Westpoint Tales
by Kiwi
Entangled Tales - 61 - Tony
When he woke up early in the morning, there was sand everywhere! Even inside his sneakers by the feel of them. He crawled out, shook off the sand and brushed himself down. He went back to the changing sheds to use the loo, and then went out and sat by the beach, duvet around his shoulders, and ate his orange for breakfast.
"It's not OJ. . . Well, yes it is, it's the real thing."
Sitting by the beach in the chilly morning air, ('Four nights down. Dunno where I'm going, but I'm still alive.') he was undecided what to do; the caretaker made up his mind for him.
A council worker was making his way along the back of the beach, picking up rubbish from the mown areas. He stopped when he came up to Tony.
"Hey Kid. You slept over there on the beach, didn't you? Well don't do it again. This is not a flophouse. Bugger off!"
He looked around, and then decided. 'Well, it's going to rain again. I'll go into the city; there'll be plenty of shelter in there. I can't walk though, not on the motorway. I'll have to catch a bus.'
So, he went back to the changing sheds, to clean up. He emptied the sand from his sneakers and put on a fresh pair of socks, cramming the dirty ones into his bag. He looked longingly at the shower, but decided against that. "Cold water and no towel - I don't think so."
He brushed his teeth and combed his hair, and then went across to the road and found a bus-stop.
The bus carried Tony and a crowd of early-morning commuters down the highway and into the city. He had enough cash to pay his fare - just. "No matter. I'll find an ATM and draw out some more."
They rumbled down the motorway, down the familiar road that he'd traveled a hundred times before - never in a bus before though. Across the Harbour Bridge, in the rain, and they plunged into the central city rush-hour chaos. The bus stopped and disgorged its passengers just down the road from the Sky Tower.
'So this is where you'd catch a bus to Warkworth. Not that I ever will.'
He wandered down the crowded, busy, sidewalks. Everyone seemed to be in a big hurry to get somewhere.
'It'd be nice to have somewhere to be in a hurry to get to. Oh well.'
At the foot of Queen Street, where the steep roads flattened out, he wandered into the warmth and shelter of the Britomart Shopping Centre. The smell of hot food everywhere was agonizing
Just inside the automatic doors, he stopped and watched the guy busking there. He wasn't very good, but at least he had a guitar and his guitar-case was slowly collecting a trickle of coins. Tony wished that he had a guitar - and that he could play one if he did.
'Danny could do that. He could sing every bit as good as that guy too.'
He went and joined the queue at the ATM machines and, when his turn came, inserted his card and requested a withdrawal of $50. The machine refused - the screen flashed the message, "Insufficient Funds. Do you wish to use another account?"
'What the hell?', he thought. 'I haven't got another account.'
He took the card out and tried again, with the same result, so he recovered his card and went inside the bank to talk to a teller. He had to join a queue again, and when he got to the head of the line, laid the card down on the counter.
"I'm having a problem with the ATM machine outside. I want to withdraw $50, but it keeps telling me that I've got insufficient funds."
The girl put his card into her machine, tapped a few buttons and studied the screen. "That's right. You've got nothing in this account, it's got a nil balance."
"But there must be! There was $340 in there yesterday."
She read the screen again. "Right again. There was but it was withdrawn, in cash, from our Warkworth branch at 9.05 this morning. I'm sorry."
"But. But. . .Oh! It was Him. My father is co-signatory to the account. Thanks."
He turned and walked away, feeling crushed. 'The bastard. The bloody bastard. That was my money - I worked for it. How many more times is he going to kick me?'
Embarrassed, he went out of the bank and back down the mall. He sat, alone and miserable, on a wooden bench-seat back by the main entrance. 'Alone, miserable, broke and hungry. Does life get any worse than this?'
Gradually, he became aware of the busker - still singing, badly, and he got an idea. He got up and went over to him when the song finished.
"Excuse me. I've been listening."
"You're not paying me anything though are you? Bugger off!"
"No. Look - I haven't got any money, but I can sing."
"What? You want to sing to pay me?"
"No, I thought that I could sing and you could play. We could make some money that way."
"This is my patch, Kid. I'm doing all right and I don't need you. Bugger off."
It felt like he'd been kicked again. He turned to walk away, but the guy stopped him.
"Wait Kid. What's your name?"
"Tony. My name is Tony."
"Okay, Tony. Come back here and we'll try it. It's a slow day anyway."
Tony beamed, his first smile in days, and he went back to the busker.
"My name is Dave. You any good?"
"I can sing. People have said that I'm okay."
"Right then I'll leave $10 in the case here - that's seed money and that's mine. What we take in the next hour, we'll split 70/30. That's 70 for me and 30 for me."
"I thought 50/50."
"Well, you can think again. This is my patch and I've got the guitar. What have you got?"
"Just my voice. I've made a record."
"Hasn't everyone? Can't have been much good or you wouldn't be broke. Okay, I'll give you a break - 60/40, take it or leave it."
"I guess I'll have to. I'll take it, for an hour, and then we'll talk."
Then we'll talk. You think you're pretty good, don't you, Kid? Let's see what you've got."
They agreed on three songs, ("That's all we need, people keep walking.") Tony sang, shyly at first - he'd never sung in public before. But, as a few coins dribbled in, he gained in confidence, and desperation, and he sang and he danced.
He danced and sang and laughed. Some people stopped walking and money kept rolling in. After they'd finished the three songs a second time, Tony stopped and listened. "Hey! You hear that, Dave?"
"Hear what? The radio? That's that West Coast Sun song. Student FX station's playing it all the time."
"Do you know it? Can we do North'n West Coast sun?"
"We can try. Can you sing it?"
And he sung and he 'danced' it. "I'm going out West, where I belong." For a few minutes he forgot his worries and he was having a ball and enjoying his song. A crowd gathered and the money rained down.
Dave suddenly stopped playing, threw the guitar in his case, grabbed it up and started running. "Run, you stupid kid! The cops are coming!"
Tony looked around wildly. "But. . . Dave - wait. . . I."
He spotted two policemen pushing through towards him, and he ran. Out in the street, he stopped and looked around, but there was no sign of his 'partner-in-crime'. Dave was gone and the money had gone with him. "Shit!"
He crossed the road and went over to the Ferry Building - anywhere to get away from there, and out of the rain. Wandering aimlessly, he spotted the people sitting at the table outside the café, over to the right.
He was not a big fan of coffee, but even that smell was making his mouth water. He walked closer and, when a large group got up and left, in a hurry, he saw his chance and pounced on the table. Quickly gathering up the left-over food - fries, sandwiches, a cake, some savouries and half a quiche - he scooped them into his supermarket bag and then got up and fled.
Down along the waterfront he ran until he found a place where he could shelter underneath and overhanging roof. He sat on the damp ground and wolfed down his stolen food.
"This is pretty low - eating other people's left-overs, but, fuck it! I'm starving!"
He repeated this stunt at several places along the waterfront and around the Viaduct Basin. By the end of the lunch-hour, his bag was full. He was still a bit disgusted with himself, but he wasn't hungry anymore and he had a bag full of food.
Sitting in the train station, he searched his pockets to see exactly how much money he had. "$2.40. That's not going to get me far. Not that I've got anywhere to go anyway."
There was an old guy lying on a seat across from him. Tony sat looking at him - scruffy beard, sores on his discoloured face, filthy old clothes, a kid's beanie jammed tightly on his head, and a brown-paper bag clutched to his chest.
"Yuck. What a mess! Is that what I can look forward to? He must have been a kid once."
There were some others hanging around the station. Not many, but a few, lying around in their dirty rags, sleeping on seats and in corners of the noisy, drafty, concourse. Homeless derelicts - society's rejects.
'That's me. I'm one of them now. What are they doing lying around sleeping in the daytime for? They must have somewhere where they could go. Where have I got to go to - nowhere, that's where."
He sat there for a few minutes, wrapped in his misery. In the middle of the busy city, he was bored, broke, homeless and so, so alone. 'I wish I could go home. I want my Mum! I want my Danny. Ah, Fuckit!'
He got up and walked away - didn't know where he was going, just walking. A couple of blocks up the steep hill of Queen Street, he was standing waiting for the lights at a pedestrian crossing, when a hand landed on his shoulder.
He whipped around to see Dave, the busker, grinning at him. "Dave!"
"There you are, Kid. Where the hell have you been? Here's your money - your share comes to $40. We did good. I'll be there again tomorrow if you want to try it again."
"Wow! Great! Thanks Dave - really thank you. I thought you'd gone and I didn't think I'd ever see this."
"It's your share, Kid, you earned it. I wouldn't take your money, I'm not a thief. You start stealing and you've really hit the bottom of the barrel Well, see you around. Tomorrow - okay?"
"Okay. Yes. Great. Thanks Dave, you're a good guy."
Dave walked away, the lights changed and Tony started walking up the hill again, in the flow of the pedestrian stream. Suddenly, he felt good again. He had food in his bag and money in his pocket - $42.40 - and the chance of more tomorrow. One kind act from a stranger and he was on top of the world; even if he was a thief , ("you start stealing and you've hit the bottom."). But, fuckit! He was hungry and he wasn't now.
$42.40. Could he afford a room for the night? And a hot shower? No - better to hole up somewhere and save his money. Maybe he'd afford a decent room tomorrow night. But, where to sleep then?
'There'll be somewhere - a garage or something. I'll keep looking. Nothing else to do anyway.'
Queen Street, Auckland's main street, seemed to go on forever up its hill. He came to an intersection where the side street climbed up an even steeper hill. 'City Street - of course it is. Aren't they all?'
On impulse, he turned up there. 'Wow. This is really steep. How did they ever get horses up here in the old days?'
The short street soon flattened out - sort-of - at the crest of the hill. 'The top at last!'
City Street had just one more, short, block to go before it merged with the next busy road. There was a mixture of new and old buildings, the ones on the left perched on the edge of the hill, looking down across the city. 'Great views, once you're up here.'
Passing a small multi-storied building, there was a "toot", and he jumped back out of the way as a car came up from the left, crossed the sidewalk and drove away down the street.
He glanced down to see where it had come from. A steep, concrete, driveway went down the hill and around underneath the back of the building. As he looked, another car came out and up the driveway. He glanced at his watch. 'Five o'clock. They're going home. That must be the car-park, for the office workers, down there under their building.'
The second car passed, he took a couple of steps and glanced back again. 'Doesn't seem to be any doors or anything. I'll come back later and check it out.'
He walked on and turned, uphill again, into the other busy street. A little further on, across the road, there was a little old brick building - a bus-stop, open-fronted and with toilets around the back. "Yes!"
He crossed the road and went in to use the toilet. It was cold, dark, dirty and disgusting, and it stunk! But, beggars can't be choosers. He tried to hold his breath the whole time he was in there, and came out gasping.
He went around and sat on the seat in the shelter. Even there it still stunk. But, there was a roof and a seat. It had been a long day and he was tired. It was hard work, being homeless.
He sat there watching the traffic and he soon got used to the smell and didn't notice it anymore.
'I'm a bit like a snail really - carrying my house on my back. My bed-roll, my bag of clothes, my bag of food, and that's it. That's all I've got - all I need too. Fuck 'em.
There must be a Laundromat somewhere where I can wash my clothes. I will survive. Don't think I want to stay in the city though, this is not living. I might find a town, a small town - like Westpoint. Not there though, Westpoint is Danny's town.
I really miss Danny. Fuck you, Daniel O'Brien! And I did - it was great! Oh Danny, I wish we could go back. I'm so stupid - stupid fucking loser! I love you, Danny. I hope you're happy, wherever you are.'
He sat there, out of the rain, (just), and bawling his eyes out, again. Then he ate some food - disgusting left-overs, and cold, but food. Now he was thirsty, really thirsty, he needed a drink. He'd lost his water bottle somewhere along the way. There was water in the toilets, but, 'No way! I'll buy a drink - I've got money.'
A couple of buses had come along, stopped and opened their doors, and then drove away when he just huddled back in the corner and ignored them. He had nowhere to go.
Now he got up and went back across the road to the café on the corner, at the foot of another multi-storied building. He went in, (it was warm in there!), and inspected the drinks in the cabinet.
Water was the cheapest, but he bought an orange juice. 'Fuckit, I like OJ."
He went back to the shelter, to wait for dark, which was coming on - the street lights were on. He sat and waited until his watch finally clicked over to 8pm, and then he went back to City Street, to find the car-park under that building, but, when he went down the driveway, there was a locked gate across the entrance. There was no way he could get in there.
"Damm! I should have gone in and hid before they locked it up."
Defeated, he went back to the bus shelter. 'At least it's got a roof. Tomorrow, I'll find somewhere to sleep.'
He ate a bit more of the food and finished off the OJ, cramming the empty bottle into his bag. Then, he wrapped up in his duvet and huddled-up on the seat in the darkest corner. Sitting there, in the semi-darkness with the traffic roaring past, he didn't think that he'd sleep, but he did - eventually.
He was woken up a couple of hours later, by someone shaking him. He sat up, looking around, still only half-awake. "What?"
There were four guys standing looking down at him. One older, one just a kid, about 16, and two about thirty or something. They were all street people, homeless by the look of them - unshaven, dirty, smelly and dressed in odd assortments of old clothes.
"Well, well, well. What have we here then? It's just a young one - a little boy. What are you doing here, Boy?"
"I. . . umm, I've got nowhere to go."
"Nowhere to go? Ahh, the poor wee thing. Have you run away from home then? Is Mummy looking for you?"
"No. I mean, no-one's looking for me. I've got no home, they threw me out."
"Did they now? What would they throw away a perfectly good white boy for? So now you're living on the streets?"
"Yes, I am - I'm trying to."
"It's a hard life on the street, young feller, lots of nasty people around, isn't there Fellas?"
"You'd better come with us, Boy, we'll look after you. It's share and share alike on the street. You need some friends to take care of you and show you the ropes - soup kitchens and stuff."
"Yeah. C'mon Kid, we're having a bit of a party, down in the valley, in the park. We've got a fire and there's a pot of stew. You like stew? You hungry?"
Tony was a bit apprehensive, but he was alone and lonely. One of these guys was a kid. He was living on the street now; it wouldn't hurt to meet some of the others. How bad could it be? He was about to find out.
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