Existing to Live (The Begginings sequel)

The music was a memory of lavender, even though lavender has never been any significance in my life. But it was what I imagined lavender would be like, soft and pretty and....
I don’t even know what lavender smells like. I used to once cos we had a bush of it growing out the front of our house and when the wind blew salty air from the sea it would come through the window. But I haven’t seen or smelt it for ages so I guess that’s what music is for, right? To keep memories alive and existing like albums do for photos?
I haven’t given lavender a thought for a long time cos the bush was only a decoration and a home for all things that are summer, likes salty breezes and bees and children’s laughter, and who cares about those things anyway? So as I listened to the summer song, I did think of lavender and all things it gave a home to. Like mine and Hope’s laugh on a sunny day. And remembering all these things made me want to make things right, to say goodbye properly or maybe hello cos it won’t be the same but it will still be it, my past. It seemed right. But I didn’t tell Sammy my hopes/dreams/plans cos she wouldn’t understand like someone else would. The way Tom would. I even had my doubts that he would cos he’s changed a lot since the start of year eleven. Apparently he wants to concentrate on the future and I know that doesn’t lie with me and my all too uncaringness for everything. He never said that. He would never say that. He probably thinks it though. I think it all the time about myself. But I know when I say goodbye hello to the past or whatever it is things will change and I will care.


Tom is tall and handsome and all the things I never imagined as an eight year old that he would become. But eight year olds don’t imagine becomings anyway...
He has deep cerulean blue eyes that will understand anything and everything, and a hand that can touch mine without meaning much more then the love of a best friend. That’s why I love him. Not in the real way though. Never that way. And when I told him that I was planning to temporarily escape to somewhere that had been lost long ago he just smiled and asked when. That’s why I love him. I said that I was leaving the day after tomorrow, which was too long but I still needed time to figure things out. Like my emotions so I don’t freak or breakdown if worse comes to worse or best to best or whatever. And I was glad Tom was coming cos I didn’t want to go alone, I wanted someone to have an adventure with like in the storybooks where there is always a happy ending. Even though I’m not looking for a happy ending but I have to be looking for something cos I’m almost seventeen and getting old, almost not a kid anymore and that’s a horrible, nightmarish thought. In one years time places like never land won’t exist except in my dreams because old people can’t go to beautiful worlds like that. Do old people even dream?


Tonight the air is cool with a hint of something that might or could be and I’m sitting on my bedroom floor right in the middle of its whispers. I’m comforted by the breaths of wind coming past the dancing curtains but I’m sad and don’t know why. And right in front of me is a bag, a tiny bag that should be packed with something special or lucky or meaningful. Like a golden horseshoe charm or four leaved clover. But instead it’s empty and I’m so, so tired that I just throw in a pair of worn denim shorts and a faded once pretty t shirt. Then I curl up into a ball to look out at the dark blue sky with all its stars and let them carry me off to the place between sleep and awake where someone once promised you could still remember dreaming.


The sky is painted all the colours of dawn and I wonder if we should truly be running into something from yesterday and long ago. But we are already dirtied by the dust from standing with our thumbs outstretched on the side of some desolate highway. We can’t go back now that we’ve started. And then it really is too late cos an old car stops ahead of us a bit and we’re running towards it, towards something that I’m not too sure I want to return to.


We’re laying on a grassy mound watching the waves crash blue and white onto the sand. Tom asks me if I remember the time I broke my arm at school cos we wanted to fly from the rooftop. I tell him yes, of course I remember. Then I start thinking of all the other times we shared when we were little more then seven and our conversation turns to a collection of remember whens. The sun is going down, casting darkness onto our faces, turning us into silhouettes. We are silhouettes, mysterious people who melt into shadows. No one knows us here. We can be anyone we want and run from ourselves (even though the guidance counsellor said that was bad when she was talking to the year elevens about mental health). We are free. But I still feel emptiness crash over me and although it’s not as bad as before I still feel like I have to right whatever was wronged so long ago. Tom whispers something to me but I’ve already fallen asleep in his arms.


I wake up with the sun in my eyes and I am sore everywhere from sleeping on the ground. I’ll have bruises later. Then I realise that I can’t see Tom anywhere and I wonder if he really did come with me at all. But I’m still half asleep; of course he came with me. But I can’t see him! I’m not scared though cos the morning air is fresh with saltiness that makes me feel so, so happy. And then over sea gull calls I hear his voice mixed with the waves. He is swimming. The sun goes behind dawn clouds and then the air is half warm, half cold; just right with ‘we’re the only people alive’ breezes. And over the beach-y noises he yells again and I’m running on the sand with shells that cut into my feet. That’s okay though cos soon I’m in the waves and my feet are stinging but the water is cool and refreshing and I’m happy.


There are people sitting on our grassy knoll. They are a couple; older then us but still young enough to enjoy love/lust/romance. Just. And there are people everywhere else, too. On the sand that was ours a few hours before, on the concrete paths that twist through palm trees planted for aesthetic reasons. And in the waves. They’re in the waves and loving the air that wraps around them even though it was mine and Toms just before! But it doesn’t matter. I don’t care. The sun is out now, out from its dawn clouds of hiding, so who wouldn’t be out in its warmth? I see old people, young people, waiters and waitresses in the tiny beachfront cafe. And important looking business people who are rushing and not aware or deserving of the day’s beauty. Then I see the cops. They are all blue clad uniform and hard staring eyes. I tell Tom not to look behind but there are cops coming our way. So of course he looks behind and confirms that they are following us but I already knew that. We walk a little faster, passing the sleeping place that isn’t ours anymore. Then the cop lady yells out at ‘us two with the bags’ and we turn around and see her and her partner running towards us. Tom is running too, now, but I am standing still, watching the cops get closer. Then I realise what I’m doing here and what I need to do so I’m running fast, so fast to save it! We turn a corner and I’m pulled into a thick rainforest of fern and palm leaves. We are still, so still. I don’t want to breathe cos the cops have stopped to talk to people right in font of us and it feels like they can hear my breathing, my pulse, my heart. Just like when you’re little and playing hide and seek and everything is quiet but the breaths you take. We hold each other, me and Tom, sharing our fear, anxiousness and heartbeats. The cop lady asks the man if he has seen two teenagers running past. He asks why, wanting to know what we’ve done. Are we murderers, thieves?
She says no, that we are just two more runaway teenagers who think they’re lives are so bad and everything too hard. But that’s not true! I don’t think my life’s bad, just incomplete and I need to complete it. And Tom hasn’t done anything wrong except listen to a messed up friend with some messed up, crazy ideas that sounded fun and exciting. Who wouldn’t want to come along for the ride?
The man says no, he hasn’t seen any juvenile delinquents this morning; they’re all where they should be, in school. The cop man tells him thanks for his time and they walk away. I can breathe safely now. But that man is still there, staring through the net of mosquitoes and dampness at us, I’m sure. He says he know we’re in there, and to come out cos the mossies are bad....plus the cops are gone. So I follow Tom out of our hiding spot and we sheepishly stand in front of this guy who is probably about thirty or so with brown hair just the right amount of untidiness and eyes too mysterious. He tells us that no runaway kids are any business of his but he saw us sleeping last night and he knows somewhere we can sleep safely at least. Tom is hesitant but I am all too trusting and none too caring so I agree to let him take us to this ‘refuge’ where there is water and sometimes breakfast and lunch.


I see faces of children who will never be alright and I feel so helpless I could cry. But the man ignores their haunted eyes as he leads us down a hallway when I can do nothing but look at them sadly. Tom doesn’t seem to notice either. But there are shadows living on their faces, dark and scary like storm clouds and I’ve always be afraid of storms and what comes with them. The walls of this ‘safe refuge’ are dirty and stained and suddenly I’m not sure if I want to be in this place. But we are at a room now, the last one, the man tells us. He gives us a look like he knows what will happen on the soiled mattress when the lights go out. I bow my head wondering why I thought no one knowing us here would be so amazingly liberating.Then he leaves us standing awkwardly with dust fairies that come alive with the late afternoon sun. We have nothing to do but sit down and now it feels weird cos of the man’s unspoken suggestiveness. I don’t think I like him anymore but oh well cos at least we have a roof to sleep under even if it is filled with nightmare shadows in the forms of little children. I tell Tom to turn around cos I’m going to get changed and he goes red and turns his back. The only clean clothes I have left are a pair of jeans, a shirt and a long singlet that reaches mid thigh. I decide on the singlet cos it will be better to sleep in then jeans anyway. Soon darkness falls through the window and tiredness overtakes me in whispers of ‘you shouldn’t be here’, but I have to be here, so I ignore it. We fall asleep then, on the mattress that doesn’t look so bad now cos Tom put a red blanket over it so I couldn’t see the stains.


I was dreaming of myself standing outside a cottage fenced by white pickets with an atmosphere of happiness; or maybe its youthful ignorance. I can’t differentiate. The wind catches my hair and sends it sprawling tangled blonde into the sky. The weatherboard house is empty and deserted except for me standing outside on the little sand dune where the sea can be seen. All of a sudden I know I’m dreaming and want to see inside but don’t want to but I go anyway just to look. It’s all dark inside, dark with nothing. Then something is rustling in the darkness and I wonder what it is. Then I wake up. But the rustling is still there and I strain my eyes and see a girl going through our stuff, taking the money, the spare clothes and blankets. I call out to her and she jumps so, so high. She looks straight at me, her night eyes dancing with shadows and fear. And I’m sad all over again cos she couldn’t be more than fourteen and she’s one of those ones I saw who will never be alright. I catch her hand before she runs and the tenseness of her body relaxes a bit. But only for a second. Then she cries out and Tom jumps up and switches on the light. I can see her properly now. She has long brown hair with blue eyes and her face is really pretty and delicate. Everything about her whispers fragile, fragile. Except her eyes. She tries to pull away but I tell her to stop, its okay. But she runs out the door and disappears. Tom says it’s lucky the little bitch didn’t take anything, especially the money, which was more then six hundred. He tells me he’ll sleep with it taped to his body from now on. He says it jokingly but he was serious. We fall back into our dreams then, using our backpacks as pillows to comfort us.