Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: REMEMBER (02/03/22)
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TITLE: A Fall From High on the Hog | Previous Challenge Entry
By Philippa Geaney
02/10/22 -
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I opened the pen gates, and the squeals, the grunts, and their heavyweight shoulder thrusts were only slightly more tolerable. These indulged captives were to enjoy free-roaming while I dealt with their stalls, and they rushed off, their barrel-shaped bodies swaying from side to side as they made their way into the sunshine.
What I wouldn’t give to devour one of the juicy corn cobs that made up their evening meal.
My stomach growled with hunger. Meals were not provided for the workers in this Agribusiness, and while at the end of the day, other workers headed off to home and family, carrying their once full lunch boxes, I had neither home nor lunch box.
It was entirely my fault.
But at least the Corporation provided a courtesy bus, which helped because I had no car.
The winter wind was fierce as the other weary workers and I clambered on board at sunset and dozed off and on during the drive into the heart of the city. That is where the courtesy ended.
The bus ride over, I walked, passing the hotel that had once welcomed my friends and me and my bulging wallet. Nothing seemed to have changed. The rich, the ‘wanna be’s and their ‘hangers on’ moved in and out.
For a moment, I stood recalling the past life of loud music, wine, and laughter… in excess. We considered ourselves the beautiful people. Haughty and bored, our beauty was only skin deep, for we all had our secrets.
As irony would have it, I’d lived high on the hog until my money ran out. My friends ran even faster.
Now my creditors were given the first slice of my wages before my employer transferred small change into my bank account. If I was careful, I ate at McDonald’s once a week and lived on instant noodles otherwise.
I needed to hurry as the shelter where I checked in most nights locked their doors at 9 pm. I was grateful for their bed but not for the noise. The dark hours were often filled with crying, shrieks, and incoherent grunts as sleepers wrestled with their demons.
Some summer nights, I slept rough, risking a park bench over misery.
‘Sorry Mate. All full. The cold must’a chased folk indoors earlier tonight.’ The night manager gave a resigned shrug as he flipped the NO ROOMS AVAILABLE sign toward the street.
‘Ask the bloke running the mobile soup kitchen over at St Luke’s. He’ll know if there are any vacancies on the north side.’ He waved and disappeared further into the warmth.
I stared at the sign. Somehow the words and my misery broke through the defenses I’d used to justify my past. Memories of home came flooding back.
‘Your room will always be here for you. Come home when you are ready, Son. I’ll be waiting.’
My father embraced me at the time, but I’d grinned and tossed an expensive leather case into my car. Father’s love meant little to me all those years ago. I couldn’t wait to burn rubber. Didn’t he know I would be the one to find real life?
Fool that I was.
Turning from the Shelter, I leaned into the bitter wind and tried to forget what I’d carelessly thrown away.
A rough traveler joined me when St Luke’s lay about two blocks north.
'You walk like a man about to make an important decision, Mate.’
That made me look up, but I shrugged and answered, ‘Not my strong point, unfortunately.’
I ignored him then, occupied as I was in dealing with the memories of home and the comforts that my Dad’s hard work and position in society had provided.
Most of all, I pictured my father’s face as his parting words came back to me.
‘Come home when you’re ready, Son. I’ll be waiting’.
‘I’m ready, Dad,’ the words escaped as I gulped in broken breaths of cold air. But how could I be called his son? I’ve been too wilful and foolish. I’ll ask to work and live in the outbuildings with his laborers. How did I not realize how generous Dad was with wages, food, and even the shelter he provided?
‘Call home, Mate. Your father is longing for you.’ The rough traveler touched my shoulder, smiled, and walked away.
I called home; collect.
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