A World Apart (20 page)

The first women president was elected two years ago in America, Mary Roland being a yokel American brought up in the Tennessee area was elected based on her innovative approach to European and International affairs and the relationship between America and Asia. Some cynics may beg to differ about the appointment as she gave the go ahead for environment taxation, consisting of taxing homeowners owning up to the place they live in and ensuring that they take the correct precautions to reduce wastage. Neville remembers her speech when she was first elected, everyone was astounded but then realised what a good job she was doing and vowed for her to stay in charge. Her speech came back to Neville as he walked alone the wide pavement of a busy working morning, he recalled her laughing and mentioning that the best thing that happened in 2009 was that carrier bags were axed, making the small step for her giant campaign, which is now tremendously successful, making America close to being one of the cleanest and eco-friendly in the world. It was a gust of wind that made Neville realise as it swept across his face of how glad he was to be free away from hassle and the overhanging grasps, which had suddenly now all been lifted as he could do as he pleases and wonder the streets at his leisure without the harassment and annoyance of a sibling or spouse. Neville’s clothes were torn in random places and they looked a few sizes too small for him, the sleeves dangling aimlessly like a plant bobbing in the breeze. He hadn’t had a shave for a while either, his beard had accumulated to half way down his chest and it looked unattained and grubby which made passersby feel disgusted. His morale was considerably high for a man of his placement in the world. Long black streaks of hair were visible out of the full covering hat he was wearing. The long streaks fell across his face, giving a washed look to Neville even though this was not the case at all, flies certainly liked his company and dozens swarmed around him. The tiny moth holes in his hat made his head cold and he was desperate to find a new one soon. Roaming the streets was a hard task for Neville, passers-by completely ignoring his attempts for a few coins for a drink. Neville was now coming to a spot where he was sat last night for a few hours, remembering how he was minding his own business until a gang set upon him and nicked some of his belongings and the money he was planning on using to a trip to another side of America, somewhere nice and friendly like the village him and his father lived in all those years ago. He stopped himself before he became tearful and decided to head down the street and call at a local shop for some bread and a coffee. He glanced up at the clock tower just as the second hand ticked over to 7:57am. He halted and decided to linger for a short while as the shop didn’t open until eight and he thought if they saw him hanging around the shop he might get moved on for his appearance being distasteful to the general public. Neville paused in thought as he watched the busy lifestyles in the city, questioning the very need for it. Since all that is forgotten in his past he began debating his pointless and agonising existence, his mood changing as his face turned to a sombre disbelieving fixation. The time past by and the clunking sound of the metal shutters signified to Neville that the shop was open for business, so he started to head towards the shop. Once inside, he was greeted by a broad smile from a young Asian man behind the desk which reassured him. Neville quickly gathered the items he wanted and scurried to the desk, scraping his feet along the floor for he was in pain from a piece of shrapnel that is lodged in his calf, after being attacked a few months ago. He gave the shopkeeper the money and waited for his change, although it did not arrive.

‘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.