Westpoint Tales
by Kiwi
Entangled Tales - 6 - Justin
The Reynolds found their grandson to be difficult.
They simply could not get close to him. Any physical approach always triggered a fearful cringing. He was always quiet and well spoken, respectful and courteous, but he only ever spoke when he was spoken to. He answered any questions but never volunteered any information, opinions, or feelings about anything.
The best bedroom in the hotel, the old 'bridal suite', was made his room. Every morning when he left the room it was impeccable. The bed was made up and everything was in place. No personal touches or belongings were evident anywhere. He even wiped the ensuite bathroom floor every time he used it.
At first they tried to shower him with gifts - a computer, a CD player, CD vouchers, a new guitar. But he simply refused to touch a thing. Most of his new possessions remained in their boxes, stacked tidily away in drawers or in the wardrobe. Parcels were not even opened unless they insisted, in which case he would carefully remove the wrappings, folding the paper neatly, he'd say thank you for the gift and then put it away out of sight, unused and untouched. He would not even use the batteries that Kathleen bought for his little transistor radio. They stayed in the packet until Bob put them in the radio himself. But the radio was never turned on.
He never asked for anything. Never asked a question, never laughed, never smiled. Justin always looked withdrawn, hunched over and sad. He always looked to be on the verge of tears, and often did cry - silent floods of bloody tears.
He did sing, quietly, to himself, as he played his battered old guitar, in the evenings in his room, with the door closed.
But they soon found that underneath his quiet undemanding exterior there was a will of iron. When he quietly refused to wear any of the new clothes that she had bought for him, Kathleen tried removing all of his old clothes from his room. The following day he appeared in the clothes he had worn the day before. That night she took those clothes away after he had gone to bed. The following day he arose, made up the bed, showered, and sat naked on the chair in his room until Kathleen returned all of his old clothes.
When they tried to get him to go out to see the town, he simply stood outside the door until they asked him back inside.
He never watched television, but one evening in the TV lounge Bob noticed that he was looking at the bookshelf on the wall, so he told him to read any books that he wanted to. Every evening after that he would sit in a corner of the lounge reading the encyclopedias for two or three hours solidly, volume by volume.
And he cleaned. All day, every day, seven days a week, he cleaned the hotel inside and out - walls, windows and doors, ceilings and floors. Bathrooms, toilets, bedrooms and corridors. Every surface everywhere he cleaned, quietly, efficiently, spotlessly. The Reynolds tried to stop him. When they told him to stop cleaning, he did, until they went away and then he started again.
Kathleen tried locking away all the cleaning materials. He used damp newspaper. She took all the paper away. He used his own clothes for cleaning rags. She gave up and allowed him free use of all the cleaning materials.
When asked why he kept cleaning, he replied that he had no money and had no other way of paying for his bed and board. They told him that he didn't have to pay his way, that he was family. He nodded, and then, he cleaned.
Seven days a week he rose, showered, tidied his room, ate breakfast with the family, and then cleaned all day until dinnertime. He ate, read for two or three hours, then sat playing his guitar in his room until he went to bed around 10pm. He never went outside unless they took him out.
He never laughed, never smiled, spoke only when he was spoken to. He was quiet, stubborn, alien, heartbreaking - difficult.
Winter passed and spring was well under way - the wettest season of the year. On fine days when the sun did shine, it shone ever longer and warmer with the promise of a long hot summer.
Bob was starting to worry about his wife, his Kathy. Always a proud, fiery and capable woman, she was almost at her wits' end over the boy. She adored him and longed to love this sad motherless waif, but could not get through to him. Nobody could get near the person inside all the camouflage he wore - the long hair, the baggy, shapeless clothing and above all the dark anonymous sunglasses. She was becoming sad and listless herself. Sometimes at night Bob heard her quietly crying herself to sleep.
Then one sunny afternoon, Kathleen went out for a walk alone in the fresh air. She stopped for a rest, sitting on a park bench just off the street, at the end of the town's central park - Britannia Square. She sat there in the sunshine feeling sad and frustrated as she watched all the activity around the park. Over to the left side younger children frolicked and yelled in the children's playground, under the watchful gaze of a few parents. Out on the grass of the central sportsfield older children, teenagers, brawled their way through a football game while the even more energetic were running around the surrounding, sealed racetrack. Over in the open grandstand assorted other youths were dotted around in groups and pairs, watching, flirting, socialising, living.
Kathleen sat quietly watching all the life going on around her - the life that Justin could be, should be, living but wasn't. In the midst of all this happy play and laughter she felt like crying, again. "Oh, Justin."
"Hello Mrs. Reynolds," Marcie Sheridan sat down next to her on the seat. "Why the long face on such a nice day? How's it going with that new grandson of yours? Justin isn't it? Is he here?"
"Oh, hello Mrs. Sheridan. Yes it's Justin. No he's not here - he's at home, as always. He's the reason I'm feeling a bit down actually."
"Oh? Bit of a handful is he? These kids can be - especially in the teenage years."
"No, it's not that. He's not a handful, not really. He's just about perfect actually. Quiet as a mouse, well spoken, never a problem. He's undemanding, hard working but stubborn. Stubborn as a mule - even more stubborn than I am, and that's a lot!"
"But that can be a good thing. Stubborn kids make for determined adults. What's the problem then?"
"The problem is that he's at home, inside, working - cleaning everything in sight. He just won't stop cleaning the hotel, all day, every day. I try to stop him, tell him that he doesn't have to, that we don't want him to, but he just won't stop. 'Paying his way' he calls it. But there's no need for him to be doing that. He should be out here with all these other kids, having fun, having a life. I just don't know what to do with him."
"Hasn't he made any friends? Is he going to school?"
"He doesn't want to go to school. Says that he's too sick for it and there's no point as he may die soon anyway."
"Too sick for school, but not too sick to work, eh?"
Yes, exactly. We know that he is ill, but you wouldn't think it to look at him. Apart from those bloody eyes of course. He's just sad. Never laughs or smiles even, and he won't go outside unless we drag him out. He's never going to make any friends."
"How old is he?"
"He's about 14 or 15, somewhere around there. Doesn't know when his birthday is. He says that he has never had a birthday."
"Never had a birthday? That is sad, the poor kid."
"We're trying to find out about his birthdate, from the hospital where he was born. But we haven't heard back from them yet."
"Look, I'll tell you what - I'll send my Lucas around to drag him out. He's 15, and he's a good kid. His friends call him 'Mr. Nice Guy.' Lucas might help bring Justin out of his shell."
"Well that would be great. Worth a try anyway. I'll try anything about now. If Lucas would --"
"He will. I'll make sure of it, and he is a nice guy."
"Just one thing though, how does Lucas feel about gay people? Justin says that he is gay - not that I think he'd do anything."
"I don't know how he'd feel, but I don't think it would worry him, he's pretty accepting of all types. He's got a steady girlfriend though."
"Well that's probably a good thing. Send him around anytime, he'll be very welcome."
"Probably not today. I've just come to take him home as we're going out for dinner. That's Lucas over there, running with Carl Douglas. Maybe he'll come around tomorrow. He can have my car, that should tempt him."
"Wonderful. I'll make sure that they've got money for petrol, or food, or whatever. You've made my day Mrs. Sheridan."
"Marcie. I'm Marcie - Mrs. Sheridan is my mother."
"Oh, okay, Marcie, I'm Kathleen."
As Marcie walked out to stop Lucas and Carl, she was thinking, 'That boy must be stubborn - he's tamed the Dragonlady!'
Lucas Sheridan arrived around at the back of the Adelphi Hotel bright and early the next morning. He knocked at the kitchen door and was practically dragged inside.
"Lucas! Welcome. Come in, come inside. It's so good of you to come! You just wait here a minute and I'll go and fetch Justin. Would you like a drink or something? No? Okay, stay right there, sit down if you'd like." Kathleen hurried away upstairs and returned with her grandson.
"Here he is Justin, this is Lucas. He has come to take you out for a while. Go and see the town, have some fun for goodness sake! Lucas, thank you. Take this and go and spend it. Drive carefully won't you. You've got a valuable cargo. Wear your seatbelts, boys."
The silent boy followed Lucas out to the car. They got in and buckled up, Lucas looked at the money that Kathleen had pressed into his hand. "Wow! Sixty dollars. All right! Your grannie must be rich, Kid. We've got wheels, so where do you want to go first?"
Justin shrugged and replied, "I do not know where to go. Anywhere you choose."
"All right. Where then? Okay, let's go check out the North Beach. Have you been out there?"
"I do not think so."
"You haven't been anywhere much have you?"
"No. I have not."
They drove out through the town - across the main street, up Brigham Street, left into Derby Street and straight ahead to the beach at the end of the road. Lucas chattered all the way, trying to sustain a largely one-sided conversation. Justin simply gave short answers to his many questions.
The car stopped at the sandy end of the road, and they got out and walked out to the edge of the surf.
"Well, this is it. Not much, but it's ours. What do you think?"
Justin looked left to the rock-wall at the short end and right to where the beach faded away in the distance. "Nice," he said. "Long, flat - a nice beach."
"Okay, Mr. Talkative. Come on, we'll drive down to the end of the tiphead road."
They went back to the car, and Lucas drove to the end of the road on the 'tiphead'- the rock-wall extending out into the sea between the end of the beach and the mouth of the river. They arrived there just in time to watch one of the cement company's boats slowly making its way into the river port.
"So. Here we are then, Mr. Mystery Man. I'm Lucas - Lucas Sheridan. I live with my mum. She's the nurse who cleaned you up on the night you arrived. I've got two older sisters who've both left home. One's in Australia and the other's married, in Christchurch, with two kids. I go to school, year 11, just an average student, but I like sports, especially running. And swimming. My girlfriend is Shelley and, umm, I eat a lot. So. Now, who are you?"
"I am Justin."
"That's it? Come on man, tell me about yourself. Talk to me. Tell me that I'm a nosey bastard."
"You are a nosey bastard. No. You are not, not a bastard at all."
"But not 'not nosey' eh? Ah well, that's progress, I suppose. That's the longest sentence you've said yet. C'mon man, who are you? What do you like? Do you drink? Alcohol I mean, that'd be easy living in a pub."
"No, I cannot drink alcohol."
"Do you do drugs then? Mary-jew-anna? Anything?"
"No, I cannot take drugs."
"Do you smoke then? Cigarettes? Tobacco I mean."
"No, I cannot smoke cigarettes."
"Man! This is like getting blood out of a stone. That's three times you've said you cannot take stuff. Why can't you?"
"Because of my condition. Drugs would upset the balance in my system."
"Yeah. Your condition. That's too bad, Kid. So how is that? Do you feel sick all the time?"
"No, not at all lately, it appears to be in remission. You do not have to do this, Lucas. I am happy just to be at home - in the hotel I mean."
"Yeah, well, I'm happy to be here, okay? Keep it up, Kid. We'll have a conversation going here soon. C'mon Justin, relax. I'm not going to bite you. We've got wheels. We've got money. It's a great day - enjoy it. Where do you want to go now?"
"Anywhere you want to."
"Okay. We'll go out to the 'Cape' then, go and see the seal colony. It's one of the local sights, and it's free. I haven't been out there for a while. Have you been out there? No? Can you handle a walk around the track? It's not too far, but--"
"I can walk. That is not a problem."
"Not a problem. Okay, we'll do that then. Careful Kid, you almost smiled then. I might start to think that you're human."
Out to the 'Cape.' Along the walking track through the grassed sheep paddocks - crossing three fences, by way of stiles, along the way. Around the headland to the lookout over the seal colony's breeding ground.
There, looking down at the clumsy antics of the seals basking in the sunshine on the rocks below, Lucas was almost certain that he saw a smile flick across the boy's face.
On the way back to the car, Lucas was walking in the lead. When he came to the top of the long grassed slope of the hill, he started to run down and called back over his shoulder, "Come on, Justin, I'll race you back to the car."
Halfway down he stopped to climb the stile over a fence, when Justin came flying past, hurdled the fence and streaked away down the hill and out of sight. Lucas stood on the stile watching, amazed. He fancied himself as a runner - medium to long distance, and he was good at it - he had lots of awards and certificates to prove it. But this kid was something else. What a speed! Where did that come from?
Lucas ran on down to the car park to rejoin Justin who was standing quietly, waiting, looking out over the sea, and, apparently, not out of breath at all.
"Man, Justin, you're fast. Where'd you learn to run like that?"
He just shrugged and replied, "I like to run."
"You like to run. You're awesome. How long can you keep that speed up? Or do you just need a hill?"
"I just run. Beaches are best. Long beaches. I am sorry that I beat you though. I like to run, but do not like to race, to make others lose is not pleasant."
"Not pleasant? You do talk funny sometimes. But it's good to win. It's a buzz. If you're good at something, well, go for it. Be the best you can. If others can't keep up, that's their problem not yours."
"Perhaps. It is not nice to lose though."
" It's okay to lose if you do the best you can and if it makes you want to try harder next time. Anyway, come on, time we went back to town and spent some money - I'm hungry."
Back to town, to the Doo Duck Inn, a cafe/restaurant, on the main street. Lucas ordered - burgers, fries and cokes - while Justin sat, unobtrusively, in a corner seat. While he stood waiting Lucas looked over at the small, hunched-over, figure wrapped in all that camouflage. 'There's more to you than meets the eye, Kid. There's a shining star in there if we can only bring it out.'
Lucas came over to the table with the food. "Burgers okay? It ain't 'Maccas' but it's what we've got. I got you a coke, that okay? You do like coke don't you?"
"I like Coca-cola, thank you."
"Right. Just a snack now then, we'll get some more later; some greasies maybe. Eat up, and then we'll go round to the Square. Carl will be waiting to go for a run. We run every day, well, almost every day. Maybe you could come and run with us? Show him how it's done. Have you got any gear?"
"I'm sorry. What gear do you mean?"
"Running gear. Shorts, shoes, you know."
"No, I have no running gear. I will just sit and watch you run."
"Not running? C'mon Man, you've gotta show us what you can do."
"I will just sit and watch."
"Okay. Okay. I'm not arguing with you. But, maybe you'll change your mind later."
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