I am about to continue my work of fiction – begun here three blogs ago, on 31/10/24, and titled ‘Rusty Long, with most of his life behind him..’
And so it goes ….
In the way of ageing men, Rusty often ruminated on his life now. Why had he left home at fourteen to see the world, instead of accepting the scholarship he’d won to go to a prestigious boy’s school?
Rusty had charisma. He’d been touted the James Dean of his high school, had an air about him – of confidence, and a ‘don’t mess with me’ attitude. He was lean, broad-shouldered, tough, and a talented sportsman across many disciplines. His penetrating blue eyes and sultry good looks had the girls vying for even a morsel of acknowledgement from him.
Ambitious he was – with a desire, even at this age, to see the world and earn money – a lot of money. He’d worked with his father in his cartage business, had loved running alongside the truck picking up bundles of newspapers and throwing them onto the back, knowing it was making him strong. And an added draw was that, from time to time, there’d be a prize item amongst the papers. One day a mantel clock had been discarded. It became a loved possession that travelled with Rusty for his entire life. Amongst the discards too were sometimes cardboard boxes, with new items still in them – jewellery, watches, cameras. Comics were highly valued as saleable items.
As well as this employment with his father, Rusty had been working for a couple of years – in his after-school hours – as a grounds-man at the local golf-course. One day a school-mate visited him there. The two boys had been talking for several weeks about the money they’d heard could be earned at Port Hedland.
Damo Melic beckoned to Rusty from outside the fence. His wild-eyed look forewarned his mate that things were amiss.
‘I’ve had enough of this shit-hole,’ he exploded, as Rusty walked towards him.
‘I’m headin’ off. Ya comin’?
It took Rusty a couple of seconds to process the situation. ‘Yep, I just been paid.’
The two walked towards the gate – a sideways glance at each other every so often. Without so much as a last goodbye to his father, mother, sisters, Rusty walked away from his home, his boyhood, his schooling – heading west, with nothing but the clothes on his back and a pocket full of money.
A happy home-life was not something either of the boys had known in recent times. Rusty had enjoyed a deeply satisfying relationship with his father, but his mother had ruled her children with an iron fist. On this day of his leaving, the pain of non-love from his mother had finally become greater than his love for his father.
Walking along the road out of town, thumbs held out at arm’s length, Rusty and Damo talked about money prospects in the west, and an anticipated freedom – from rules, school, dark times at home. They could not have imagined how long it would take them to get to Port Hedland and the work they’d been told was there, nor what they’d have to overcome to get there.
Ok. So a little more has been added to the story. Have to say it’s slow going, but I expect that as I get further in, it will take off. So I believe.
My life in the here and now? Looking forward to a week on my beloved Coorong soon. Have booked a real shack right on the water. We expect to be eating freshly caught Mulloway and Coorong Mullet, soaking up the hushed spirit of the place, the far sound of the Southern Ocean’s waves and the cantata of bird-song as we sit at the water’s edge – glass of biting cold Riesling in hand perhaps – talking and silence between us.
More on The Coorong after we return. Happy days.
Warmly,
Sue
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