HOME BOY

                                                               

 I wrote this for a short story competition. Didn't come in as a winner, so it's probably pretty hopeless, but it does reflect some of my views on life!!

"Maybe this was not such a good idea after all," thought Gwen. Alone in the carriage, she knitted furiously, rocking with the rhythm of the train as it hurtled through the night. "What will I do if the wrong kind of person gets on at the next stop?"

She had felt so helpless, so dependent on the family since Jim had died. They were good to her but she could not expect her children and grandchildren to live her life for her. Finally the urge to get out of the confines of her unit had overcome her fear. That had been instilled by the thick black headlines in the papers, telling of crime in the city and on the trains. Jim had always said it was nonsense, that things were not really that bad. But what if he was wrong? He was not here now to help her. So she had booked a seat for the new David Williamson play, in what now seemed a moment of madness. She had set off on her own, confident that she was mistress of her destiny. But that had been when the soft evening light had cast a benevolent glow on the scenery as she had sped by from her suburban safehouse. Now it was dark and cold.  Stations flashed by every intermittently, unlit and deserted.

The train slowed and stopped. The doors hissed open. Gwen glanced up nervously. There was no one on the platform. The doors started to close. The sound of running feet and  raucous shouts heralded a mob of young men. They shoved the doors back and burst into the carriage like a pack of young Rottweilers. Gwen recognised their uniform - the baggy pants, shirts tied around their waists, baseball caps on back to front. These were the home boys her newspapers had told her about. These were the people who bashed and stole from anyone and everyone. She gripped her knitting needles tighter. At least she could use them to ward off the first attack.

One of the young men glanced her way. He turned to his companions and made some remark which set them guffawing like a bunch of hyenas. Pushing and shoving, they made their way to the other end of the carriage. As he came towards her, Gwen saw that he had a funny smile on his face. His eyes glinted. She dropped her eyes to her knitting as he banged down into the seat opposite her.

"Howyer goin'?", he said.

"Good," she replied, not looking up.

"I wanna speak to you." Something in his tone made Gwen look up sharply.  She saw that his eyes were swimming - was this the effect of the crack she had read about? "When I saw you sitting there, I thought you were my Nanna. But then I remembered. My Nanna is gone. She died last month. "  Tears started coursing down the young man's cheeks.

Gwen bundled her knitting away. Sitting next to the lad she held him while he sobbed out his sadness and his grief. " Men", she thought, "they are all really little boys at heart. Even home boys."