Status: Revising, re-writing.
Fernweh
Restless
“I’m gonna miss ya kid.”
Ol’ man Charlie had never been a sentimental man so his words took Frankie by surprise. There was a pregnant pause before he could reply.
“Aw, I’ll miss you too Old man.”
And he wasn’t lying. It was the old mechanic with his leathery, tan skin, quick wit and grease stained hands that made the blistering bustle of the city bearable. It was at Charlie’s Mechanics that he could actually relax, toiling away at a nervous housewife’s Holden, inhaling the scent of grease blended with tobacco and humming to the smooth blues that Charlie has playing through the speakers.
The two men were sitting in the small office in silence, broken only by the faint hum of the air conditioner. A pitcher of iced water sits untouched in front of them. Frankie had told Charlie about his plans a long time ago but the old man had scoffed and spat sodden tobacco onto the already stained concrete floor. Now his watery blue eyes stare fixated at his young employee; half proud, half disappointed.
“You’re really going through with it.”
Not a question, a statement. Frankie regained his composure.
“Sure am, Old man,” he says with a wink.
The old man sighs and rubs his temple with two fingers. Frankie was a good employee and though he won’t admit it, Charlie enjoyed his company. Frankie had stuck around, watching the others come and go. It was always Frankie though; he could be relied on to see things through. But he had grown restless.
“I have dreams, Pops. I want to live them!”
“You’re young; you have a whole life to live them.”
“I could die tomorrow.”
“You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
That suffocating silence again. The air conditioner whirs. Frankie clears his throat and scraps his chair back to stand. Ol’ Man Charlie starts and hastily follows suit. They walk in silence through the quiet garage – It was Sunday and they closed up early – and into the bright afternoon sun. Charlie rests an uncertain hand upon Frankie’s shoulder, squinting into the glare.
“I’m gonna miss you.”
“You’ve said that already.”
“I mean it.”
“I know you do.”
Frankie offers a smile as reassurance. Charlie’s face softens and gives Frankie’s shoulder a squeeze.
“You take care, mate. Promise me that, Frank. Take care.”
Before he could respond the old man had turned his back and strode towards the garage, his bare shoulders glistening with perspiration. He likes to think the old man shed a tear for him that day but he knew otherwise. His tears had dried up a long time ago in the unforgiving Queensland sun.
***
Frankie sat in his pyjamas at the head of his bed, cradling his uniform in his lap. It was strange, he thought, that after hating this city for so long he is actually going to miss something. He smoothed out the light blue fabric, tracing the embroidered red ‘Frankie’ with his thumb. He chuckled at Charlie’s old school style. Tucking the uniform into the bottom of his bag he made his way onto the balcony for a smoke. The evening air was sticky and the sky still light. From below he could smell the sizzling fat of sausages on the grill as his neighbours prepared their dinner.
‘What a night for a barbie,’ he thought to himself, watching the smoke curl before his face. He ought to have an early night; he had a long drive ahead of him.
“Catch you later, Cairns,” he whispered to the city spread out ahead of him, the blue-greens of mountains rising above the rooftops.
Ol’ man Charlie had never been a sentimental man so his words took Frankie by surprise. There was a pregnant pause before he could reply.
“Aw, I’ll miss you too Old man.”
And he wasn’t lying. It was the old mechanic with his leathery, tan skin, quick wit and grease stained hands that made the blistering bustle of the city bearable. It was at Charlie’s Mechanics that he could actually relax, toiling away at a nervous housewife’s Holden, inhaling the scent of grease blended with tobacco and humming to the smooth blues that Charlie has playing through the speakers.
The two men were sitting in the small office in silence, broken only by the faint hum of the air conditioner. A pitcher of iced water sits untouched in front of them. Frankie had told Charlie about his plans a long time ago but the old man had scoffed and spat sodden tobacco onto the already stained concrete floor. Now his watery blue eyes stare fixated at his young employee; half proud, half disappointed.
“You’re really going through with it.”
Not a question, a statement. Frankie regained his composure.
“Sure am, Old man,” he says with a wink.
The old man sighs and rubs his temple with two fingers. Frankie was a good employee and though he won’t admit it, Charlie enjoyed his company. Frankie had stuck around, watching the others come and go. It was always Frankie though; he could be relied on to see things through. But he had grown restless.
“I have dreams, Pops. I want to live them!”
“You’re young; you have a whole life to live them.”
“I could die tomorrow.”
“You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
That suffocating silence again. The air conditioner whirs. Frankie clears his throat and scraps his chair back to stand. Ol’ Man Charlie starts and hastily follows suit. They walk in silence through the quiet garage – It was Sunday and they closed up early – and into the bright afternoon sun. Charlie rests an uncertain hand upon Frankie’s shoulder, squinting into the glare.
“I’m gonna miss you.”
“You’ve said that already.”
“I mean it.”
“I know you do.”
Frankie offers a smile as reassurance. Charlie’s face softens and gives Frankie’s shoulder a squeeze.
“You take care, mate. Promise me that, Frank. Take care.”
Before he could respond the old man had turned his back and strode towards the garage, his bare shoulders glistening with perspiration. He likes to think the old man shed a tear for him that day but he knew otherwise. His tears had dried up a long time ago in the unforgiving Queensland sun.
***
Frankie sat in his pyjamas at the head of his bed, cradling his uniform in his lap. It was strange, he thought, that after hating this city for so long he is actually going to miss something. He smoothed out the light blue fabric, tracing the embroidered red ‘Frankie’ with his thumb. He chuckled at Charlie’s old school style. Tucking the uniform into the bottom of his bag he made his way onto the balcony for a smoke. The evening air was sticky and the sky still light. From below he could smell the sizzling fat of sausages on the grill as his neighbours prepared their dinner.
‘What a night for a barbie,’ he thought to himself, watching the smoke curl before his face. He ought to have an early night; he had a long drive ahead of him.
“Catch you later, Cairns,” he whispered to the city spread out ahead of him, the blue-greens of mountains rising above the rooftops.
♠ ♠ ♠
critique/feedback appreciated:)