by Loui Downing
‘I gave you too much, my change is…’ enquired Neville politely to the man, whose face had now taken a sour look.
‘I owe you nothing, now good day to you sir’ said the shopkeeper, raising his voice so that everyone could hear.
‘My change…how dare you!’ exclaimed Neville now frustrated and shocked at how his mood was interchangeable like the weather outside.
‘Right, get out and STAY OUT!’ screamed the shopkeeper, snatching Neville’s belongings and closing the door and waiting for him to vacate the area.
‘People like you ensure that people like me stay like I am, I don’t need your filthy food anyway’ replied Neville as he kicked the door that the shopkeeper was holding and looking out of, as Neville walked past the window and out of sight. Neville was full of rage by this point, he found a back alley and sat down to gather his thoughts for a short while, when two tall older teenagers and a small chubby boy approached him demanding his money.
‘I don’t have any, go away and leave me alone!’ said Neville instantly.
‘I would think twice’ replied the smaller one of the three, wearing a hood and some kind of special equipment that altered his face. He reached for his pocket which made Neville feel on edge. Neville erected himself when he saw what had been extracted from his pocket. A sharp blade was glistening in the young teenager’s hand as he surged towards Neville, who ran instinctively towards the metal fencing and began climbing at a rapid rate, forgetting all about his injured leg. They soon caught him up and the three were sprinting down an alleyway that was full of petit apartments and businesses in the centre of New York, a few of them looked scarily empty and suspiciously coated with graffiti that suggested a personal attack. Neville ran as fast as he could around the next corner, meeting a workman holding a pipe that lead down to a hole in the ground. Neville glided along, trying to stop his momentum, but he couldn’t and started to fall down the hole, grabbing on to the pipe that the man was holding and swung back and forth in pitch black humid underworld. The work man was unaware of Neville’s accident and closed the hatch. The workman jumped up as two teenagers emerged from out of nowhere.
‘Where is he?’ asked the tall one.
‘Who?’ wondered the work man.
‘I’ve seen no-one since this morning, why you ask?’ added the workman.
‘No, it’s ok we were just meant to be meeting someone’ lied the small teenager with the muffled face, red jacket and a few dots of stubble. The three gathered in a huddle and discussed what to do. Neville was climbing the rope that hung so positively next to him as he reached across, nearly missing it altogether. He looked down at the gobbling pit, feeling a tightening in his stomach that made his work rate increase to get to the surface. The work man was loading bricks and equipment onto his small lorry, lifting fence panels, breeze blocks and the cement mixer which he lifted with a push-along forklift. Neville was close to the surface now, his head poking from the torn concrete as he scanned the area for the three teenagers so he could prepare himself. Neville wasn’t the fighting type, but he knew how to protect himself if anything should happen.
‘What the!’ cried the work man, as he observed Neville clambering to the surface, his arms and head only visible and covered in soot and debris he looked unrecognisable.
‘What you doing down there?’ asked the work man, offering a helping hand to Neville which he took instantly and was lifted back onto the quiet back streets.
‘Come to my lorry, I’ve got some drink and some food, you don’t look very well’ said the work man, which Neville assumed he was Roger, noticing the name of the company alongside the lorry. Roger escorted Neville to the driver’s side of the vehicle, where he opened the creaky door and extracted a flask and began pouring it into the lid compartment.
‘There you go, get that down you. Were those boys looking for you?’ asked Roger, who was still faced with silence. Neville’s eyes were swishing around in the pale brown liquid as he remained speechless to Roger. Roger didn’t want to push the boy so he opened the door and instructed him to rest for a while. Neville spoke with a grunt that Roger assumed was a yes but felt grateful he had spoken as he was beginning to become concerned. The door closed with Neville inside, wrapping a nearby blanket around him for comfort as he rested his head on the bouncy headrest and closed his eyes for what seemed like forever.
‘Knock-knock’ clattered Roger on the window of the lorry which woke Neville up, his hair airborne and a bewildered look upon his face. The strong stench of diesel infected Neville’s nose and mouth, intoxicating him as he let out a weak cough. He looked around and was shocked to realise that he was at a petrol station alone, noticing Roger in the queue for the fuel. The cold breeze of spring was around, although the sun was very much alive, shining brightly down onto the motorway opposite. Neville, still taking in what happened last night and where he was. Roger opened the door and was walking towards the lorry, his arms bulging with food and drink. He opened the door and greeted Neville with a caring morning greeting which was reciprocated by Neville with a croaky ‘morning’ back to him.
‘Roger, what happened last night?’ said Neville quietly as his mouth watered at the sight of all the nice looking food now on the dashboard.
‘You took a nap and I had to take my equipment back to the docking bay and receive my next orders. You were very exhausted’ replied Roger as he readjusted his seat into a slouching one, opening his orange juice and squelching at the refreshing supplement providing his body.
‘Where are we?’ asked Neville, looking curiously out of his window, noticing a grey car exiting the petrol station and a cat huddled on a nearby fence.
‘Around fifty miles from the edge of America my son’ said Roger, losing interest in his questioning as he unravelled a croissant for Neville and past it to him. Neville looked astonished; he couldn’t believe how well he was being treated by a complete stranger. He thought maybe about making a run for it and making his own way, but then it struck him like a bolt of lightning what he should do. Neville tore segments of croissant off and placed them in his gullet of malnutrition, resulting in a sigh of relief for his stomach as it entered. Neville was so hungry that he sometimes thinks about eating continuously for days. Roger passed him snacks and more food as they both ate and watched the cars and workers pass by. Neville felt eagerly energised as he felt the fluid guide its way down his gullet and wake him up more than ever.
‘We should reach the docks in a few hours, we’ll get some brunch at a small café I always visit, they’ll look after you’ spoke Roger, breaking the deadly silence of breakfast feasting. Roger began driving out of the petrol station and gained speed on the slip-road that led to the motorway branching.
‘Where are you from anyway?’ asked Roger, realising that he didn’t ask him before and felt extremely ashamed.
‘England’ exclaimed Neville, still stuffing croissant and biscuits into his mouth at a rapid rate. Roger braked slightly and turned his head so it was completely horizontal facing Neville, who found it rather scary.
‘England?’ replied Roger, clearly looking disturbed.
‘Yeah, why what’s wrong?’ asked Neville, finishing his food and placing the empty materials on the dashboard and wiping his greasy hands on his worn, ripped and dirty jeans.
‘Ah, nothing it’s just I…I remember the terrible war, yeah it was horrific’ said Roger quickly, tearful and as if he wished to skim over the subject like a pebble on the sharp waves of the sea. The two sat for a few moments when Neville was about to say something, although Roger turned on the local radio station which was playing some new and upcoming jazz that Roger seemed to enjoy, which emptied Neville’s thoughts of what he was going to say. Feeling concerned about whether he should be hanging around with a stranger, Neville tried to form a plan to retrace his steps and find some stability and answers for what happened all those years ago. Neville tried to think of what war it could have been and what happened, also why he was here in America after so
many years. The pain and confusion got the better of Neville as he became absorbed, racking his brains for some spec of a clue to what happened. The stress finally reached a staggering level and his mind decided to take a break as he fell asleep again, Roger checking him occasionally for he was worried for his welfare. After around an hour’s journey Roger felt quite tired himself, he glanced at the clock, noticing it was 8:49am, birds could be heard as he was slowly drifting through small villages and towns, people busy attending to their cars, walking their pets and exercising or generally enjoying the bright and delightful sun. The freshly cooked smell of waffles soon woke Roger up, realising that it was coming from a family enjoying the morning sun and eating in their garden. He envied the family, for he did not have any, nor did he want anyone to know, especially Neville as he tried to leave the thought, wiping an unformed tear from his cheek. Neville awoke in the stationary car where he and Roger were sleeping. Neville had a sudden great urge to leave Roger, even though he had helped him get to the docks. Neville, still unsure to what he was going to do, quietly grabbed his things and opened the passenger door, but just as he was about to close it he was greeted with Roger’s face, utterly disappointed.
‘You forgot your food Neville’ said Roger, disappointed but understanding.
‘I was just…’ chirped Neville.
‘Now isn’t the time for you to be apologising to strangers, you need to find your family and I need to tell you something but I cannot’ replied Roger, whispering to conceal the conversation to the outside world.
‘What you have read in books, magazines and in general conversation isn’t entirely accurate’ delicately detailed Roger to Neville, his hand raised over his mouth in secrecy.
‘What do you mean?’ replied Neville, intriguingly looking at Roger with his head now tilted to the right and deeply immersed.
‘Just go to England, it is better to view things on your own’ ended Roger as he twiddled his keys that gave a small jangling noise, making clear emphasis that he had to return to work.
‘Tell me more, I don’t understand what you mean’ said Neville who remained still, watching Roger walk away back to his lorry.
‘It will all come back I’m sure, don’t ask just do’ replied Roger with his back to Neville.
‘Here, this should see you to the coast…be warned though, things back home are very different from the last time you were there’ said Roger as he walked back to where Neville stood and handed him a mixture of American and European money. Neville watched Roger drive away as he stood alone on the edge of the sea front, looking aimlessly out to sea as a great sense of dread and anxiety overpowered his thoughts became darkened. Frozen puddles were now starting to melt when the oblong strips of sun beamed over the walls that surrounded the sea front. Ship horns and jangle noises filled the docking bays, although Neville was oblivious to them. He walked along the mass stretch of walkway that preceded him, sloping down to levels of cargo shipment. Making a detour to his left past a grass verge, he noticed a café and shops opening up which delighted his senses, urging his presence. A tall brunette waitress strutted around outside collecting the odd glass and plate, clearly in need of some fresh air and sunlight but she scuttled off quickly when she appeared to be called back inside. Neville wondered into the open doorway and looked around, a man and a woman sat on an old style bench to his right in the café and a large bunch of shipping employees all huddled around the oval table, discussing something about cargo from the west which Neville heard briefly. Neville walked up to the desk, glancing down at sandwiches and cakes that all appealed to him. Instinctively, Neville withdrew his collection of money that had just been handed to him and selected a smaller note and ordered a regular coffee with an almond biscotti and chocolate coffee beans. His feeling of happiness warmed as he paid the man and found a single table next to the window where he sat down, taking off his tattered jacket and indulging without delay. The chocolate coffee beans worked their way into the unhealthy and worn body of Neville, making him increasingly aware of his whereabouts, feeling gradually more human. The view from outside was exquisite, dozens of ships and boats pilling their way to the shores, people working with an optimism that Neville felt was contagious. A few splatters of rain hit the window where Neville was observing the world, obscuring his vision as he squinted and turned back to stir his coffee and unravel the snacks. Neville couldn’t believe that he had reached the border, it had been a peculiar few days, making his dream even more surreal than he could have anticipated. Neville smiled as he thought of the friendly lorry driver offering him a lift here, feeling like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders on leaving the chaotic complexities of the city. He felt better about his prospects and he somehow he knew deep down he will eventually have a home and piece together his past in order to rebuild his future. A man in a drenched yellow overcoat hurried into the café, holding his hood from the snatch of the wind outside. The man briefly stood at the door, shaking himself dry as he lifted the hood to reveal lots of scraggly hair and a small face with rather a large and unusual nose. Drips of rain sprinted down his overcoat, landing on the bristle doormat and collecting in the cracks. The waiter greeted him personally as they talked for a moment before ordering his drink and sat behind Neville, reaching for a damp newspaper in a never ending pocket of his. Neville looked up at the ceiling, noticing a few leaks and damages from wear and tear of the years, eying the time on a clear white clock in the centre of the wall opposite which indicated it was quarter to twelve, when he was distracted by someone he recognised.
‘You keeping alright?’ enquired Roger looking courageously towards Neville’s direction as he ordered a coffee and pulled up a chair on Neville’s table.
‘I’m ok thank you. I just wanted to say thank you for bringing me here. What can I ever do to repay you?’ said Neville, finishing his coffee and clanging his cup and saucer as he placed the empty cup down.
‘No, don’t be daft. Just find your family and start over. I was once in your situation and I can sympathise’ replied Roger quickly to Neville’s kind-hearted remarks, making Neville feel even more guilty for his thoughts of running away with his money or his lorry.
‘Anyway, I only came to see if you were still here. I have to make a delivery to San Francisco in around twenty minutes so I had better scram’ added Roger, drifting away from Neville asking about his past.
‘Well…I probably won’t see you again will I?’ spoke Neville, realising that his saviour was now vanishing which made him feel saddened at the thought of not repaying him.
‘No…maybe not. I’m here often so if you ever want to stop by for help or anything then you know where I’ll be’ replied Roger, which made Neville think Roger didn’t believe he would be able to survive out in the big wide world, after all his is only sixteen.
‘Oh…if you do come and see me, bring me back something typically English’ said Roger, getting up and placing his coat and scarf around him and downing his drink. Neville thought about saying to him what black pudding was but refrained from doing so, laughing to himself and wishing him a safe journey. Roger left into the now slightly stormy early morning weather and gave a wave to Neville through the window, reassuring Neville and boosting his confidence which had been so punctured over the years of inner city living. Roger turned away from Neville and opened the door, giving a dull acknowledgement that Neville received as a goodbye. Roger felt deeply saddened by Neville’s story and he felt like he hadn’t done enough to help him on his search.
The waitress came hurrying back holding plates and pots that gave an unsettling wobble as she got closer to Neville. He placed the goods into his deep distasteful dark pocket and sipped the last shot of coffee left in his mug, wanting to stay a little longer and admire the view without paying for another drink. Deciding against that thought, Neville finished his coffee and thought of his next move. It was quite early and the vibe was very pleasant, so much that he planned to head around the docks and shops for a while, as this ha
d been his dream place and most of all to escape. Feeling generous, Neville dug deep into the scary contents of his pocket once again, pulling a struggling expression that appeared to draw surrounding diner’s attention. His found what he was looking for after a few seconds and extracted some coins and a note to place onto the sparkling red and white checked tablecloth, which when in contrast with Neville’s appearance, highlighting his poor personal hygiene. Neville placed the notes onto the table and yanked at the door lever and exited, shivering and buffing his upper arms with his hands by rubbing them viciously. The door opened again which made Neville turn around as he looked back to see the waitress looking around the docks.
