Chapter 26 #2
Maybe I can find that drawing he did of me while we were driving yesterday.
But instead, I find a sketch of two people walking through a field beneath a starry sky.
The man looks just like me. A
nd the woman looks familiar too.
She’s a little older, but shares the exact same smile.
Their backs are turned.
And the man is looking at her as though he hasn't seen her for a while.
“Is this me and...?”
“Her?” He nods. “Yeah.”
Handing me a small tube of lip balm, he smooths my wayward hair with his fingers.
I lift my eyes to the road stretching ahead of us.
The road toward Mum.
“She's less than an hour away,” I whisper.
Amos lays a hand on my knee.
If I could just...
I need more time to decide.
And it’s not like we have to go all the way to the house.
I just want to be near her.
We could drive as far as the river, no further.
Technically it’s Jundah, but not monster territory.
That drunk bastard hates the river.
Which is why I used to go there all the time when I was little.
Some days I’d be there for hours.
“Let me show you my hiding spot,” I smile.
“The one place he could never ever find me.”
Amos’s eyes rim with pride.
He turns my palm upward, then draws a heart with his finger.
◆◆◆
I slow the truck before we reach the edge of town.
There it is.
White letters against green.
The word ‘welcome’ feels hollow.
I know this place like the back of my hand.
But years later, it seems so foreign.
I’m foreign.
I’m a visitor now.
We could stay on this side of the bridge.
No need to see the town.
No knock on the door.
That would be the simpler option.
But I’d really love to show Amos that particular spot.
That pocket of calm was once my refuge.
And that's what keeps me going.
I turn the key before I can reconsider.
The cattle grid comes first.
Metal bars vibrate through the chassis, through my bones.
I see a familiar row of houses to one side.
A rusted frame where a swing once hung.
The echo of a dog’s bark.
Dust-ridden yards, fence leaning slightly to one side.
A tin roof reflects harsh light into my eyes.
Amos removes his sunglasses, passing them across the console.
“Better?” he murmurs.
“Better.”
Not just to block the sun, but to muffle the assault of memory on either side of me.
Especially that pub.
My jaw tightens.
Even with the dimmed lenses, I fail to keep my eyes forward.
The building looks smaller than I remember.
My knuckles grip pale and white on the steering wheel.
But Amos never lets go of my hand.
There’s the roadhouse on the corner.
The fuel pump where I once stood.
Bruised face, dirt in my hair.
Praying that I wouldn't be followed.
I swore I’d never set foot here again.
Young Mark appears on the pavement, a ghost of the past.
Waiting. Watching.
Feeling too visible, yet not visible enough.
Not knowing if the next driver will save him or leave him stranded.
I want to rescue that kid so badly.
And you are, says Invisible Sam.
You’re healing him by being here.
The road narrows as we reach the bridge, river flowing beneath us.
And I sense relief when we cross it, just as I did when I was younger.
“Coward is scared of water,” Mum once told me. “Went fishing while drunk off his ass. Almost drowned. Shame he didn't.”
That murky flow splits the land like a boundary line.
On this side of the water, I can breathe again.
The road curves into red dust, a softer path now.
It hugs the riverbank, bending gently into open territory.
An imaginary Mark appears in my rearview mirror, sitting in the back of the ute.
I won’t leave him on the corner.
◆◆◆
Water glints through gaps in the trees.
Tyre marks fade in and out.
The only proof that any other soul has bothered to come this far.
Being the middle of the week during a quiet month, we have the place to ourselves.
I’m looking for something.
A memory with roots.
Wooden arms that had once held me when nobody else would.
The truck slows.
There.
That bend along the riverbank.
A curve of trees thick enough to offer sanctuary.
Aligned in a way that let me gaze upon my beloved night sky.
And closer to the slope, slightly forward of the rest, stands a large gum tree.
Tall and stubborn like me.
Leaning just enough over the brink that its roots form an alliance with the tide.
“Used to come down here whenever I could,” I say.
“I was pretty lonely. But this was my safe haven.”
For a moment, neither of us move.
I cut the engine.
Opening my door, I follow the ghost to my tree.
Behind me, Amos rests against the side of the doorframe, a camera in one hand.
Sweet, patient man.
Bearing witness to my homecoming, and my healing.
In this small corner of the world, nothing has changed since I left.
Familiar faces have most likely aged.
Buildings have galvanised or weathered in the heat.
But his river looks exactly the same.
The wild aroma of caked mud and sun-baked bark.
The ground solid beneath my feet in a way that city pavements can never replicate.
Surrendering to my senses, I place a hand against the bark.
Peeling and rough in some parts, smooth in others.
Leaves curl between my fingers.
Another memory unlocks.
I once smuggled handfuls of these home in my pockets.
I’d stash them in an empty marmalade jar.
The glass would rattle on my bedside table whenever a door slammed.
Or whenever someone I loved got pushed against a wall.
I would rub the leaves between my fingers to feel safe.
As though my hiding spot tree had followed me home.
Something inside me folds open.
Grief for a stolen childhood.
An ache for all that has been lost.
Looking out across the water, the scrub line obstructs any view of the town.
But somewhere on the other side of those trees, a woman remembers.
She remembers a little boy who once sat on her knee.
“I’m here, Ma,” I whisper. “I’m here.”