Love and Family Theme Analysis

‘Hey kid,
get outta there.
You’ll freeze to death.
That’ll teach you
to hitch a ride with National Rail.
No free rides with this government, son.
Just kidding.
I hate the bloody government.
Get your bag
and come back to the guard’s van.
There’s a heater that works,
and some coffee.[’]

I finished the book
nodded goodbye to Irene
and walked out
into the late afternoon cloud
and a slight drizzle.
No sleeping in the park tonight.
Two options:
a church
or a railway station.
Churches are too spooky and cold.
I walk to the station.
Men in suits, like tired penguins,
wait for the bus
and throw furtive glances
at the woman on the seat
reading a magazine.
She ignores them.

And yes I’ve been out with boys
‘on dates’
but mostly with Petra and Kate
and a whole gang together,
not alone.
And I’ve done some things,
you know,
at parties with boys,
just mild stuff really.
So I’m normal,
a normal seventeen year old.
I think about boys
but only in a general way
like not a boy I know
or anything
but just some good-looking guy
and me
and what we’d do
if we had the chance.
Pure fantasy really.
Nothing wrong with that,
but nothing real about it either.

I slept badly.
I dreamt of myself
as an old man
in a pub, at the bar,
watching the races on TV
with my smokes and my plans
for winning $5 on the grey horse
running second last.
All night
I could hear Old Bill
snoring, coughing,
swearing in his sleep.
He made more noise
than the wind
whistling through the freight yard.
I lay in bed
listening
afraid to fall asleep
and dream again
of myself
getting old
long before my time.

It’s simple, really.
I have more clothes
than I’ll ever wear.
I have a TV and a CD player
in my room
which has its own bathroom
which is always a mess
full of make-up and lip gloss
and moisturizer and special soaps.
I have a large desk with a computer
and next month,
when I turn eighteen,
my own bloody car.
And I’m not a spoilt brat OK,
but I am spoilt,
spoilt to boredom,
and I’m smart enough
to realise that none of this
means anything
except my parents are rich
and think I want this stuff
or need this stuff
and I know what I really need
and it’s not in my bedroom.
And it’s not able to be bought
in any damn store.

He gives me advice
on how to live cheap,
and how to jump trains
late at night,
and how to find out
which trains are going where,
and which trains have friendly guards.
He encourages me to travel,
to leave here
and ride the freights.
He makes it seem so special,
so romantic,
and I ask him
why he doesn’t do it,
you know,
if it’s so special,
and he tells me
about his Jessie
and his wife
and the house he visits
when too much drink
has made him forget
because without his ghosts
he’s afraid he’ll have nothing to live for.
And at that moment I know
I am listening to
the saddest man in the world.

I’ve got the weekend off.
No McDonald’s,
no schoolwork,
and thankfully no parents—
Mum has a conference interstate,
with Dad going along
‘for the golf’.
It only took three days
of arguing to convince
Mum and Dad that, at seventeen,
I can be trusted on my own,
even though I can’t.
And what is trust, anyway?
No, I won’t burn the house down.
No, I won’t drink all the wine.
No, I won’t have a huge drug party.
But
yes, I will invite Billy over
and yes, I will enjoy myself
in this house,
this big, ugly, five-bedroom
million dollar brick box
that we live in.

Billy returned an hour later
and came to my carriage.
We sat opposite, talking.
I heard the bottles clink
in his bag
and said,
‘Come on, then,
let’s have them.’
But when he brought out
the ginger beer
I swore
and laughed
and swore some more,
but really
you’ve got to admire the kid.
So I drank the stuff
and we sat up late
talking
and I slept
better than I had in a long time
so maybe
just maybe
I’ll work on less beer
for a while.
For the kid’s sake.

Jessie and I stood on the verandah,
Jessie holding the bird gently.
She opened her hands
and it sat on her palms
looking at her
then it turned and flew
high into the wattle
where it perched.
Jessie waved
and the bird flew away.

I thought of Jessie
helping that bird
and how, after it left,
Jessie turned to me
and said that
when she grew up
she wanted to be a vet,
she wanted to heal animals
and to help people.

I arrive at Billy’s
and he’s in the kitchen
scrubbing the floor.
He’s already done the bathroom.
I vacuum the lounge
and the main bedroom—
it’s only dust
that’s gathered lonely in the corners
and on the curtains.
Billy and I work all morning.
We eat lunch under the fir trees
and look at the house.
We don’t say much.
We lie on the blanket
and hold each other.
Billy has his arms around me
and his eyes turned
towards the white timber house.

Last night,
unable to sleep
[…]
I got dressed, closed the door gently,
and walked the streets,
and as the Town Hall clock
tolled midnight
I stood on the railway platform
looking across at the carriages,
my home for these past months.
I knew Old Bill was asleep
like most of Bendarat.
I made a silent vow
to visit my carriage,
once a week,
to sit and read, alone, on the leather seat,
with the sounds and smells
of the hobo life close by,
to never forget this home
by the railroad tracks.