Westpoint Tales
by Kiwi
Entangled Tales - 60 - Tony
June arrived home from the warehouse and, as she was unloading the car, she got a tearful, garbled, version of what had happened from her youngest son. She immediately went up to confront her husband. He was still angry, angrier than she'd ever seen him.
When she finally got the story out of him, she was angry too - angry at Tony and at Daniel.
"Stupid little shits!"
But she was wild at Brian too, for starting the whole explosion; and she was mad at John.
"Maybe you were wild with him. Maybe you were right to turn him out. We're not having that! But, you had no right to beat him like you did, or throw him down the bloody stairs! You could have killed him and then where would we be? He's still our boy."
"Boy? He's no boy! He's a bloody monster, him and that Daniel and the other one too - that Todd person. They're all bloody dirty little perverts!
They have been having a gay old time down in that bloody Westpoint place, haven't they?
I didn't throw him down the stairs, I just shoved him out the door and he fell down them. He wasn't hurt, he got up and walked away and he can keep on walking too. If they're big enough for that sort of filth, they're bloody-well big enough to support themselves.
We have two sons now, and that's all."
"He's fifteen. He's still at school. We have to support him, that's the law."
"The law's a bloody ass then. Let him go to prison or something, he'd like it there. Or, the Welfare can have him - we're not."
At 2am, Alex was woken by a quiet but insistent rapping on his bedroom window. He knew immediately who it was and he flew to the window and opened the drapes.
"Tony!"
"Open the window, Alex. Let me in."
"Tony, what are you doing here? You can't come in, if he hears you, he'll fucking kill you, Man."
"He won't hear me. Let me in, Alex. It's fucking freezing out here and I need some clothes."
Tony snuck into his room in the dark, tripping over his schoolbag on the way. He emptied the books out of it and stuffed it full of clothes from the drawers. He put on two thick, woolen jerseys and his anorak jacket, got his sneakers from under the bed and was ready to leave.
He remembered, and went back for his bankcard, then closed the door quietly and went back to Alex' room. There, he sat on Alex' bed to put on the sneakers.
"Thanks Alex. You've saved my life. I won't forget this."
"You're welcome, Tony. Glad I could help. But, what are you going to do now?"
"I don't know. I guess I'll head up-country somewhere and lie low on a beach while I decide. There's nothing for me here now."
He went to climb out of the window, but Alex stopped him.
"Wait. Don't move - stay there."
Alex rushed out to the kitchen and came back with a supermarket bag and the duvet off Tony's bed. "Take these. At least you can stay warm somewhere. There's food in the bag, fruit and stuff. I raided the fridge."
"Thanks. Thank you, but are you sure that this won't get you in trouble too?"
"Nah. They'll just think that you pinched it. I've left your bedroom window open. C'mon Tony, they'll know you were here. They're going to see that your clothes are gone."
"Thanks Kid. You're a friend. I wish that I'd been a better brother for you."
"You're still my brother, you always will be. Am I going to see you again?"
"I don't know, Alex. Maybe. I hope so, but it won't be in this house. Bye Kid, stay safe."
"Can I have a hug before you go?"
"Are you sure that you want to hug the Gayboy?"
"I want to hug my brother."
They held each other tightly, both crying now.
"I've got to go. If he finds me here, you'll be in trouble too. 'Bye Alex."
"Bye, Tony. I love you," Alex cried.
"Yeah, I love you too, My Brother."
Tony slid out the window and disappeared into the night.
He went, carefully, down the creaky wooden stairs, along the side of the building, and out into the street. He had intended to go north, but when he came to the forked intersection, he looked down the hill at the brightly-lit main street, heading north, through the town, and he changed his mind. He turned and went the other way - south, towards Auckland.
He walked, slowly, painfully, up over the crest of the hill and down the main road out of the sleeping town. He left with just one, wistful, look back and carried on out into the dark.
It was bloody dark! No moon to light the way, and not even any stars showing in the overcast sky. At least it wasn't raining - yet. He walked on, standing well clear when the occasional car went past.
He came to a bridge across a small river, went down the rough track at the side, and crawled into the low space at the end of the bridge. Just in time too - the rain had started now.
He'd like to think it was crying for him, but it wasn't. Nobody was. Well, maybe Alex was, a bit, but he'd soon get over it.
"What the hell am I going to do? Maybe he'll cool down in a couple of days. No. Fuck'im, I'm not going back there again."
He rolled himself in the duvet and lay down against the concrete wall, using his school-bag - his ex-school bag - for a pillow. It was so bloody cold!
"This is supposed to be springtime. I'd hate to be out here in the winter. Will I be out here? Will I be alive even? Ah, who gives a fuck anyway!"
Despite the hard, lumpy, ground and his aching body, he was dry and soon feeling warm enough and he had food for the morning.
"Thanks, Alex."
Dead-tired, he drifted off to sleep.
He woke in the morning feeling like a bag of aches and pains; and it was pouring down outside. He struggled to sit up still wrapped in the duvet and leant against the concrete wall at the end of the bridge.
Sitting there, he surveyed his domain - dried, powerdery mud everywhere, covering the round stones that sloped don to the river beneath the bridge.
"Well, I've got a roof - sort-of, I've got a warm spot, some food and - bugger-it!, I've got to pee!'
He struggled up and out of the duvet and stumbled down to the water's edge below the bridge. Kneeling on the rocks, he washed his face and hands in the chilly water.
There was an empty coke bottle caught up in some sticks, so he rinsed it out in the river, filled it with water, and drank greedily. He stood and peed out into the rain. He was feeling quite good actually. He had no home, no friends, hardly any money and no way of getting any more and he was feeling good. He was free! Free to do what? Whatever.
He opened the anorak and lifted his jerseys to inspect his body. Then he wished he hadn't. He was a mass of bruises and the skin was split in a couple of places. Bastard!
It hurt, but he thought that there were no broken ribs. He would know that wouldn't he? It would hurt to breathe or something.
"Ah well, fuck 'im anyway."
He put his clothes back together and climbed up to his spot under the end of the bridge.
'Think I'll just stay here today, I'm not going out in that rain. No school anyway. What am I thinking - it's Saturday, Doofus!
Wonder what Danny's doing? No I don't. He'll be away for his weekend with his new boyfriend.'
That thought was enough to upset him all over again. Sitting there, on his duvet, he thought of eating something to settle him down.
"No, I'm not getting into that again. Better hang on to the food anyway - who knows how long it'll have to last? I wish I had someone to talk to. I wish I had someone."
More tears
"They say that Superboy used to cry tears of blood. I just bloody cry."
He stayed holed up there for the rest of the day; and the next. The rain had stopped now but he was sort-of comfortable there, and he was too sore to walk far anyway.
Sunday afternoon he stripped to his boxers and washed from head to toe. He tried to dry off with a t-shirt from the bag, but it didn't work very well. He sat in the sun to dry. Why hadn't he pinched a towel as well?
Monday morning he decided it was time to move on; he was running out of food. How many bloody boiled potatoes did Alex think he could eat anyway?
"I'll go down to Wadestown, it's not that far - I biked there once, with Danny. Oh Danny!"
He rolled up the duvet and emptied the supermarket bag and crammed it into his jacket pocket. "Boiled potatoes. I'm sick of bloody boiled potatoes. The birds can have them - or the rats."
He filled the water bottle again, climbed up onto the bridge and started walking down the road while eating his last slice of cold, ( and stale!), pizza. He found some string on the road and used it to tie up the duvet into a tight roll.
It wasn't far to Wadestown, but it was slow progress as he stopped and hid whenever cars came past. "Don't know if anyone's looking for me, but I don't want to find out either. I'm not going back there."
In the end he gave up and just kept walking. There were too many cars and he was getting nowhere. "If they did take me back, I could get a bike and then I'd get somewhere. I'd be well past Wadestown by now."
No-one stopped him and he eventually arrived at the small beachside settlement strung out along the highway, between the beach and the low bush-clad hills. His feet were getting sore - it was a long time since he'd walked that far, if ever, and his guts was aching. Hopefully, some food would fix that.
He found an ATM, inserted his card and checked his bank balance. "$373. Yes!"
He withdrew $33 - just to see what the machine would do. It spat out a 20 and a 10 dollar notes and a 1 and 2 dollar coins. "Well of course."
It was getting late in the day, most of the shops were closed. There was a restaurant/café open but, "No. I can't afford that."
He went along to the service station and went in there to see what food they had.
"I'll have a pie. No I won't, I'll have two pies - one meat and one apple, for dessert. Plus, I'll have an orange, just one. And, what the hey, I'll have a moro bar - for the energy, and the chocolate - love chocolate. I've got to stop talking to myself or I'm going to finish up a crazy old man. If I get to be an old man."
He bought the food, and a cigarette lighter - he didn't smoke but he'd been wishing that he had something to start a fire with. He also got a toothbrush and toothpaste. ("Don't want cavities or stinky breath either.") And he bought a comb, ("So I'll look presentable. I might have to hitch-hike.")
He would have liked a rubbish bag to keep his duvet in, so that it didn't get wet, but they didn't sell them singly. "I'm not buying a six-pack. I might find one, somewhere, and turn it inside out. It'll be all right."
He took his purchases across to the small park by the beach and sat at a picnic table to eat. "Should have bought a coke. No, I'll find a water tap."
As he sat there eating his "meal", the sun was setting behind the hills. "On the West Coast, the sun sets into the sea. Funny that."
After eating, he went over to the changing sheds, found a tap and brushed his teeth and refilled his water bottle. He sat on the grassy bank by the beach to watch it get dark. He didn't feel too bad now, still had nothing but - "I'll survive. Oh yes, like Gloria Gaynor, I will survive."
Once it got dark, he went over to the small surf-life savers' pavilion which projected out over the sand. He crawled in underneath there, smoothed out an area, rolled up in the duvet, and lay down to sleep. "Ah yes, luxury! Thanks Alex."
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