After the fourth brandy and Coke, and the third beer halfway done, Themba’s bladder was full again, and his head was in the clouds. With a loose swagger he walked across the bar to the toilet. As he began to piss, he heard a low growl. He looked up to his left – it was the drunk man from the street last night! And he was zipping up his pants with a furious fire in his eyes, his body twitching with anger and booze.

“I’ll get you, boy, I’ll get you!” shaking his fist. But Themba froze. He couldn’t stop peeing – he was stuck there, stuck to the ground, still peeing. And the man pulled him by his collar, shook him and roared into his face. Pee dribbled on the floor.

“You young ruffian! No bloody respect!” He pulled out a knife from his pocket with the same low growl, like an angry dog. Then the man swayed a little and burped, a big one that stank of brandy. He closed his eyes and steadied himself, and smacked his lips. He was in no position to be flashing a knife around. Finally, Themba had stopped peeing, and he managed to zip up his pants. He had to think quickly but his mind, swimming in brandy, was all over the place. He tried to swing a punch at the man but his heart wasn’t in it – and he missed. Just as the man came towards him Themba twisted round and hit the light switch, sending the whole toilet into dead darkness. The old man started swearing and stumbling around the room. He tried to grab at Themba’s clothes but Themba had long gone.

As Themba rushed out of the bathroom, he heard the man yell behind him, “Ah, you horrible child! Ah!” Themba slowed down his pace as he arrived at the gang’s table, trying to keep his cool. He sat down as though he didn’t have a single trouble in the world, but his heart was racing.

He said to the guys, with a relaxed voice and after he had a few sips of his drink to calm himself down, “That guy I told you about yesterday – he’s in the bathroom and he is really pissed off.” Themba didn’t want to say that they should leave because they might think he was a sissie. But he hoped one of them would suggest it.

“Ha, I saw that man go in. He’s so drunk, he’s so stupid! You should kick his ass, Themba!” said Bust. They all laughed.

“Ha,” said Themba, weakly, forcing a smile. His body was rigid and tense but his mind was racing from the booze. He sucked a glass of water down; the world was a whirlwind.

Then he looked up and saw the man getting closer to him and the guys. It was all in slow motion and fast forward at the same time.

Themba could see that the man was very angry but very drunk. He stumbled along, stopped for a second and put his hand on his forehead. He looked around as though he had forgotten that he was planning on teaching Themba a lesson.

Themba was relieved, thinking the man had forgotten about him. Then something happened that made him catch his breath and shrink down in his seat.

His mother walked past, heading towards the bathroom.

She was wearing a sparkly silver top and had a lot of make-up on. Prince let out a low whistle just so she could hear it. She wore high heels and wobbled a little as she walked. Themba cringed inside; he was so embarrassed. Was she trying to be like her friend Babs now? She was wearing clothes that were suitable for a 15-year-old girl, not a grown woman. Themba’s heart beat faster and he started sweating.

His mom looked around at all the boys for a moment, and Themba pulled his hoodie further down his face. Vusi, who was closest to her, said something that made her look shocked, and she nearly fell as she hurried away as the others laughed mockingly.

Then the drunken man returned. He put his arm around Themba’s mom’s shoulders and, with his eyes half-open, said something to her in no language at all, pushing his face right up close to hers. “Ugh, get off me,” she said to him, and wriggled away.

Themba was so angry in his heart that his throat closed up and it felt like it was burning.

He stood up, pushed past her and walked out, fast. He didn’t stop to tell his friends, or look back at his mother.

He felt light-headed; he had never done anything like this before. Family had always been number one. But his mother hadn’t put him first since Joseph died. She had put Joseph first, even though he was dead. She preferred her dead son to the son who was alive, and needed her. Well, he didn’t need her any more.

He thought he had walked out alone from the tavern but the group was following him, laughing and joking. It seemed that none of them had realised who the woman was. Even though that’s what he had wanted, Themba felt terrible about it.

How could he disown his mother, in a time when she so obviously needed his love and support? Joseph wouldn’t have done this – Joseph would have helped her. Joseph wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place. But if Joseph hadn’t died, from being reckless and irresponsible with his life, maybe his mom wouldn’t be in this situation either.

“Is it my fault?” Themba asked himself guiltily. “Is it my fault that she’s like this? Am I not as good as Joseph?” That sore feeling in his throat came back and he punched his palm with his fist. He wanted to yell and scream and cry like a toddler in a tantrum.

He realised he was too drunk to care for his mom anyway, and he tried to shake the guilty thoughts off. Maybe Joseph was irresponsible, but he still would have looked after his mother. This would never have happened if I was more like Joseph, more of a man. A man of the house, he thought with shame.

He remembered the words of Uncle Moses, “You carry the flame of the Ngoma name. Will you make us proud?” Although no one would say that his mother was making anyone proud, neither was he, Themba. They were both as big a disgrace as the other. But he reminded himself: he was the child, she was the parent. It was not his problem.

“Let’s try out your wheels, Tee,” said Bust.

Themba started to climb into the driver’s seat. “You can’t drive.” Prince said. “Give me the keys. You’re too drunk; you’ll kill us all. Give me the keys.”

Did he have any other choice? It was true what he said: he was so drunk. He could barely walk, how could he drive? But to let Prince drive his car? Joseph’s car?

But he wanted to please them, be part of them, so he gave in – he handed over the keys. The world rocked like a boat. Prince started up the ignition, revved too hard, skidded forward on the dust, and stalled pressing the brake. A cloud of dirt rose from the back tyres. Themba was feeling nauseous.

“Careful with the clutch,” Themba slurred, waving his hand around. Prince started again and made a sharp turn back on the road. Just in time: behind them, the old man had come out of the bar to find him, held back by two other men who had taken it upon themselves to control him.

But soon they left them behind. Prince himself wasn’t exactly sober, even though he and the others hadn’t been drinking all that brandy. They had got Themba drunk to laugh at him while they enjoyed the show. Themba remembered something he had once read, and seen pictures of. In the Middle Ages in Europe, merchants would bring bears back from other parts of the world, and feed them brandy or rum, and make them do tricks, and people would laugh at them. Entertainment. He was the dancing bear. And Prince was driving his car. Prince braked hard at a stop street, then took off again, with power. He was driving 90 kilometres per hour on the township roads.

“Where are we going, ouens?” asked Prince, calmly in his snake-like voice.

“We need to go to Themba’s place,” said Vusi. “We need to see where he comes from.”

Oh, no, thought Themba. Not my place. He said nothing. Prince geared up and screeched around a corner, laughing, having fun.

Prince turned his head to say something to the guys in the back; Themba couldn’t tell what it was, everything was still a blur. But as his back was turned, Themba saw a pair of glowing eyes in the car’s headlights, frozen to the spot. The car was racing towards it.

“Prince! Watch out!” Prince turned round and swerved at the same time, not even looking where he was sending the car. They ramped up onto the side of the road too fast and onto sandy ground. In a split second Prince had lost control and now the car had run over a dog and smashed into the wall of a clinic. Themba jumped out. The dog, the car!

He bent over the dog, which was whimpering. Prince had run over its leg: it looked like it might be broken. The dog’s paw was bleeding and at a strange angle to the rest of its leg. The others were still in the car. What should he do? He didn’t know how to help the dog, and he knew no one would be paying for a vet bill. He had to leave it to die, to be eaten alive by other dogs, by maggots, to be squashed to death by a car. The yelps were quieter now but the dog was still in pain and his eyes were wide with fear and helplessness. Its body was shaking all over. Themba, drunk and stumbling, carried the whining dog to the space next to the road, so that it wouldn’t be run over.

He walked to the bonnet. It was damaged, but it looked like the engine was OK.

By now Prince had also got out. “Why did you shout like that?” he said. “It was just a bloody dog. You know this was your fault.” But then he patted Themba on the back. “My uncle works at a garage. Maybe he’ll fix it.”

Themba didn’t know what to say. His brother’s car, and bashed already just a few weeks since he had got it. He wanted to shout at Prince, but Prince was just giving him an easy smile. Maybe it would be all right.

“I think I’d better drive now,” he said. The others climbed back in. Although he was tired and dazed, he had begun to sober up. “Take us home now, Tee,” said Prince. “It’s getting late.”

Perhaps Prince was nervous that there would be an angry father or brother waiting at Themba’s, thought Themba. But he doesn’t know that there is no one there who will even notice what happened to the car, let alone care.

In silence, he slowly drove the others to their houses. As Prince got out of the car he said, “Don’t worry about the car, Tee, I’ll speak to my uncle. It will all get sorted out.” And then he was gone.

At home Themba parked the car and got out and examined the car in the light of the yard. The front headlight on the right was smashed, the metal on the bonnet was crumpled.

Themba stumbled to his bed. The car was ruined, but he knew his mother wouldn’t even notice. It was his problem, and his problem only. The one thing that made him feel good inside was Lettie. And now he had this challenge to get her. He grabbed his cellphone.

sup cc. cn u pls hlp me wit sum homewrk tmrw aftanoon?

Themba hit ‘Send’. He lay on his back on his bed, the world spinning. He closed his eyes but had to open them again – he felt like he was hurtling through space uncontrollably. He knew he would have a hangover the next day, just like his mom, who was nowhere to be found.

Shit was out of control, he thought. He had never really prayed before but Themba found himself speaking to someone who wasn’t there. Then he tried to think about what had just happened, but the thoughts kept flying away.

And then, finally, he was asleep.