02-21-2007, 07:44 PM
Tis Friday afternoon. A boy of fourteen summers is handed his pay packet. Quietly he says thanks, slipping the envelope into the back pocket of his blue jeans.
Picking up his brown leather bag in one smooth action, he heads out of the garage, firming his grip on the handles as there is extra weight today. He knows exactly what's inside: One shirt, another pair of jeans, plus a spare pair of socks.
Today, instead of walking south he turns north and slowly walks away from the only town he has ever known. After a short walk he stops at the edge of the highway. There is plenty of room here for a car or truck to pull off the road.
He asks himself - am I doing the right thing?
The sun has already disappeared behind the rim of the mountains. A cool breeze blows the boy's sun bleached hair, he instinctively pulls the collar of his jean jacket up around his ears. His eyes move over the trees on the fence line. Already the leaves have turned a mass of reds and orange in readiness for their fall to earth which will leave the trees bare once more.
At the sound of approaching cars he straightens up, extending his left arm, thumb skyward. All the cars pass by, the drivers don't even bother a sideway glance. He looks down at the bag at his feet, everything he owns, packed quietly in the dark the night before.
The sound of approaching traffic lifts his head. With almost pleading eyes he looks at the cars that pass. One of the cars is the new shape Holden EJ everyone's been talking about at work. He liked working at the garage; if things had been different he'd have stayed, at least till his boss found out his name was the only thing he could write.
Suddenly fear grabs him. He turns pale and can't breathe. Three cars approach, his eyes fix on the third, it's the same make as his stepfather's. Even the colour looks the same. But instead of his stepfather at the wheel there's an older man with grey hair. Drawing a deep breath, his feet can move again, colour returns to his face. His breathing steadies, almost to normal.
Thoughts of his stepfather invade his head, the one man he fears most in the world. What would he do if he turned up? The boy knew he would be defenseless once more. Moving his left hand down over the back of his leg, he trembles as he feels the welts on his leg through his jeans. It had been one week to the day since his stepfather had beat him with a thick leather strap, madness in his eyes. He knew it would be physically impossible for his body to withstand yet another beating on that scale again. Just walking to and from work had been a tortuous task for the first few days, with his good jeans on so no one could see.
More traffic, this time going in the opposite direction. He stands straight anyway. One of the passing drivers waves his hand, a friendly gesture. Momentarily his spirits lift, then once more he is alone at the edge of the black bitumen.
Time is running out. Soon it will be dark. If a lift doesn't come by night fall he will have to start walking. More cars, some have already turned on their lights as they hurry home.
He hears a truck long before it comes into sight. Already its running lights are on. Extending his arm out as far as possible, thumb up, fingers in his other hand crossed, his heart starts to race as he hears the air brakes go on, till the huge green Mack truck stops right beside him, the engine still running. A gravelly voice from the cab says "where you going mate?"
Settling into his seat, he watches the white posts flash by, each one taking away a little of his fear.
A new warmth grows in him. He feels safe.
Breathing deeply the boy sits a little straighter. Whatever comes, it's his life now.
I write way more than you >.>
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