You are Definitely Going to Hell

This story is a stand-alone tale about a lad called Rob that I have been writing in between other stories.

Rob, you are definitely going to hell is the first to feature Robert Johnson, but it won't be the last. Other stand-alone stories will follow in time.

All sexually active characters are over the age of 18 years.

Please score me and leave a comment if you have one.

******

I am sitting in the Biology lab waiting for my lift home with my neighbour and Biology teacher Mrs. Jill Peters. In my hand, I have a pink envelope with my name and address on it. It arrived on Saturday, but I still haven't opened it. I read my name and address written on the front for the one-hundredth time, Robert Johnson, 8 Sunset Heights, Ashford, Kent.

The year is 1985, and I am in Sixth Form at school. It is the middle of October, and I have just had my eighteenth birthday party at a local pub. I am your run-of-the-mill 18-year-old, a very average person. If you look up the states of an average man, that is me. 5ft 10 inches tall, size nine feet, and medium build. My other peculiarity and my claim to fame is my tongue. I am the only person I know in my school who can lick their nose.

I am just staring at the outside of this letter because something has happened. I usually write a letter a month in secret to my best friend. Her name is Jenifer Lake or Jenny. She and I were best friends through most of primary school and the first two years of secondary. Then one day, she just disappeared. I didn't find out what had happened until she wrote to me three months later explaining. We were inseparable up to that point inside school. This will be the third time her parents have found out we are writing to each other, each time she leaves it a couple of months and then resumes.

We talk about everything from what celebrities we like to what's happening at school. We talked about our fears and have no secrets, and we even talked about what was happening with our bodies through puberty. I even told her when I discovered masturbation. We have even have our own language or code. We can both write and speak it. She finishes every letter with, 'Bur, uuy ire yifonotild guong ut lilh.' See if you can work it out.

Her parents are devout Catholics and very religious. They found out about our friendship and thought the worst. They moved away from the area and enrolled Jenifer in an all-girls school, but she manages to send letters through a friend on the sly. We knew her parents would find out, and this time we got away with it for one and a half years, but today is that day. Her friend Debbie has written to me to explain, but I'm too chicken to open it.

I live with my parents in a small dead-end street. Where I live was supposed to be a large estate, but they found that the land had old unrecorded chalk mines and was unstable to build on further up the hill.

So our street is just off a dual carriageway, which was supposed to be the works access and not the actual resident's access. It had caused a number of accidents until they put a set of traffic lights up. So now we have a nature reserve in my back garden, literally because it's so overgrown, which was heaven for a boy growing up.

When I was young, the problem with living where I do was that none of my school friends were allowed around to play. Their parents deemed it too dangerous, and for the first ten years of my life, I was forbidden to leave the house, garden, or the two fields that backed onto my parents' house. Of course, I have my friends at school, but I am on my own once three-thirty hits. Now I am older; I am forbidden to bring anyone home.

My mother was the one to stay home and watch me up until my tenth birthday, when everything changed. After that, my mother went back to work as a lawyer full time and with an accountant as a father; you can guess that my home life was one laugh after another.

Now don't get me wrong, I had quite a good childhood. I wanted for nothing and always was first in my class to get whatever was out or the thing to have. I was first to get a digital watch, an Atari, and whatever else I wanted. I had a Hornby train set and Scalextric, but my pride and joy is my Marcano set. It is huge, and I could build anything that came to mind. My parents, though, were intelligent in the way they gave me things. With them both working, I earned my toys. I would keep the house clean and make sure dinner was at least on the go when they got home.

I was cooking from the age of eleven, most days, they were back home around six o'clock, and I had devised a little routine every night to make sure everything got done, and I had time to play or do any homework that I had. Not as though we had much before secondary school. My mother would pay for a taxi at first to pick me up from the school gates and drop me at the front door. She then decided that I could cycle my bike as long as I returned along the footpath and not the main road.

"Are you ready to go, Rob?" Mrs. Peters asks as she walks through the lab's backroom door. When it's raining, I cadge a lift.

"Ummm, yes, Mrs. Peters," I reply, still staring at the envelope.

"What's that. another letter from Jenny?" She asks, looking over my shoulder to see what I have in my hand.

"No, it's from Jenny's best friend."

"Oh, should I ask?"

"Well, it looks like Jenny's parents have found out about me again," I say, getting up from my desk.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Rob." Mrs. Peters didn't know what to say other than, "shall we go?" I get up, tuck the envelope into my bag, and follow her out to her car.

Mr. and Mrs. Peters moved into the house across from us the year before Jenny disappeared. When she first moved in, I must admit that I thought she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She and Mr. Peters, in my eyes, have the perfect relationship. They seem so in love, kissing each other and always happy together in contrast to my parents, who hardly talk and only seem to be together because they have nowhere else to go.

Home life has never truly been happy. My mother had postnatal depression when I was a baby, which seems to affect her ability to bond with me. My dad is a typical man and thinks the children are the woman's responsibility. So I envy the Peter's for having such wonderful life.

As we park on the Peter's driveway, she turns to me, "do you have any homework you need help with tonight?"

"Only yours," I say with a smile.

"Wanna come in and do it here?"

As an 18-year-old virgin, I smile to myself at the double meaning. Not as though I would if I had the chance. I just don't see her that way and view the Peter's relationship as the perfect love.

"Yes, if I can. I always struggle with Biology."

"You do seem to be slipping a little. It is getting to the point where I will need to say something if you still want to get into Edinburgh University." Mrs. Peters says as she opens the door to her Ford Fiesta. She pauses, "would you like some extra tuition in the evenings?" She asks with a frown.

"Would that be possible?" I reply hopefully.

"Yes, I can fit you in before Mr. Peters gets in at five-thirty."

"How much do you charge?"

"For you, Rob, I will do it for free. Anyway, I can do with the company if I'm honest."

"Great, that will be a great help. I wasn't looking forward to asking Mum for that."

"I understand," Mrs. Peters says, giving me a knowing smile. We make our way in and I waste no time in getting started.

I spend about an hour and a half in the Peters house, and I'm packing up as Mr. Peters walks in. "Hi honey, how was your day." Mr. Peters says as he walks into the lounge. "Oh, hello, Rob. It's been a while since I came home to find you here."

"Hi Mr. Peters, yeah, it's been a while. Mrs. Peters has offered to help me to lift my grade in Biology. Unfortunately, I'm slipping behind a little."

"I'm not surprised, and Jill here says you're doing seven A levels."

"Yeah, it is a bit much." Whenever I talk to Mr. Peters, he makes me feel like a ten-year-old again. "Right, I better get going and let you relax after your day at work." I get my last couple of books stuffed into my bag and stand. "Thank you, Mrs. Peters. I will see you tomorrow."

"Okay, Rob, see you tomorrow."

With that, I get up and make my way to the front door. I look across the road at the empty house where I live. My parents won't be home until around six-thirty tonight, so I have plenty of time to get dinner on the go.

I take a deep breath and walk across the seemingly desolate street. Opening the front door, I push the day's post back against the wall. I flick the light on, pick the post up, and quickly put my bag up in my room. Returning down to the kitchen, I make myself a snack. Peanut butter sandwich always hits the spot.

I sit staring at the envelope and then go into the study to get the letter opener. My mother has this ornate letter opener that looks like a Turkish dagger.

I slice the letter open and pull the single sheet of paper out. Usually, if Jenifer had written, it would have been at least six pages, often written on both sides.

Rob,

As you would have guessed, Jen's parents have found out about you two again. This time was the worst; she came to school with a bruised face where her mother had slapped her and belt marks across her legs. She has been stopped from coming out after school and is not allowed out at the weekends until she has done her penance. The teachers have been asked to watch her, so writing at school is out. She still seems upbeat and told me to tell you that 'you're still going to hell,' whatever that means. She also said not to forget the full moon next Friday. You two are very strange. They still haven't worked out your code yet, she won't even tell me, and I'm supposed to be her best friend.

I can't think of anything else to tell you and will write again if you need to know anything else.

Your friend

Debbie

Well, now I know. I blow out a breath of frustration and put the letter back in its envelope. I get up and return the knife to the study and then set about putting dinner going. Tonight is liver in onion gravy with mashed potatoes and carrots.

I put the pre-prepared meat in the oven on gas mark five and peel the spuds. Once done and in the big pan, I peel and chop the carrots. These are the last of this season, and we will be using tinned or frozen from now on. I put the washing machine going and transferred the wet wash into the tumble dryer. I clear away an Airfix model I painted the night before and put my Scalextric away.

I have done my homework across the road, enabling me to watch some TV. With only four channels to watch, I decide to watch a video. My parents bought me Monty Pythons Life of Brian for my birthday, and I have watched it a couple of times now. Some of us at school use quotes from the film. my favourite is, 'you lucky, lucky bastard.' It's always good to use when someone has been sporny or jammy. I'm to the part where he runs away from a pursuing crowd. Brian steps on a man who has sworn a vow of silence's foot and makes him talk. I hope to get to the nude bit before my parents return for obvious reasons.

Some of us in school plan to do a sketch in the school end-of-year sixth form review where we recreate the 'What have the Romans ever done for us?' scene. Instead of what have the Romans, we will say what have the school. Then we will go through what we have learned at school, both good and bad.

I hear the front door open and my mum telling my dad to pick up the post I put on the telephone table. The car keys are chucked onto the table and coats removed before both walk into the lounge, where I jump up and turn the video off. My parents are famous for their lack of a sense of humour.

"Hello Robert, let me sit down before I fall down." My mum says as she plops down in her chair. She closes her eyes for a moment and then opens them, "That's better."

Dad comes in and sits in his chair while he goes through the post. "Hello, son, had a good day?" he asks. I have long given up answering because he doesn't listen to the answer.

Mum has recovered enough, "be a love and slip my shoes off, Robert." I move over and kneel in front of her. I start to take her shoes off but am waiting for twenty questions. "Oh, that's better. So, Robert, have you started dinner?" I nod. "Homework done?" I nod again, "have you done your chores?" I nod again. She goes through everything I should have done and seems happy with that. She takes a deep breath and gets up to finish dinner. I follow her, knowing that I will be mashing the spuds.

Dinner is done, and I disappear upstairs to put my shoes on. Each night I take our elderly next-door neighbour's dog 'Archie' out for a walk up to The Ridge to get out of the house. The Ridge is the top of a hill that overlooks the town and is my place to think.

As I cross the road, I walk past the Peters house, and they are in the kitchen washing the dishes together. I see the Peter's as the perfect couple and know that I will find a Mrs. Peters of my own to be as happy with one day.

As I see through the window, they laugh at something and lean in to share a kiss. A smile spreads across my face, and a warm feeling washes over my body. I don't slow as the dog pulls me, eager to get off the lead. I feel like I am intruding on their privacy anyhow. We make our way up the mile-long path to The Ridge. Once out of the street and through the gate, I let Archie off his lead. He runs off, excited to explore and sniff around but not going too far from me.

I sit on the bench that has been put up there for the older people to catch their breath on. I don't see a soul this time of night, and I like it that way. Looking out over the town that is lit up like a Christmas tree with that familiar orange glow above. There are no stars out, but that doesn't make a difference tonight. After a while, Archie comes and sits on the bench next to me, panting away.

My mind drifts to Jenifer; we had this plan to go to Edinburgh University next year, and I wonder if she will be able to pull that off. It occurs to me that because her birthday isn't until early June, she might not be able to persuade her parent to let her apply. Once she's 18, she says she will do what she wants.

I shake my head and decide to hope for the best. Getting up, I do some stretches for no other reason than feeling a little cold. Plus, I've started doing some push-ups and pull-ups to try to put some muscle on.

******

The following day I'm getting another lift to school with Mrs. Peters. I am just about to leave when I hear raised voices. I look out the front door to see if I can see where they are coming from, but there's nothing evident until a door slams, and Mr. Peters reverses out of his drive very fast.

I hide behind a bush, so I'm not seen, and wait five minutes before walking across the road. Mrs. Peters is just exiting her house when I appear at the top of the drive, and she has obviously been crying.

We travel a while in silence before I have to ask, "Is anything wrong, Mrs. Peters?"

"There is, but I'm afraid there's nothing you can do about it."

And that is that, and I feel a little awkward to press. I think that it's Mrs. Peters, she will be able to sort whatever out.

School is school, I have my friends, and we hang out at dinner breaks in the sixth form room. I quite enjoy school now; most of the a-holes, jerks, or bullies have left to get jobs, and the only ones left are the academics who want to go to University.

When we get home that evening, she asks if we can do the work another night because she needs to talk to Mr. Peters about something important.

Of course, I agree, and when we pull into her drive, I make my way home. It's a bit of a blow and gives me more time at home than I planned for. What compounds it is my parents will be home at six and bring fish and chips from the local chippy. So I have only my homework to do, which won't take two hours. Going up to my room, I quickly finish my math homework and continue painting my Harrier Jump Jet Airfix model. I remember the Falkland War a couple of years before, and the Harrier playing a significant part in the UK reclaiming the Falkland Islands back from the Argentine invaders.

This year has been quite eventful; Margaret Thatcher beat the miners back, Bob Geldof organized Live Aid, but the most important thing for me was the advancement of computers and gaming. Commodore introduced the 128, and Sega Master System will be released this month. I have been praying I get one for Christmas, but I'm not holding my breath. Mum also wants me to take a driving course that they run where you can learn to drive and pass your test in a week. I got my provisional license through the post a couple of weeks ago. They are buying a car in the January sales, so I think that will be my Christmas present.

My nights during the week seem to be the same. Home, cook dinner, parents home around half six, walk the dog, watch TV and bed. As I do my shoelaces up on the doorstep, I hear raised voices coming from across the road again. After picking Archie up, I cross the road further up to avoid getting involved.

I don't stop around the Peters' house all week. There's definitely something up, and I chose to cycle to school after Tuesday morning's thing.

Life in the street seemed to have quietened down by the end of the week. I have written to Debbie and thanked her for her letter and asked her to tell Jenifer not to worry. I will wait for her letters however long it takes.

Weekends are great for only one reason, no school. On Saturday, I often cycle into town to go to the library and walk around the shops. I often meet up with friends to go to the cinema in the afternoon.

Today's offering is a film called Better off Dead. The film is about a schoolboy dumped by his girlfriend for the school ski champ and considers suicide. On top of that, he also has to contend with his strange family.

It's not a bad film and has its funny bits. Just not one I would pay to see again. After the movie, we pile into a café opposite to waste the last hour of our Saturday. With me today is Clive and Nicolas, but everyone calls him Nick. Andy was meant to come, but he didn't show for some reason.

Some girls are in the corner booth, and Nick stares at them constantly. I have to warn him that he will scare them off, but I may as well be speaking to myself. I've not seen them around before, so I let it go.

One of the girls calls out, "what are you staring at?"

Nick answers, "I don't know the labels dropped off."

My forehead just hit the table with a thud when he says that. "Did you have to say that?" I ask. "I told you to stop staring."

Nick tuts and says, "come on, let's get outa here." He's turned a bright shade of red.

"Bloody hell Nick, is it hot in here?" Clive says, warming his hands like you do close to a fire. The girls hear this and laugh, making Nick hurry up and trip on a bag that has fallen into the aisle.

"Sorry about him," I say as I walk past the girls, but they are too busy laughing to either hear me or acknowledge me.

We go our separate ways, and I head home. Saturdays are also different in that both my parents are home. This is one reason I am in town, but it's nice not to have to prepare and cook dinner.

I get in just before six, and mum is reading a book at the kitchen table. Dad has fallen asleep watching the afternoon sports with his paper fallen apart on the floor.

There's never much conversation at dinner, and we eat in near silence. As soon as dinner is done, I clear the table and help dad wash the dishes.

Walking next door to fetch Archie, I notice the Peters' kitchen light on, and Mrs. Peters stood at the sink doing the dishes. As I walk past, I see that she spots me, so I wave but continue on my way.