Published: 2 Aug 2021

Nothing to do and all day to do it: that was Travis’ dilemma during that final school holiday. It was a transitional period between schoolboy and manhood and a time when toys and sky-castles were packed away but not forgotten as reality became apparent. It is your life, so what are you going to do about it. Those words were common and often and did little to satisfy a lad with a wandering dream.

Greg now spent more time with his motorbike than he did with his gang and to Travis’ relief had become licensed to ride but never again invited to take Travis with him; instead the offer extended to the more than willing Evan. Also Travis had become resigned to the fact that Greg would not be joining him on their adventure into the gulf country, yet he still wished to do so and although at a slow pace, he planned for that day.

“What do you want to do now you’ve finished school?” Margaret Brown asks once breakfast was finished. She had noticed change in her son that concerned her, as he was quickly becoming a young man but appeared to be lacking direction.

Travis was at that time in his life when he was no longer a child and not yet a man and the last thing he wanted was to lose his recently gained freedom from schooldays to that of a daily job without enjoying the twilight of his youth.

“Don’t know – go bush I suppose,” Travis answered while swirling the dregs in his breakfast tea cup in ever increasing circles.

“More toast?” Margaret offered.

“Yes please,”

“What do you mean by go bush?” Margaret quietly spoke as Travis buttered the toast before heaping it high with Roses marmalade. She recollected her early days and the depression when most things were scarce or too expensive. She again heard her father’s sarcasm as she also had a sweet tooth, I notice you have a little bread on your jam again young girl he would say. Margaret would scrape half the loading back to the pot, only to recharge it once her father’s head was turned.

Margaret had been a child of the depression with all its difficulties scaring her memories. Back then work was most important and to have a permanent job no matter how menial was paramount. She remembered her father’s words to her older brothers, if you don’t work you don’t eat, if you don’t eat you don’t shit and if you don’t shit you die. They may have been crude words but suited the times well.

Margaret’s father, although poor, had been fortunate as he managed a small outback property. Although his wage was scarcely enough to feed a family with five children, they managed by growing their own vegetables and bartering for essentials such as flour, tea and sugar and on the rare occasion a cigarette and bottle of beer for her father. Margaret and her sister wore hand-downs, while her brother went ragged their trousers patched so often there wasn’t anything left of the original material.

Margaret’s mother had been a wiz on a sewing machine and a length of material became curtains and dresses for the girls, while an old sheet that was no longer fit for the bed would be reinvented as underwear. Margaret remembered her embarrassment when joyfully parading a new dress for a local woman who with a smile nodded towards the kitchen window, saying nice curtains.

“Just that and maybe revisit Cumberland Downs or something,” Travis eventually answered.

“Not with young Greg Stanley and that bloody motorbike I hope?” Margaret warned; her voice lifting an octave in concern, “and you know what your father thinks of motorbikes.”

“Na, Greg is never around these days.”

“I do worry about you Travis,”

“Why,”

“A mother does. Every time you are out late at night, each time an accident is reported, or there is sickness in town.”

“I don’t know why, nothing ever happens in Mareeba.”

“I suppose it is a mother’s curse to worry about their children.”

Travis gave a soft huff.

“Well I do concern,”

“As I said there is no need,”

“I hear Greg’s brother Wayne is back in town,” Margaret says in a warning tone.

“He is working tobacco but has to register with the cops once a week as part of his parole.”

“I hope you’re not associating with him?” Margaret frowned deeply.

“I’ve seen him about but I don’t really know him, besides he’s at least twenty-two and doesn’t mix with Greg or his mates.”

Margaret gave a satisfying smile, “dishes won’t do themselves,” she lifted from the table.

“I’ll do them,”

“Good lad now what about finding work?”

“Don’t go on about it mum. In good time, besides the end of year holidays haven’t started as yet.”

“You’re good with leather why no work with Jack Johnson? And he’s offered you a job. Besides you’re not built for stock work”

“Maybe but there’s plenty of time, also dad was a ringer at fourteen,” Travis answered unconvincingly.

“They were different times Travis, there was a war on and someone had to work the land with two brothers away with the army.”

“Who Roy,”

“No your father and Roy were too young for the war, Kevin was in New Guinea, while your Uncle Bill was wounded and taken prisoner on Crete and spent most of the war in a prison camp in Germany.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Bill doesn’t like talking about the war and your uncle Eric, my older brother was, killed in North Africa; he was one of the so called Rat of Tobruk.”

“We learned about them in history why didn’t I hear about his death?”

“Most probably by the time you were born the war was well over and people didn’t wish to be reminded of the hard times.”

“Why did dad miss out on the war?”

“As I said, Roy was too young and your father only came of age during the war, he served for a year during the occupation of Japan and visited Nagasaki.”

“That’s the city where they dropped the bomb?” Travis gave a shiver from stories about that radiation caused all kinds of medical problems.

Margaret sensed Travis’ concern, “your dad’s alright, it was only for a day and by then the background radiation was quite low.”

“Still, by dad’s photograph he wasn’t any taller or stronger than I am and he managed cattle work okay.”

“Again they were hard times and teenagers hadn’t the choices you have now days.”

“Possibly you are correct but -,” Travis concluded his sentence not wishing it to continue on towards an obvious extended argument.

“What are you doing tonight?” Margaret enquired as Travis cleared the breakfast table and filled the sink with hot water.

“Not much why?”

“The Ross’ have to go out and needs someone to sit with her son,” Margaret sighed then continued, I said I would but I had forgotten your father and I have a prior engagement.

“What drinks at the returned solders club with the Kingsley’s?” Travis asks somewhat sarcastically.

“No Travis, a Rotary function,” Margaret corrected, her voice displaying a measure of annoyance towards her son’s display of petulance, “and don’t use so much detergent, you only need a spoonful.”

“He’s eighteen, can’t he look after himself?” Travis protested while in defiance gave the water an extra squirt of detergent.

“Yes but as you know he is blind and they have only recently moved into a new house and he doesn’t yet know its layout.”

“Suppose so,” Travis reluctantly agreed, although the idea made him feel somewhat peculiar, somehow babysitting an eighteen year old seemed incongruous, “I hope I don’t have to wipe his bum or anything like that.”

“Now you’re being silly. The lad is blind not a cripple, I’m sure he can manage his own toiletries.

“When was all this planned?” Travis asks.

“A week back but I forgot about our function when I agreed.”

Travis had met Warwick’s parents when they were invited for drinks when they moved to their new house but had not yet met her son. He pictured the lad as overweight crossed-eyed, prone to dribbling with a permanent supercilious smile directed towards a world he could not see. The though was comical but at least it could be more entertaining than a night at the pub.

Stella Ross met Travis at the door and guided him into a sparsely furnished living room while through connecting doors were more rooms equally void of furnishings and smelling of fresh paint and floor polish.

“Come in young man and take a seat,” Stella invited and escorted Travis across the almost empty expanse that was the living room to a large comfortable couch strategically placed under a run of louvers, all wide to the cooling evening air.

“We haven’t finished unpacking as yet,” she says as if apologising for the lack of furnishings and knick-knacks you found in most homes.

“Where are you from Mrs. Ross?” Travis asks.

“Townsville but Warwick was born in Ingham, Mr. Ross managed a poultry farm and meatworks, before taking on management of the local Bacon Factory.”

“I’ve been to Townsville.”

“Would you like a soft drink of something?” she offered as Travis made comfortable.

“No thank you Mrs. Ross, I’ve just come from dinner,” he answered softly while fiddling with the glass louvers.

“Your mother is a wonderful cook, has she worked in cafés?”

“She was a station cook and learned to make do with very little and dad managed a station out Georgetown way before he had his accident.”

“Yes I remember Jim saying so. Warwick is showering, he won’t be long.” Stella searched across the void that was her living room. “There it is.” She declared spying her handbag on a side table next to a black bakelite telephone. It rang as she collected the bag.

“Hello,” she nervously spoke into the hand piece like one not accustomed to modern conveniences, “I’m about to leave now!” she continued in a somewhat curt tone then gently replaced the receiver, making a slight click as it cradled. She gave a soft huh and turned away from its intrusion.

“I must be on my way love, will you be alright?” Stella asks while checking her makeup using a small powder compact mirror. Then with a sharp snap it closed as she called to her son that she was leaving and that Travis had arrived.

There wasn’t any answer;

“Are you sure you don’t mind siting with Warwick?” Stella reaffirmed while gathering her thoughts before leaving.

“Not at all, I hadn’t anything else on tonight anyway,” Travis admitted.

Stella checked her handbag.

“I’ll be off then Warwick.” She called once more.

Again no answer;

“If you want anything there is food in the fridge,” she offered.

“Thank you Mrs. Ross, I’m sure I’ll be alright.”

Once more Stella asks if Travis was happy sitting with her son then with a worrying sigh she departed.

“Mum!” A deep voice reverberated along the hallway.

“Mum!” the voice repeated.

Travis slowly travelled along the passage towards where the voice originated.

“Warwick,” Travis called as he drew close to the bathroom.

“Warwick it’s Travis, your mother called; she just left,” he continued in such a way not to startle the lad.

“Travis.” A naked well built male appeared in the bathroom doorway, dripping water over the lightly patterned linoleum.

“Your mother did say goodbye, can I do anything for you?” Travis asks finding his eyes being drawn towards Warwick’s uncovered crotch, then back to his well structured face and body, taking away all concepts he previously had of an overweight dribbler.

“I can’t find my towel,” Warwick smiled weakly from his naked state but stood without shame as he fumbled his way along the empty towel wrack.

“Here you go,” Travis spoke softly handing him a large fluffy white towel that had been incorrectly placed away from his convenience.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll leave you to dress,” Travis suggested.

“No stay, tell me about yourself,” Warwick answered, allowing the towel to drop full length in front of his body while drying his face and hair.

“You’re naked,” Travis says nervously, then realised that his statement sounded somewhat obvious.

Warwick laughed, “I don’t know what nakedness looks like, so don’t concern.”

“Have you always been blind?” Travis asks, watching the handsome lad pull on a pair of loose fitting pants.

“I don’t like underpants,” Warwick disclosed for no apparent reason other than he wasn’t wearing any. He continued, “no I had an accident when I was six and when I came around I could no longer see.” He paused and fiddled for the towel rack.

“I’ll do that.” Travis offered and hung the towel, “it must be horrible losing your sight,” Travis sympathised.

“Na I’m used to it, besides the doctors say there isn’t any good reason why I can’t see.” He sighed and smiled weakly, “still they aren’t the ones who falls over chairs are they,” Warwick laughed as he pulled on a tea shirt, which brought to attention every muscle in his youthful body. “To the lounge room,” he declared while leading the way and walking like one with full sight.

“Do you do weights?” Travis asks.

“Have to do something, there is very little else to do to pass the day. Would you like a beer?” he offered once they were seated. “Don’t tell mum, I’m not supposed to drink alcohol.”

“Sure, I’ll get it, where’s the kitchen?” Travis asks.

“Through there.”

Warwick pointed through an open doorway.

Travis returned with two beers.

“Won’t you mum notice the missing beer?”

“Na, she will think Dad’s on the binge again,” Warwick laughed, he continued, “don’t think I’m not grateful for the company but I can look after myself; mother makes such a fuss,” Warwick paused, “you don’t have to stay if you have other things to do.”

“No I’m not doing anything,” Travis passed a beer then laughed ironically.

“What’s so funny?” Warwick declared.

“Me, I’m handing you a beer as if you can see it.”

“You have a sense of humour, I like that,” Warwick complemented, “how old are you?” he enquired.

“Just a year or so older than you,”

“Are you fat, thin or what?”

“Average I guess but mum says I’m skinny and need a good feed,” Travis answered, then realised as Warwick was blind he may not understand the meaning of average but he couldn’t explain in a simple sentence what average was.

“Stand up,” Warwick demanded.

“Why?”

Just stand up I promise not to bite you.”

Travis stood while Warwick joined him and placed both hands lightly on the top of Travis’ head.

“Five foot nine,” Warwick asks.

“Nine and a half if you don’t mind.”

“You have a good head of hair but need a haircut; what colour?”

“Shit brown,” Travis laughed.

“Dark brown okay, what colour are you eyes?” then Warwick answered his own question; “grey green yes?”

“Sort of I suppose.”

“It goes with the hair colouring.”

“How do you know that?”

“It is genetics,”

“Genetics?” Travis questioned.

“I like science,”

“Did you go to some school for the blind?”

“Na, home educated, mum was a good teacher but a little strict with the lessons, I like science and history.”

Warwick ran his fingers over Travis’ face, “Deep eyes and a long straight nose, I would say most handsome.”

“I like that, if only it was true,”

“I’m sure you’re popular with all the girls.”

Travis released a gentle huff.

“What no girlfriend?”

“I’m working on it,”

Warwick releases a light titter and continues with his exploration.

Pausing at Travis’ lips Warwick gently parted them running a finger lightly across his front teeth.

“Good set of teeth.”

“I’m not a horse for auction,” Travis complained but allowed the intrusion to continue.

“So far if you were, you would be a good buy.”

Warwick’s hands lowered and circled Travis’ throat. “Adam’s apple,” He declared without further comment before placing his hands flat on Travis’ shoulders, declaring he could feel good strength. “Am I making you nervous?” he added.

“Not at all I’m intrigued.”

“Good, you see my hands are my eyes.”

“Then it is lucky your hands are colour blind as my face is somewhat red with embarrassment,” Travis answered.

“I thought you said you weren’t nervous?”

“I’m not nervous but a little embarrassed – I’m not used to being handled.”

“Don’t be – you have a thin build but strong and true and your back is straight and sound.”

“Clever little bugger,” Travis chuckled as Warwick’s hands rested on his waist, then with a cheeky smile he ran his hands over Travis buttocks and down his legs, returning along his inner thighs, commenting on their strength, while the vibration of the moving fingers along the denim stimulated Travis’ nerves, creating a mild reaction at the crotch.

“You ride horses?” Warwick suggests.

“Did – and you came to that conclusion by feeling my legs?”

“I’d like to ride,” Warwick declared then as he finished his exploration he gave Travis’ crotch a gentle innocent squeeze.

“You are male,” he laughed.

“I hope so,” Travis answered as he automatically flinched away from Warwick’s touch without feeling approached.

“Well now I know all about you but I lied about your horse riding. Mother told me you rode and your parents managed cattle stations.”

“Did but that was a year or so ago before dad’s accident.”

“Yes mum told me about your dad’s accident.”

“Do you like horses?” Travis asks.

“Dad once worked with horses but gave it away before I had my accident but I was much too young then to appreciate them.”

“Gee I could ride almost before I could walk,” Travis bragged.

“I think I would like to ride.”

“Possibly I could arrange something for you,” Travis offered.

“I don’t think mother would agree to that,” Warwick answered with a mocking tone towards parental control.

“How did you’re accident happen?”

Warwick laughed.

“I’m sorry; I shouldn’t pry into your privacy,” Travis apologised.

“No truly, ask as much as you wish, most are too scared to do so, they treat me as if I’m an invalid,” another laugh, “you know what I mean, I’m blind not broken, as for my accident, I was riding high on father’s shoulders and he stumbled hitting my head against a brick containing wall.”

“Ouch,” Travis commented.

“No ouch, I was out cold for more than a week and by the time I came around all was mended except I couldn’t see.”

“Your father must have felt bad.”

“He’s never forgiven himself.”

“What do you do for entertainment?” Travis thought best to change the subject away from Warwick’s misfortune.

“I like reading,”

“How?”

“Braille,”

“What’s that?”

Warwick reached for a book resting close by on a small lamp table at the end of the couch; he opened and passed the book to Travis.

“There isn’t anything written in it,”

“As I said Braille, run your finger over the page.”

“There are lots of little bumps,”

“That’s how I read, it’s called Braille.”

“Clever,” Travis closed the book and placed it aside, “what else do you do, except for your weights?”

Warwick gave a soft chuckle.

“What?”

“You know whatever else a young male does to relieve the tension.”

“Now you are really embarrassing me,” Travis admitted.

“When you are locked in darkness there isn’t anything such as embarrassment.”

“I guess not,”

“I play cards,”

“How?”

Warwick reached towards the small table sited at the other end of the couch, opening a draw he withdrew a pack of cards. Opening the pack he shuffled them like a gaming professional and fanned them out.

“Pick a card,”

Travis reached across and chose a card from centre fan.

“Give it to me,” Warwick placed the card picture down on the couch without viewing it, “It’s the queen of hearts,”

“How do you know that?”

“They are specially marked.”

“That’s cheating but how do you play a game without sight?”

“I remember my hand and as long as you truthfully announce the card you have played, the rest is easy. I also have the capability to memorise all cards that have been played. Possibly that could be considered to be cheating.”

“Again clever, I’ll have to come over sometime for a game. What do you like playing?”

“Hearts is always a good start but I am prone to cheating,” Warwick lightly admitted.

“Strip poker,” Travis laughed.

“In my case it would be a little one sided you would think,”

“True,”

Gary’s stories are about life in Australia as a gay man. Your emails to him are the only payment he receives. Email Gary to let him know you are reading: Gary dot Conder at CastleRoland dot Net

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