Chapter 10
the tenth chapter
MARK
I run toward the end of the street, free but untethered.
I’m craving a safe haven in any form.
The only reason I know that this town has a library is because one of the books my teacher read us when I was a kid, had a Longreach library stamp on the inside cover.
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
She'd shown it to me when I’d expressed interest in the illustrations.
I’d asked her where she'd found such a magical tale.
No surprise that I’d been drawn to a story like that.
One where the poorest kid in town had escaped from his drab existence.
He’d been given a chance to create a new life. A colourful, wonderful life.
If Charlie Bucket can win a golden ticket, then maybe there’s hope for me too.
But first, I will surround myself with books.
That always seems to help when I’m feeling vulnerable.
I need a refuge of sorts.
Somewhere I can plot and plan.
Somewhere I can hide in case my dad has convinced the cops to search this far.
If he’s even bothered to search at all.
One silver lining of poverty and addiction is that Ray won’t get very far.
And he certainly wouldn't waste precious slot machine or beer money finding me.
Probably happy that he has one less mouth to feed.
The further away I run from that house, the more certain I feel.
I’ve made the right choice.
Perhaps someone at the library can tell me how to get to Brisbane.
I still have my heart set on seeing the beach.
And that enormous city with all those towers made of glass.
Maybe I’ll wear a suit and tie now that I’m gonna be a city boy.
Yep, that's where I’ll go.
This town has bus stops.
And buses probably go to beaches.
Still can’t quite get my head around the size of this place.
All these roads and roundabouts are starting to look the same.
I’ve never been in a town where you can’t see the edge of it from every corner.
A town where you can walk past any house and not know who lives there.
I think I like this feeling.
It’s new to me.
Everything feels new today.
When I reach the corner of Eagle Street, I pause to take a sip of water.
Guess I no longer need to save it for hitch hiking.
Plenty of taps around here.
I’ll save the fizzy drink and chips for dinner.
Before I walk into the library, I wanna ditch this awful shirt and beanie.
I hate this smell.
At least I’m done with the disguise.
It served its purpose.
That truck driver must have thought I was a chronic drinker or smoker, smelling like this.
This is the stench of home.
My old home.
I guess it’s not my home anymore.
I don’t have one.
◆◆◆
Yanking the shirt and hat over my head, I bundle them into a ball.
First rubbish bin I find, I biff it like a basketball into a hoop.
The sun is brutal this time of day, so I grab a clean shirt from my bag.
The one with the pocket on the front.
Should have remembered to bring a hoodie too.
But there wasn’t enough room in this backpack.
It’s easy to forget things when packing in a rush.
At least my mum would be proud of me for remembering my toothbrush.
No toothpaste though.
I can buy some of that when I’m rich.
Ten, eleven, twelve.
I’ve lost count of how many cars have driven past, and how many shops I’ve seen.
Gift store, camping store, clothing store.
I want to browse every window, but I’m busting for the dunny.
I get the feeling people around here don’t just pee in a bush like I did back home.
Time to be civilised.
Time to be a gentleman.
At the crossroad of Eagle and Duck street, I find everything I’m looking for.
There’s my library on the right, hard to miss with its bright blue facade.
Post office. Water tower. Information centre.
There it is. A public bathroom.
Keeping my knees together to hold the wee in, I run across the street.
I’ve never seen a roundabout in real life.
Must be fun to drive in circles.
When I emerge, hands damp from the basin, I spot a large red bus.
It has a picture of a dog on the side.
Buses like that probably go to Brisbane.
Chasing after it, I follow around the corner to a small tree lined park.
As soon as all the passengers have come down the stairs, I go say hello to the bus driver.
“Do you go to Brisbane?”
“On my way back through, I do,” he says.
“Can I come too?”
“I leave here around three fifty five most afternoons.”
“What time will we get to the beach?”
He gives me a slightly odd look.
Maybe he doesn’t like the beach.
“We usually reach the city just before eleven the next morning.”
“The next morning?” I laugh.
“It's an overnight trip,” the driver explains. “Nineteen hours.”
Jesus. This guy must drive really slow.
“I wanna buy a ticket, please.”
A golden ticket, I sigh.
Rummaging around in my bag, I find the coins I’ve been saving.
“You got a student card?” the man asks.
“No, sorry.”
“That'll be four fifty, then.”
“Two... three... four... here's five,” I say, tipping the coins into his palm.
“You having a laugh?” the guy says.
He does not look amused.
“Four fifty as in four hundred and fifty dollars. That'll get you to Brisbane and back.”
“Four hundred and fifty dollars? For a bus ride?”
“And you'll need to book online with a credit card.”
I feel nauseous.
My head begins to spin.
“But I don't want to come back,” I tell him. “I never want to come back.”
“Then it'll be roughly two hundred and thirty for a one way ticket.”
I’m too gutted to ask anymore questions.
So I mumble a thank you and wander aimlessly toward the library.
◆◆◆
Stepping through the door, the air con is a much needed comfort.
Row after row of books.
Hundreds of them, all at my fingertips.
Brisbane must have libraries as tall as that water tower, maybe even bigger.
Slipping the heavy backpack from my shoulders, I hide it underneath a table.
Browsing the shelves, I almost forget where I am, who I am, and what just happened.
Almost.
Making a small pile of favourites, I spend a good few hours on that beanbag.
Perhaps this can be my new life for a while.
Sleep beneath the stars at night, read books during the day.
What will I do for food though?
Reading snacks are important.
So is showering.
I really haven’t thought this through.
The woman behind the front desk keeps looking at me funny.
Should have washed my face earlier.
Hopefully these bruises and cuts will fade eventually.
I honestly can’t remember a time when I didn't have at least one or two.
“Can I help you with those?” the woman asks. “Do you have your library card with you?”
My what?
She registers the blank look on my face.
“Not to worry, we can issue you a card.”
Her voice is friendly and upbeat.
“You'll just need some ID and proof of address.”
Seriously. Why is everyone so obsessed with ID?
Even if I had any, I don’t want people to know who I am.
“Can I just read these in the corner over there, and then come back tomorrow?”
“I guess you can,” she grins. “But please put them back on the shelf when you leave.”
I snuggle back into my beanbag, flipping through each cover.
But soon I get distracted.
I’m paying close attention to the trolley she’s wheeling across the carpet.
This is the kind of place I would enjoy working.
Following behind her, hope rises in my chest.
“I really wanna work here,” I tell her. “Can I have a job?”
She holds back a smile.
“We're not hiring,” she explains. “But there’s a community notice board over there.”
Near the exit hangs a large cork board covered in paper.
Lost pets. Garage sales.
Local events. Music lessons.
I scan for words that catch my eye.
Most of these roles are out of my league.
Experience required.
Qualifications needed.
Must have a drivers licence.
Be well presented.
All things I don’t have.
But then I see it.
A small piece of lined paper pinned near the bottom.
The handwriting is thick, with a slight swirl.
Kitchen hand and bartender needed.
Apply in person with your resume.
Ask for Beth.
Washing dishes. I could do that.
All I need is two hundred and thirty dollars.
If I play my cards right, I could buy a ticket to the city within a week.
I write the address carefully in my notebook.
Same street as the bus stop.
I take that as a sign from the universe.
And it’s not far to walk, just around the corner.
◆◆◆
The restaurant sits nestled across the road from the park.
I must have missed it earlier while standing behind the bus.
I’ve never been to a restaurant.
The pub back home doesn’t count.
They serve hot food sometimes, but not in a cloth napkin kind of way.
I stand outside for a moment, smoothing my hair in the reflection of the glass.
I’d better stash my backpack in the bushes.
Don’t want to show up begging for a job with a bulky bag in tow.
Pushing the door open, I notice that almost every table is full.
Maybe I should have waited until they weren’t so busy.
I don’t want to be annoying.
But I’m desperate.
Desperate enough to ignore the people who are staring.
Conversations halt as the scruffy bruised smelly kid walks toward the bar.
No doubt I fail to blend in with my frayed clothing and banged up face.
Behind the counter, a woman stands with her back turned.
Her clothes are bright and colourful, hair swept into a loose curly bun.
She loads a tray with bowls of creamy pasta.
The aroma is alluring.
My stomach begins to gurgle.
I watch as she carries the food to a nearby couple.
I’m taking note of how it’s done.
She sets their cutlery on either side of the placemat.
Then she gathers their menus before she leaves.
Easy peasy. I could do that.
And it looks like she could use the help.
Her eyes met mine as she returns to the kitchen.
She slows her pace to give me a quick, assessing sweep.
Please like me.
Please save me.
She has one more tray to serve.
Then another order to jot down for the table in the corner.
I hover awkwardly near the bar, waiting until she’s done.
At last she beckons for me to follow.
Leading me to the side, she addresses me with a hushed voice.
“Yes darl, what would you like to order?”