Grip
by Duncan White

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Nothing to lose sometimes, I stand very still and simply watch.

I stand on the corner in the shade; it's very hot out, as hot as I can ever remember it being here. People pass right by me sweating. As I watch, men across the street are gutting out a house.

The frontage has gone and you can see each floor. I look into each room on both stories like an opened playhouse on some kid's bedroom carpet.

I try and pay attention, but it's hard.

Soon a man appears and looks at me. A very large man. He shouts over.

"You WORKING, or what?"

I'm not working, but I must look like I am or that I want to or something.

I stare at him. And shrug my shoulders.

"WELL?"

I go over there, people have started to look.

"Where's your gear?"

Again I shrug.

"Here."

He hands me a sledge. I take it. Try and get a good grip.


"Where's your gloves?"

"Lost 'em." I said.

"Shit."

He fished down behind a bag.

"Here."

The old gloves were dusty but fitted alright. Made my hands twice their actual size.

Holding the sledge, I grinned.

"Go on then." He said. "Get to work."

I stepped pass him and into the open house. It's still early. People are working like they mean it and it's dark in there.

I blink and try to get a sense of it.

Following through to a backroom, there are men working at either wall except one central and towards the back.

I go over. Look it up and down, and take a last look at the others hard at work. They haven't even seen me.

Feeling the grip on my sledge I pull it back over my shoulder, pick a spot, and swing it hard around my head.

I begin to hack away.

I get up a good rhythm and start pounding.

Soon I've got a sweat on but as I pound it out nothing's coming off the wall.

I keep going.

Still nothing.

Not a crumb.

I pound and I pound, sweating, heaving, like my life depends on getting through that wall. But it gets heavier and my chest is getting tight.

I give it up. Stand there looking blankly at the brick and mortar.

Behind me someone's laughing.

I turn on him.

"What you doing?"

Three of them are standing there. A minute later there are four.

"You crazy?"

"Who told you to work on that?"

"That's a foundation wall."

"You'll never get it down."

"If you did, we'd all be buried."

"He's lost it."

"How long you been working here?"

"You want to kill us all?"

I look at them. And they start up laughing once again.

I drop the sledge, pull off both my gloves and walk back out into the sunshine.

It comes down on me and starts to burn.

I forget the shade. And I don't look back because I KNOW each room in there holds a man laughing at me and the thing I tried to do.


copyright © Duncan White 2001