A story part 3 - "Let the Sunshine Inn"

At the corner, I hesitated.

By the time I'd got to Mullum, I was stripped raw; wary, jittery, looking over my shoulder, paranoid.

I felt done, shown up.

I kept expecting to see Ruth and Rush, together, laughing.

The nearside of the street was still in shadow. A couple of housewives in tangerine shifts over slacks and curlers in scarves were maggin' outside the Four Square supermarket. A couple of blokes in blunnies and greasy slouch hats were hangin' over a tailgate outside Rasmussen's garage.

Opposite me, Let The Sunshine Inn was doin' just that. It's open frontage caught the morning sun perfectly. The locals had already started to gather, heads down over vegie burgers and muesli, like crows on a wire fence; picking over their roadkill. A week ago I'd have strode straight over, hungry for the warmth of belonging, like hot tea in cold hands. Now I faltered. What if they know? Shame flared and subsided.

The guys from the co-op were out the front, clove rollies hanging from their mouths like white, smouldering grubs. Only the fat guy looked up; acknowledging me, just, with a barely perceptible nod. Inside, the clash of plates and the clatter of the coffee grinder rose above the hum of voices. The smell of frying and coffee mingled with the cloves wafting in from out front. A baby squealed.

A couple of people looked up, and then dropped their eyes. Trish n' Dave were in front of me. I greeted them in a weak, quavering voice that belonged to someone else,

"Hi! Dave, Hi! Trish!"

Trish said nothing, just kept breastfeeding and didn't look up. Maybe she was embarrassed. Yeah! Right! Dave just mumbled into his beard and avoided my eyes. A week ago they'd have been all smiles.

Sarah eyed me blankly, "Soykoff?"

"Umm, no." said the weak, quavering voice, "Is that Dandelion Coffee? Is that new? Could I have that, and raisin toast?"

Did I close my eyes? I saw Ruth, troubled,

You know, you really should just be yourself. Be straight out about things. No one kmows what you're thinking. Honestly, you look shifty. They don't how to take you. They think your'e up to no good.

"Two dollars seventy!"

"What? Oh, sorry!"

I sat down and took out a book, keeping my eyes down. It was crowded this morning.

Then I heard him. Fuck! Not today!

My eyes flickered around the room. Mine was the only table with an empty seat. I groaned inwardly.

"Hey! Birdman! How they hangin'? No one sittin' here? Good, I didn't think so!"

Doug's battered, red-nosed face, leered, sneering over a grubby purple tie-dyed t-shirt, stretched tight over a beer gut.

"Umm, hi! Doug!"

"Mmm! What's that?"

"Umm, Dandelion coffee, it's new."

"Any good?"

"Umm, yeah, I think so."

"Hey, Sal! I made up me mind: Dandelion Coffee. Birdman reckons it's a good brew. Yeah, you too, luv!"

"So whatcha readin', Birdman?"

"Umm, the Bhagavad Ghita."

"No shit! heavy stuff, man. Too much like the Bible, for me. You read, 'Zen n' the art of Motorbike Maintenance'?"

"Umm, no, not yet. but I want to."

"Forget it. Starts off good then it goes to shit. Don't waste ya time. Hey, you still campin' out in that blackfella's humpy out on the back road?"

He went quiet. After a moment I dared to glance up from my toast. Doug was sitting opposite me with something like a smirk on his face. He looked me straight in the eyes.

"Hey, Birdman, they're takin' on pickers at Maloney's, and Patels."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah! I reckon it'd be a good move."

"What?"

"You packin' up and gettin' on at Maloney's. Mick Maloney's a mate of mine. He'll take you on. 'Bout time you found a job. Put hair on yer chest."

I left the last piece of toast, hurriedly gathered up my things, face burning, legs like jelly; stumbled past him.

"Umm, yeah, OK! I'll think about it."

"You do that Birdman. Don't take too long about it. Never know when you'll get a chance like this again."

Outside there was a dirty white panel van pulled up opposite. A hard brown face ringed by a full black beard leaned out. "Daniel." I looked up. It was the guy from the leather shop. I didn't know his name. But he knew mine.

"I'm goin' to Maloney's. I'll give you a lift. Yer can get yer things"

"Umm, thanks. It's alright, I've gotta few things to do. I'll hitch. I'm still thinking about it."

"Get in."

I got in.

His hands were large, with blunt fingers, stained black with Ravens oil.

Through the dusty windscreen, as he pointed the bonnet out towards the back road, I saw Rush's ute. Ruth was in the front. Sitting close.

I swivelled round but already they were gone; hidden by the Last Bend into Town. Even the town was hidden, beyond the trees along the North Arm.

The feudal hierachy of the new age had closed ranks around Ruth and Rush; the shakuhachi players and the wholemeal bakers, the hand-spinners and the sandal makers, the dope growers and the bush mechanics. Sealed them off, protective, like a wound; against infection, against me.

Already, I could hear the Voices.

Daniel! Birdman! He was some weird dude! I mean, there's weird and there's too fuckin' weird!

I know, I know, luv. But it's for the best. Look, Ruth, you are one Beautiful Lady! And guys like that, they drag yer down, hold yer back. Yer better off. I tell ya, you and Rush are just such a Beautiful Couple. Yer like the Sun and Moon, the Sun and Moon.

Meant To Be.