The Lost Boy - Chapter 5 – part two- Where There’s a Will There’s a Way

Spending time with my younger brother and his mates became the norm. I was 21, maybe 22. They were all 16 to 18. A strange dynamic on paper, but it worked. Maybe it was because we were all just looking for connection — a sense of belonging that didn’t care much for age or stage of life. I didn’t carry myself like an older, wiser role model — far from it. I slotted in more like one of them than someone above them. We laughed at the same things, smoked the same weed, listened to the same music. In many ways, I was looking to escape adulthood, and they were still clinging to the last moments of youth. Somewhere in the middle, we met — and for a time, it made perfect sense.

I never really saw the age difference as an issue — but why would I? It’s not like I was a very mature young adult, and their young, free lifestyles suited what I wanted for sure. It was just time with them.

My brother’s best friend’s mum had been close with my mum for years. We used to spend a lot of time round there, and I’d bum smokes off his mum. But again, it was more than that. We were all friends. Family friends. I’m still very close with some of that family now and will be for as long as I can see ahead. They’re certainly part of my extended family now.

Back to the group of friends though — we would have regular gatherings, sometimes drink-fuelled and a lot of the time not. We were a good social group and all got on really well. I have a lot of time for them all now as I did then, but life has just led us all in our own directions. However, when we meet or talk, there is still a heartfelt connection — on my part at least.

We partied. Drank when we could. Smoked weed or hash when it was around. Mostly just bummed about off friends and friends of friends — wherever the opportunity was.

There were themed nights — I remember a toga party, a "pimps and hoes" party, and being caught with one of our friends somewhere I shouldn’t have been, doing something we shouldn't have been. Especially being as she was with someone!

It wasn’t all madness though. There were quiet moments too — dossing about, playing football. I remember the long walks. Usually to a field for a kickabout or off to try and score some weed.

Computer games. Blazing. Laughing. Killing time.

Nothing too productive, but nothing too destructive either. Not yet.

But all through this point I realise now — where there's a will, there's a way. As much as the addiction wasn't massively evident in this part of the journey, it was never gone…

These memories are definitely blurred across different timelines and ages, but I add them where they sit in my mind. So if you’re reading this and you were there and I’m off — forgive me. I’m doing my best after years of drug abuse and memory battering, and also trying to block out sections I’d rather forget. Somehow my memory stepped in and took over — choosing which parts it would keep, where and why. I don’t know. Like I said earlier, it’s not that important. Just getting this out there as I remember it is what matters. Writing it down helps me make sense of it — like I’m piecing together a puzzle I didn’t realise was still in bits. Maybe someone will read this and see their own story reflected back. Maybe it helps someone feel less alone in their own chaos. But even if it doesn’t, it helps me — and that has to count for something.

During this time, I have a memory that stands out and definitely deserves a mention — one of those vivid memories that needs sharing.

I woke up and was more than fuzzy. I wasn’t even sure where I was. After a short time, I realised I was at Mum’s. This is where I realise the memories are mixed and hazy — because all throughout sharing this chapter, I’m between two houses Mum lived in, and that must be through the confusion of timelines.

Anyway — I managed to peel myself from the bed and felt more than rough. I was in pain. My face felt sore, as did my hand, and everything in between. I got up and looked in the mirror and what looked back took my breath away — but made me laugh hard.

I wasn’t laughing for long.

I looked in the mirror and saw these eyes looking back through a face that looked more than odd. My face was covered almost completely in dry blood — all cracked and crazed like an old painting up close. You know what I mean? Well, I laughed out loud. It wasn’t even fucking funny — or shouldn’t have been — but I was still half-cut.

As soon as I laughed, I saw it. The missing tooth! I covered my mouth with my hand quicker than I could think. And after repeating taking it away and putting it back up, I finally left it down long enough to actually take a proper look.

I cried. Not ashamed to admit it.

My tooth was fucking gone. And my lip was fat. On closer inspection, I could see the tooth had gone through my lip — entrance and exit hole — and the tooth all gone. I didn’t know it at this point, but the whole root had been ripped out. And my hand? Turned out to be broken too.

And that’s not where this memory stops…

I went through to Mum and showed her the aftermath of whatever the fuck had happened the night before. I remember seeing her shock at what she was looking at, and her asking again and again what the fuck had happened.

I couldn’t answer. I had no idea.

I think this conversation and attempt at remembering went on for a while. Within that, I was asked where Munch was — that’s my younger brother. I didn’t know initially. Then I had flashes of the night before.

We had been at a friend’s, drinking heavily. Started off fun, but then we left — and the air hit us, and so did all the vodka.

I — in typical drunk Gareth mode — started on some people we passed, for no reason whatsoever. I remember that much.

Then the police arrived.

I wasn’t so drunk that I didn’t know what that could mean. And in turn, it meant I had to shut the fuck up and behave — so I did. But then my brother took off with a madness. Whilst the police were there.

I tried to warn him. I tried to calm him down. The police gave ample warning before arresting him. It was too late for him, but not for me. I just kept quiet now. Watched them cart him off, and went on my way. That is my last memory of that night.

I have since spoken to someone years later who is pretty sure — when we discussed that event — he stumbled across some guy kicking me in just round the corner from where my brother was arrested. So, no real clarity… but everything pointing towards the obvious: that I’d gotten myself into some sort of fight or altercation after my brother was arrested — and likely took a heavy kicking not long after. That would explain the missing tooth, the busted hand, and the bloody mess I woke up to. It all added up, even if the memory itself never fully returned.

Resulting in a broken hand, loss of tooth, and knowing for sure — my brother was arrested. what happened after im not sure. I don't remember but we did laugh about this after that's for sure!

I’ve got loads of other memories from this time, but they’re all scattered — fragments, really. Snippets of moments, blurred scenes that all carry the same feeling. The same mess. The same Gareth — chaos either following me, or being created by me. Maybe both.

Whichever way it happened, it was real.

The next part of the story runs closely alongside this one — overlapping timelines, familiar faces — but it marks the final decline before, once again, I packed up and moved away.

I’ll save that for then…