The night was fine and clear, as a certain lanky, ‘vacant-faced youth’ sat watching a group of teenagers playing soccer on Waihi reserve. He had sat for a while, staring miserably, although to the teenagers it seemed vacantly, at nothing, contemplating an idea that had been forming in his head. A despairing countenance pervaded his sharp, if not strangely handsome features, although his eyes were somewhat dully alert to activites happening around him. He had watched without reason the actions of the teenagers who played before him on the reserve, noticing that, before eating, they had said a prayer of thanks. The boy concluded that they were religious kids, probably out to have a good time and forget about everyone else.
However, one thing held his fascination and attention; they were actually acting like normal teenagers having fun on a Friday night. This was new, as his experience of religious freaks was the stiff, false, “I can’t do that, sorry, I‘m too holy” type of people next door. These kids were all shouting and laughing and even the girls were playing soccer as intensely as the boys.
While the boy stared at these unusual types of Christians, an emptyness flooded his already miserable soul. He tore his gaze off the fortunate teenagers and stared, tormented, at the appearing stars in the summer sky. Why am I like this? What’s the point of life anyway? Those kids seem to know. Hell, I don’t even know who I am anymore. So how would I be able to know the meaning of life if I don’t even know who I am? Life’s useless to me.
Something bumped his leg, bringing him out of his disturbing reverie. The boy looked down. It was the soccer ball.
“Oh sorry!!” A girl called. “I accidentally kicked it too hard!! Don’t worry, I’ll come and get it.” She ran toward him, her frizzy hair bouncing around all over the place. This must be the one he’d heard the others call Frizzo, the boy thought disinterestedly. He stayed where he was. They could look after their own property for all he cared. She reached the seat where he was sitting; the ball lay beside his feet. “Sorry about that, I should of looked where I was kicking it, stupid me.” She grinned. He said nothing, just stared.
“What’s your name?” The ball was in her hands.
“Tom.” He said it resentfully.
“Ok. Cool. My grandpa’s called that too.”
“Really?” Tom didn’t even care.
Angelina didn’t blink once. “Hey, do you want to play soccer with us? We could use another player on the boys’ side. Plus, they’re loosing too.” She laughed and turned to face the others, who were making their impatience loudly known. “All right, all right! Hold your horses! Man, give me a break! Here, have the ball, I‘ll be there in a mo’.” She drop-kicked the ball in their direction before turning back to Tom, eyebrows raised questioningly.
He couldn’t really make this girl out: Firstly, who would ask someone they hardly know to join in a game; secondly, as she could see he was some sort of street kid, why did she still ask? Who would want a lousy street kid messing up their Friday-night fun?
Tom shrugged indifferently. “Nah, I don’t feel like it.”
“That’s fine. Just thought I’d ask all the same. Anyway, the offer’s always open, remember.”
He watched her run back to the group, which was now re-emerged in the cares of the game.
If anyone could have looked into Tom Manson’s heart right then, they would have seen the opposite answer of the one he had spoken to Angelina Peters, residing in its depths. His tough nature had caused him to seem indifferent and refuse her offer, but deep down, Tom could easily have broken down right then and there at the kindness she demonstrated. In his present state of mind, human concern was what he most needed. Yet because of his pride, he had lost the chance.
‘Anyway, the offer’s always open, remember.’ He considered it. Tom was more hungry for human help than he was able to admit, and this was the only factor that drove him to reconsideration.
The sky was now fully dark, stars were numerous, everything was peaceful. The youth group had lit a small fire, which sent out an inviting glow, making him feel evermore desolate. He desperately needed something, but didn‘t know what. Life had left him empty and unfeeling, bitter toward anything and everything. Still, Tom refused to turn to drugs and alchohol. His Mum had ended that miserable way. He wasn’t going to. But, pretty soon, if something didn’t happen, he would find himself seriously rethinking that distant vow.
At last, he gave in. Help as he knew it, could only come through fellow humans and this was probably his best chance.
Toughness turned to desperation.
Tom walked over to their tables and stood just inside the ring of firelight.
Angelina noticed him first. “Hey, come on over! We’re just roasting marshies.” She smiled, as the others echoed her welcome. “I didn‘t know you‘d still be here! Come on, sit down.” She moved over on her blanket and patted the ground beside her as he hesitated.
Tom did as she said. He pushed his hands into the pocket of his black hoody and sat hunched up beside her, conscious of his position. He’d never willingly sat beside a girl before.
“Hey mate. It’s not much, but help yourself.” A guy of about twenty-two pushed some fish and chips towards him. Tom was starving. He mumbled an intelligible phrase of thanks and started eating.
“As you’ve probably noticed, I’m Danny; these brats’ youth leader.” He grinned at the protests of denial. “Nah, just jokes. They’re good kids, but as always, they DO have a cheeky side.” He put another log on the fire. “So, what’s up? What’s your name?”
“Tom.”
“Sweet. Where you from mate?”
“Here. Waihi”
“Cool. We just hang out on Fridays, it’s our youth night. These guys’ll tell you more though because I’ve gotta go and pick up Holly from work. She’s my fiancè. We’re getting married soon.” Danny got up and asked one of the boys to pass his keys. “Remember, Tyler, your in charge while I’m gone ok?”
Tyler, who was listening to music, lifted one earphone as the guy next to him jabbed him in the ribs. Danny repeated his statement and Tyler nodded. “Sure.” He put his earphones on again.
When the youth leader had gone off on his errand, Tom finished eating and looked up.
“Wanna roast a marshmellow Tom? They’re pretty nice.” A boy with blondy hair grinned across the dancing flames. “Hey, I’m Luke. Nice to have you here.”
“No thanks. Don’t really feel like sweet stuff.” Tom stared into the fire.
I like the open and care free feeling to it.
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