Poodle Mood
Short story monologue commissioned by Radio 3 The Verb, performed by Sophie Woolley October 2009
Poodle Mood
By Sophie Woolley
Sometimes someone does something so weird that you would not believe the stuff they do. I tried telling everyone, but no one believed me. They believed a bit of it, but I could see they all thought there was no smoke without me fuelling some sort of freak fire in the first place.
Trouble is, stuff is always happening to me. They should do a whole soap opera about just me and the rubbish I go through every day. I can't lie in my own bed and go to sleep without some nutter doing my head in. I'm not talking about people shouting in the street, I'm not talking about abuse or sex. There was no sexual abuse or violence, just weirdo-ness. It might have been a sex thing if it had gone any further, but no ones saying anything about sex, it's just not an issue, because I would never, ever look at that freak in a fancying way at all. I wouldn't. Even though he's really good looking, which is what makes people think I'd obviously fancy him even though his face makes me sick. You see, it looks like I fancy him now, just because I'm denying fancying him. I can't win. So now I look like the weirdo, except I'm not. I mean. What a freak. Him I mean, what a freak.
I had a fag with him, and that's it. No more than that. Just a simple fag. He knocked on my door, the door of my room, he knocked about 9 'o clock and asked if I had any fags cos he was trying to give up but struggling a bit but he sort of like didn't want to go as far as actually caving in and buying his own fags. So I lent him a fag. He sat there smoking the fag and staring at my dog and talking about some band he'd seen in Camden. She's a poodle. The dog is. I inherited her from my gran. The landlord doesn't know about her because we're not allowed dogs, not even poodles.
So I'm watching him and he's telling me how he hasn't eaten anything in two days because it helps him be more creative. In the same way as putting his mattress on the floor makes him feel a bit rock. He's got a normal bed but he's stood the bottom bit in a corner and put the mattress on the floor to be closer to the ground. His room stinks of stale sweat and unwashed sheets. I haven't been in there, but you can smell it if you walk past when he opens his door. People don't know what a tramp he is because he dresses normal and they tend to trust good looking people.
I'm ugly, which makes me a liar obviously. So anyway he's there in my room at night, smoking a fag, talking about himself and watching me tickle my gran's toy poodle's little pink belly. Then there's a long silence. He looks at me, and I think he's going to say something, but he doesn't, so I smile, trying to help him out with it you know, but he doesn't say anything. So I say, "Do you want another fag? Take one, I'm going to bed now". Even though I'm not that tired. I just wanted him to go you know. So he goes and I just put my nightie on and get into bed and face the wall reading a book. I'm reading it for ages. Then I put the light out and try and go to sleep. After a while I turned over in bed and I nearly jumped out of my skin, because there he was, face right in my face, crouching like a caveman by my bed, with his big flyaway pub rock hair. And I go, "do you want another fag or something?" Cos I'm thinking maybe he was really desperate for a fag again and I'd just caught him as he crept in to nick one. Which is a bit creepy but still, you know, he could have said, 'yes I want a fag, sorry, I should have knocked', no harm done. But he just goes "No". I go, "what's wrong?" And do you know what he said? You won't believe me. He said, "I'm in a poodle mood." That's it. "I'm in a poodle mood". I mean, what? Just what? So what do you say to that? 'Oh, do you want a stroke?' Like, no way! I should have said, "get out of here before I kill you mate". But you never think of a good comeback when people just surprise you like that. I felt sick, this was so un-normal it wasn't true. Except it is true. I really didn't want it to be happening but it actually was, I swear on my life, I swear on Nelson Mandela's life that is what he said, "I'm in a poodle mood". What a loon.
So I just ended up saying in a very small voice like, "um I want to go to sleep. Can you go, I'm trying to sleep." And he goes, "sure", and he smiles, like we've just shared some secret little special moment, like he's made some kind of point, and he shuffles out, all lanky like a wilting Bon Jovi.
Course, I can't sleep. That's when I realised, I should have screamed. Like hello!? Man in your bedroom, creeping in quietly without asking. That's when you scream. And that was my mistake. In the morning all my flatmates were going, why didn't you scream? I just forgot, you know. So I just lay there all night listening out for the door opening again and wishing I hadn't oiled the hinges.
In the morning I went downstairs and told people, but I could see they thought I was trying to cover up some weird crash and burn thing because I'm the ugly one and he's the fit one.
I was so angry. He went to work, at the school. I kicked his door, which I have to pay for now as well because I made a hole in it. He went to work, and I waited until 3.30 and I called the headmistress and I told her, "your supply teacher is a bit mad, and I thought you should know because I think he might be a bit dangerous". But he'd obviously got to her before me. He'd gone into the staffroom and told everyone his flatmate is mental.
So now everyone is looking at me like I'm some sort of mad woman scorned. So I move out. I pack my bags, crying, and I move out. Which makes it look even more like I'm a liar and he's normal.
I get my mum to pick me up and drive me away. As we drive away I look up at his window. He's there looking down at me, and sort of crying like he loved me or something. What a pervert.
Copyright © 2009 Sophie Woolley
Read 'My Boyfriend Pushed Me Outside Naked'