1993

I only saw the child for a second as I sped past him that morning, but that was enough. A simple scene; a boy aged about ten standing talking to two of his counterparts. But in that second his whole world was opened up to me.

His left arm was draped over the push button control box on the pedestrian crossing, the knuckles of his right hand on his hip. His left foot casually crossed at the shin resting his toes on the pavement. His body slumped into that pose, as though he were a coat casually thrown over the back of a chair. His look gave away a deep weariness; his eyes were wide, exasperation written into his face as he spoke. He did not look either of his friends in the face but instead looked about and around him as though he were watching out for something or someone. His clothes were cheap and dark - a Harrington jacket and grey trousers – and his hair cropped.

His gesture was a learned one and not that of a child of his age. He had spent his life in the company of people who stand like that at pedestrian crossings, declaiming their sorrow to the world and looking about to see if the police were after him, or people looking for money owed, or enemies looking for revenge. He had come to know that as a gesture of quiet defiance, and of protestation, and of defence. He also knew that by looking like this he could make himself look cynical and tired and somehow a bigger, older boy than he otherwise was.

I only saw the child for a second as I sped past him that morning, but that was enough. Amidst the council flats and disused flower beds his gesture told me that above all else, I was looking at a life that was fucked from the start because he had nowhere else to go, no one else to learn from and no hope of ever finding any control of his life, himself or what passes for his destiny. I judge his gesture because it is a gesture that invites bold judgment from people who know that they should never stand like that for fear of appealing to those around to make up their minds about the pitiful bleakness of one’s future. I observe the child. The child is observed. Each is unseen by the other due to that invisible border of consciousness we can never cross.