Chapter 6 #2
But underneath the guilt, a wave of something else emerges.
Relief.
I shift in my seat and reach down to unzip the backpack.
My fingers brush the photograph of Mum.
I slide it out a couple of inches, just enough to see her cheeky smile.
I’m sorry, I mouth silently.
Her hair is blowing across her face in that picture.
But my favourite part is the way she’s looking at me.
As though I were her own personal galaxy.
I slip it carefully back into the pocket and close the zipper.
Longreach, seventeen kilometres.
Bugger.
I haven’t thought this far ahead.
Not really.
Getting here was the hardest part.
Honestly thought I’d have days of walking to think and plan before I got here.
Fences appear more often now.
A few distant buildings dot the land.
I feel those nerves creeping back in.
The closer we get, the more uncertain everything feels.
It’s still so surreal that I’ve finally escaped.
But what the fuck do I do next?
I survive, that’s what.
I am destined to become so much more than my father ever will.
I have to.
Not just for me, but for my mother.
◆◆◆
We arrive on the outskirts of Longreach around mid-morning.
Now I can see houses lining the road.
Shops appear. So many in a row.
Anything more than one store feels like a lot.
For a Jundah boy, anyway.
They have a real servo, not just one fuel pump.
There’s a bakery, just like in a story I read.
I’ve never seen so many cars in my life.
Ten of them, parked along the same street.
The people in this town must be rich.
I straighten in my seat.
This place is enormous.
Compared to where I’m from, it might as well be a city.
Real footpaths.
People walking around like it’s a normal day.
It’s anything but normal for me.
The vehicle slows as we move deeper into town.
“Where do you want me to drop you?” he asks.
I scan the street signs quickly.
All of them are named after birds.
I’ve always loved birds.
“A little further up,” I say. “I'll recognise Nana’s street when I see it.”
But the truth is, I’m just trying to buy a little more time.
This guy has no idea that he’s all I have right now.
Him and this backpack.
Most of the houses are rustic and quiet.
Some have trees in the front yard, or small gardens.
One street in particular grabs my attention.
A row of pale houses with a grassy strip along the middle.
The kind of place a Nana might live.
“That's her street,” I lie, pointing to the right.
The man indicates with his blinker and turns sharply.
“Anywhere here is fine,” I shrug, trying not to cry.
Can I live with you? I beg silently.
For a moment neither of us move.
Then he looks me in the eye, noticing the tears.
“Sure you’re gonna be okay?”
I force myself to nod.
He waits there with me for a moment.
His smile is kind.
“Well… happy birthday for Thursday.”
“Thanks,” I reply, avoiding his eyes. “And thank you for the pie.”
“No worries,” he says.
I unbuckle the seatbelt and climb out of the truck.
My shoes hit the pavement with a dull thud.
Slinging my backpack over one shoulder, I step away from the ute.
The engine idles behind me.
I wait for the truck to leave.
But he’s still there. Still watching.
Making sure I’m safe, damn it.
Is it too late to get back in the truck?
Would he be angry if I told him the truth?
Would he drive me straight home?
I can’t risk it.
So I turn and walk toward the nearest house, trying to act casual.
Acting as if this is exactly where I’d meant to go.
As if I’m a boy who belongs.
But I no longer belong here nor there.
I am nobody's.
I guess that’s the price of anonymity.
Of freedom.
Better to be an orphan than to be Ray Watford's boy.
Better to be alone than to be trapped.
◆◆◆
The house has a well tended flower bed and a low fence.
A curved path leads up to the front door.
I pause at the gate, raising a hand to give a small wave.
I pretend that someone inside has seen me arrive.
Then I wait.
I can still see the truck in my periphery.
He hasn’t budged.
An elderly woman carries a watering can down the steps.
When she spots me she freezes, hesitant to come any further.
Finally the engine shifts gears, pulling carefully away from the verge.
I wave to the man, fear rising in my body as he drives away.
“Don't leave me,” I whisper.
My chest tightens with panic.
I almost run after him.
The truck keeps going, soon disappearing from view.
I lower my hand.
And then the world falls out from under me.
Childhood over.
Time to sink or swim.
The woman looks frightened.
“My husband's inside,” she says, as if to warn me off.
I wipe a hand across my cheek.
Rough as guts, that's how I look.
No wonder she’s scared.
“Excuse me,” I ask politely. “How do I find the library?”
It’s the safest place I can think of.
Somewhere I can sit for a while.
At least until I figure out what to do next.
The woman seems surprised.
Probably the last thing she expected a dangerous thug to say.
She points toward the end of the street.
“Four or five blocks that way,” she gestures.
“Turn left along Eagle Street. You’ll see it.”
I nod and smile.
“Thank you, Ma'am.”
I like your begonia, I almost say.
But only weirdo's say things like that.
Only weirdo's have a pretend Nana.
Loosening the strap of my backpack, I begin walking.
These streets feel so different to mine.
Crowded by comparison.
So many homes, all in a row.
A maze of streets and gardens.
I have no idea where I’m going to sleep.
Maybe I can knock on the door of a church.
Nah. They’re not too fond of boys who like boys.
Perhaps I could lie.
But God might tell them I’m a liar.
I’ll only ask them if I get desperate.
Gonna need to find a job, of course.
That might be tricky.
I have no ID card, and no bank account.
No work experience aside from gardening.
And no address.
Not even a pillow.
Everything I have to my name is inside this stupid bag.
Half a jar of stolen peanut butter and a map of the stars.