Ball seeks solace in brown stuff, Mum cries

‘How did you know about that?’ Ball asked me, shocked.

I mentioned his bust-up with the tomboy outside a local supermarket.

Ball cleared up the matter on Friday night, sending along his girlfriend Jay – who works at the same supermarket – to apologise to the girl.

Ball had said nothing to his mother or me, though girlfriend Jay knew, as she was present at the time.

‘Lord mentioned it the other night,’ I said.

Jay had asked me not to tell Mum, and in the end I didn’t have to say a thing.

Her partner, taxi driver Lort seems to know everything that goes on in these parts. Perhaps Jay told him.

‘Your mother wasn’t interested anyway. She told him that it was your business, and you’d fix the problem.’

-
I turned up late on Friday night at Ball’s place to find him and his mother in a stand-off.

They were in Mum’s bedroom. I sat down next to Ball, who was flushed in the face. He had spent the night drinking, and wanted to carry on.

He spoke a few stiff words to his mother. ‘You’re pleading with me, and are not being honest,’ he said.

‘I can carry on, or just go to bed,’ he said defiantly. ‘It’s all the same to me.’

Mum had invited Ball out for a night of karaoke. He wasn’t interested, as he would rather spend the night with carer R.

Earlier in the night, Mum saw Ball and carer R heading out somewhere. She stopped them, as thought her son had taken enough for one night.

Making no progress with Mum, Ball declared he was going to bed, and left the room.

Mum insisted I stay with her as she fretted over the argument with her son. They did not raise voices with each other, but Ball had spoken unpleasantly.

‘He’s extremely direct. He would never lie to anyone, but tells them exactly what he feels,’ Mum said in tears.

'I am sure he will be better in the morning. He has had a stressful week,' I said, feeling lousy.

Her son needs a good talking to. But when, and who will do it?

-
Ball was to spend his weekend on the brown stuff.

‘Beer is my friend,’ he told me.

On Saturday, we spent a few hours with R, along with three or four red shirt protesters – the rag-tag mob which is occupying part of the Bangkok shopping district.

Mum knew where they had gathered, and after I turned up at her place, she took me out to meet Ball and his friends.

She took a seat briefly at the table.

'Ball, do you remember what you said last night to Mum?' I asked him.

'Yes,' he said.

But if he did remember, his face showed not an ounce of guilt or remorse.

Apparently, everything had been forgotten.

The most vocal red shirt at our table of five or six men, all of whom live close to my place, was a former soldier, now in his late 40s, who sells fish for a living in a slum clearing.

Until he tried assaulting my ears with his red-shirt propaganda, I had thought that he was at least pleasant.

Now I regard him as a fool.

‘You’re a foreigner. I want to tell you about the red shirt cause so you can spread the word to other farang,’ he said.

‘No, thanks. I don’t want to know,’ I said.

He carried on regardless, and would not be stopped, no matter what anyone else tried to say.

His diatribe lasted 10 minutes. He came up for air briefly, and started again.

‘I am a local leader of the red shirt movement,’ he said, showing me a laminated entry pass.

So what?

The odd thing is, he sells good fish. So why can’t he stick to it?

Being part of the red shirts gives his life meaning which it lacked previously.

I know what that's like. Having Ball as part of my life supplements the meaning of my own dull existence.

Which cause is worthier? I suppose that depends on what we do with it.
-

Ball spent most of the next day away from home, probably with his staple friend of the moment, carer R.

Mum called me in early afternoon to say Ball was back, looking thirsty and restless. But by the time I arrived, he had gone out again, leaving his girlfriend at home looking miserable.

That morning, they had been out together on the family motorbike for a noodle.

‘Are you getting on better?’ I asked her.

‘I’m indifferent,’ she said.

The previous day, she spent an hour cleaning the uniform which Ball wears to work as a security guard in Silom. He wore it two nights last week after work, as he played Songkran with his friends.

It was still stained with powder which revellers smear on each other as part of the festivities. The marks were hard to get out.

Now, however, he had abandoned her to spend the day alone.

‘I am sure it will turn out okay,’ I said weakly. What else could I do?

Ball had dumped her at home, as he went out to indulge his best friend, the brown stuff.

Mum called me again early last night. Ball had arrived home about 5pm, and headed straight for bed, just as he had the night before.

He was under the weather, and could do nothing but sleep.

I don’t know how to break this cycle. Maybe I should suggest a visit to his local temple?

Jay is one of the best things going in Ball’s life, but if he’s not careful, he could lose her.