region would soon be turned into a major tourist attraction as well as a modern corporate wine industry with links to overseas clientele.

Yeah, I guess you got to do what you got to do to survive.

But there’s no need to get greedy about it all. It’s not the money; it’s the wine that’s the priority.

True. But to most punters it’s either the label on the bottle that’s more important or that it’s good enough to lift their social status at any occasion. ‘Oh look I’m a wine connoisseur and I know what wine goes with what meal’.

They all had a nervous laugh and talked about this and that.

After breakfast, they set out for a number of vineyards Jim knew they would enjoy.

The scenery all around the vineyards from Rutherglen to Glenrowan was as mesmerising as any they had seen so far.

Seen through the car window, the landscape looked like an abstract painting comprising of layers of burgundy, wheaten, light green, fawn, blond, rum and raisin, majestic and velvety green, and gave it a palpable feel.

It had been a truly delightful time in the region, dining out at restaurants and listening to the proprietors talk with tiredness and retirement in their voices.

Maybe it was because December was their off-season and they had forgotten that this business is a seasonal one.

Susan and Jim headed back to Sydney after spending two days in Rutherglen. Andy and Amelia were continuing on to Melbourne.

……….

Would you like a beer? Andy asked.

Thanks mate. I replied with glee as it was quite hot and it was still late morning.

What do you think of the c.d?

It grows on you.

It does, doesn’t it?

It was a hot, oppressive day; the cricket was on T.V, the sound was on mute and the Rolling Stones ‘Bigger Bang’ c.d was playing. Andy was getting dreamy and started reflecting on his meeting Amelia.

He was just a young and confused teenager when he left home, like so many other young people.

When he met Amelia, he was in his late 40’s, alone and resigned to being alone after a series of unsuccessful relationships. In short, he was a bit of a procrastinator when it came to making decisions about his destiny.

Though I guess he had made the decision to rather be alone than to be in a wrong relationship. And now he was feeling himself being pulled into something he felt was not right on a philosophical level, but on a day to day basis, it seemed okay.

But what else could he do? He wasn’t a self-directed man; he didn’t have a purpose to fall back on. He could not be an island onto himself no matter how much he wanted to be. He forfeited that when he got himself a steady job.

Amelia and Andy were from opposite poles of the spectrum, so he purported.

They say opposites attract and trouble only starts when you meet a mirror image of yourself. I dare say there’s going to be trouble either way.

The need to love and be loved overrides all those considerations and anyway, opposites only attract from a distance, never close up; the commonalities within the opposites come together and form the nucleus of the relationship.

The parts of yourself that you see in the other person get analysed, deconstructed, reconstructed and revitalised.

The opposites never meet; they linger in the periphery sometimes colliding, causing explosions but are seldom resolved.

It all started out innocently enough. They would walk to their respective cars together, which were parked about 15 minutes away from their work.

On the way there she would carry on about the normal domestic things and dreams that he figured a woman her age and, in her situation, goes on about, as he felt pity and relief that his life was slightly different to hers.

But something about her made him feel relaxed and good about himself. There was a sense of innocence and determination about her lifestyle. A lifestyle, he never really experienced but had watched from afar.

She made him feel so worldly. She had spent all her life in Girraween; not through choice but through responsibility; her whole life revolved around her daughter, softball and waiting on her fairy tale prince to come knocking at her door and to take her somewhere different.

Andy had no idea that he was going to be the one; that was the last thing he wanted; to be anyone’s fairy tale prince.

So what do you do on weekends? She asked.

Andy didn’t want to tell her that he played the guitar and wrote songs because she would jump to conclusions and expect something that was totally contrary to what he was about.

Hhmm! Nothing much, listen to a bit of music, go out to dinner with friends.

What sort of music do you like?

Oh no, he thought, here we go. Rolling stones and stuff like that.

Oh, I don’t mind a bit of Jimmy Barnes.

U huh. So what about yourself? What do you usually do? And how did you get to where you are? He asked jovially.

As soon as he asked that, he realised he’d opened a door he might regret.

Well how long have you got? One day when you’ve got time we’ll go out for a drink and I’ll tell you about it.

He detected a slight leaning towards the love of the melodramatic in her mannerism and nodded like a priest at confession time.

Okay, well there’s my car. See you tomorrow.

Yes, see you.

This charade went on for a while and the next thing Andy knew he was having dinner at her place, one thing lead to another, they were now an item. Jesus!! How did that happen?

In the autumn years of their lives they’d both been softened by life’s constant predictable surprises and it had made them more tolerant of each other’s idiosyncrasies.

He realised much to his shock that you’ve got to love yourself before you can love someone else. He had heard that saying for years and had always laughed it off as some tree hugging, peace, love and mung beans vegan’s mantra.

(Did loving oneself have to do with having to lie to oneself?)

But now he knew exactly what it meant and not in a mushy lovey-dovey way but in tried and failed heartbreaking attempts at finding love.

‘You must first accept yourself for what you are.’

Whatever reason Andy and Amelia had for being together was better than being alone and being ‘true to yourself’.

Sitting all alone in your lounge room, reading and waiting, scheming and pondering over things that just didn’t materialise.

Being alone was okay. if you had an outlet or if you were a ladies man.

………..

Anyway all those conceited, superficial, philosophical perspectives went out the window when Amelia got sick and he realised that all that mattered was ensuring that Amelia along with her strong mental and physical constitution stayed on the positive side of the road in order to beat this little piece of bad luck and to get rid of it once and for all.

The scientific and Buddhist perspectives go out the window and the practical, everyday, compassionate, superstitious, down-on-all-fours-scrubbing-the dirty floor- love kicks in.

There’s no room for anything else, no room for daydreams, no room to escape to a faraway place such as you do when you are writing a novel, a song, or some paradigm shifting thesis on the actions of life or maybe even painting.

You need space to write, you need to unfocus away from the concrete, almost like a trance, like staring at those once so popular nonsensical, unintelligible shapes and forms until a 3d picture appears right in front of your eyes.

Theories and practices don’t work too harmoniously hand in hand within the confines of a day-to-day situation; in fact, they can be quite conflicting, that’s why monks and priests stay within their domain and never venture out into the routines of daily life.

He knew then and there how much love he had for Amelia and he directed all his energy to helping her get better for both their sakes.

He didn’t need an official piece of paper to make him realise how much he loved her and how much he was committed to her.

Andy said he felt like we were all living in a balanced universe where everything you wish for, take or get away with, has to be paid off by someone else and in a dog-eat-dog, selfish universe you have to watch what you wish for; Andy was going through a lot at the time.

……….

You look like you need another beer! Andy grinned.

Oh yeah! I won’t say no.

I’ve got that bloody C.D on repeat, I should change it.

Nah! Leave it, I’m enjoying it.

Okay. Back in a sec.

The TV screen showed that once again Australia was going to win another cricket match. Everyone thought, maybe it wasn’t going to be turned around, maybe it is just a one-way street now, and whoever is on it will remain on it for a very long time; the pendulum wasn’t swinging; the affluent spawned affluence while the poor just wanted to make you cry. But of course, the pendulum did swing.

The Rolling Stones were singing about how it wouldn’t take long to be forgotten, like they’d realised that this was a new ever fast spinning world they were travelling in, that they were just entertainment for those middle-aged professionals and older corporate units who didn’t mind forking out $300 for a seat at a Stones’ over-the-top-age-defying concert because that was part of the expected charade, that maybe immortality was after all, regional and not universal, that the informative generation raised on too much information and technology were too sophisticated and wrapped up in its own history to remember anything beyond a week.

Andy walked out of the kitchen with two more beers, handed me one and slouched onto the sofa and proceeded with his story.

…………

‘Shit, I’m 50, where did all those years go?’ Andy thought to himself, as he lay in bed daydreaming in the motel in Rutherglen, while Amelia was getting ready.

‘There’s always someone willing to be tempted, be seduced, and be taken to another place of excitement and wonder; a place, supposedly filled with innocent fun that more than likely ends up quite messy.

‘Youth; a turbulent and confused time, when you were out to prove to the world that you weren’t what you seemed. In the end it was your insecurity, sense of failure and insignificance that ruled your emotions, and set you upon a destructive power-driven path that caused everything you touched to just crumble away. The vision or the thrill looked good from a distance but living it was a different matter.

‘You’ve now adapted to your environment by closing your eyes and ears to your youthful ideals. Now you understand that behind every act lies an ulterior motive.

‘You’ve finally realised that when people are talking at you they’re only talking about a part of you and a part of themselves that they see in you; there are many parts to you.

‘You’re no longer interested in finding out every sordid detail of everyone’s meaning or point of view.

‘You realise and accept the fact that you can’t understand or know every little thing in this world. You can’t always be in the light; sometimes you’ll feel left behind.

‘You no longer feel like you’re being judged to be incompetent and if you were, it wouldn’t paralyse you the way it used to in your youth.

‘Sometimes an open mind is not such a good thing after all.’

‘Ahh, get over yourself,’ Andy suddenly started thinking, after a shift in his state of mind, ‘it’s just another birthday, you know you’ve learnt nothing of importance. You’ve just fumbled your way to here closing all the doors on the bad, which have never been resolved.

Turning 50 is only a big deal to those who have nothing else to do.’

Those latter thoughts quickly prompted Andy to hop out of bed; he showered, packed the car, ready for the journey to Melbourne.

The trip was perfect. The sun-bleached wheaten landscape put Andy in that calm dreamy mood again when everything is in its rightful place, every corner is visible and everything is possible.

He set the cruise control and reached out for Amelia’s hand and held it tight, now and then cupping his hand and slapping it softly on her thighs, making a bass thud, as a term of endearment, as a show of affection, as a feeling of euphoria, as a perfect moment in time standing still and everlasting.

………

Hi honey, working hard? …Yes, Phil’s here…a little tipsy…Ah! Just yappin’ about our Melbourne trip…well! He doesn’t look bored, yet, he could be though, you never know with old Phil…Uhuh!.. Yeah. Okay…

I looked at my watch while Andy was talking on the telephone and was surprised at the time.

We had only been drinking and chatting for about 3 hours but it seemed like we’d been travelling on some tedious journey for years.

Presently, the sun outside was scorching everything in its path: even the cicadas were screeching for relief. Australia looked in trouble for a while but someone out of left field came in and batted Australia out of trouble once again.

The Rolling Stones were on their 4th time around and with every replay, something new lashed out at you and knocked you down flat with amazement.

On its first listen you thought that this album was mediocre, full of clichés and same old, same old with Jagger struggling on the vocals and still acting like a little red rooster. Who was he kidding? Not the young and complacent.

You initially thought you could detect a certain theme through the album but it hadn’t been enough to attract your complete attention. But now you couldn’t get enough of it.

The music, the words; Simple yet coded, complex, relevant in the sense that the band is aware of its position and its perspective in this new world. They’re right on the money, once again, and it’s all you listen to.

Andy got off the phone, ran straight for the bathroom, moving like some animated contortionist puppet whose strings were being pulled.

One more minute he would have had to do it right then and there. Andy walked back, relieved and relaxed and plonked himself back on the sofa and continued with the story.

………

Melbourne is just like a big Newtown, really isn’t it? Observed Amelia.

Yeah, you’re right.

"I mean, those old buildings, not to mention the ferals and gothics walkin’ around, don’t they work?

Maybe they’re ‘arteests’.

Is that what they call all that stuff we’ve been seeing?

Well, yeah, it’s quite raw and punkish.

Let’s try this café, it looks all raw and punkish and I think they only sell vegetarian, so I guess it must be healthy.

Okay.

Have you noticed how everyone smokes rollies, dresses in that hippie getup and yet still love their shoes? Very strange! Amelia laughed

It’s earthy and alive. Andy concurred playfully.

Just like that cockroach, crawling near the door, there. They both laughed.

Ah, it’s only a small one and it looks like it’s trying to get out.

It ain’t better out there, sonny boy.

Stop it. What are you going to have?

Food does look good though, better than Lygon St, can you believe those Julios and mamas and papas using those annoying touristy European tactics to coax you in their restaurants, offering you free bread or one free drink, but charging like a wounded bull for the rest of the stuff, come on! And $14.50 for corkage, they’ve got be kiddin!. Amelia grimaced.

Yeah, it was a bit over the top wasn’t it? I prefer this type of ambience.

So do I.

They also took a trip to St Kilda, a beach town not too far from Melbourne’s CBD, a piece of old Europe with its rows of cake shops, shoe shops, and cafés.

The Art Deco buildings overlooking the waveless coastline would have been perfect for the poets and painters of old coming in for a well-deserved rest from all the everyday pressures of their decisions, to find their muse, to sip coffee or a nice glass of port or even smoke a joint, sitting by the fire in winter and warming those artistic bones in summer.

For his 50th they decided that, due to the audacity of the restaurants’ corkage fee and the exorbitant menu prices, they would just buy incidentals from the local deli in Brunswick St and sit out on the wrap around balcony of their corner block B&B which overlooked the Fitzroy gardens to the left, on Nicholson St and overlooked the local pub to the right on King Williams St.

They sat, making small talk and laughing at the patrons below in the beer garden doing what they do at around Christmas time.

All during that day Andy had been a little irritable, reflective; about what, he didn’t quite know.

Maybe it was the fact that he was 50 and had achieved nothing; but then again he felt that on every birthday.

He felt redundant.

Nothing he would say or do would tilt the world off its axis.

He then realised that while he was caught up in his irrelevant thoughts, he’d forgotten all about Amelia and what she had gone through during the year and became aware how insensitive and pathetic his silent views had been.

………

The sun was still blistering outside but inside Andy’s lounge room everything seemed to be floating in light fog.

I must admit I was getting weary and I would not have minded if he had changed subject and gotten on to some trivial piece of gossip that brought a laugh along with it.

One needed some type of relief. Something light and airy and not so claustrophobic! One worked all week and wanted to be entertained not brain drained.

I yawned in the hope that he would get the message and release me from this torment. To my delight he caught on and realised that I was getting tired under all that oppression and smiled, sorry mate, I’ll make it up to ya, next time and play the fool for ya, give you a darn good laugh.

I suddenly felt like he was having a dig at me, at our friendship as though I was this shallow person who was only out for some thrills and not at all interested in anyone’s situation.

I tried to rid myself of those thoughts and blamed them on too much alcohol but they kept lurking around at the back of my mind.

I could no longer concentrate and suddenly Jagger’s tone became menacing and condescending as if he knew exactly what I was thinking. There he was, singing I know you like to go out drinking and you love to have a good time…. look what the cat dragged in.

Snap out of it, it’s all in your mind, it’s guilt raising its ugly head again for having felt so over it all, I thought to myself as I took a deep breath and took relief in the fact that we were getting to the last leg of that long journey.

That helped me manage to bear it for a little longer. I suddenly recaptured the enthusiasm and took an avid interest in the mini epic.

Was that because I knew the end of the journey was near and I would soon be free or did that slight panic jolt me back into focus? Andy could feel the unease and seemed to cut the story short because before I knew it, it was over.

………

The next day was checking out day back to Sydney.

It was a new day and they were both looking forward to going home.

50 suddenly didn’t mean that much to Andy anymore, it was just a number.

Nothing had changed from 49 to 50, what happened to them both during the year could have happened to them at any age and they probably would have felt the same way about it.

All those melodramatic reflective ponderings about being 50 were just to pass the time, making a mountain out of a molehill.

The car was all packed and they set off down the Hume highway through Wodonga and Albury, stopping the car along the way to take some scenic photographs.

Andy’s mind was just floating around not thinking of anything specific. He could have been just thinking about getting home to sample the wine, he wasn’t sure but he certainly didn’t realise he was doing 124 in a 100 zone, so the highway patrol told Andy as he pulled him over and asked him if there was any reason that he was doing 124.

Andy knew he was speeding but thought that he was in the 110 zone, no replied the highway patrol man, that little stretch of the road is 100 zone.- Yeah right and it was sooo dangerous on that divided long straight stretch of the highway. Snicker snicker! - By the way the statistics show that there were more road fatalities that year than the year