Marching Orders

One afternoon I found myself killing time on the quite streets of western Sydney, I wasn’t lost nor did I know where I was going, I was merely floating, hovering if you will, in and out of the side streets and donut shops of the town with every cinnamon fix waiting for a further moments entertainment on what was turning out to be the dullest Friday afternoon to date.

From a distance I could see a change in pattern of the style in which people were walking some 100 yards ahead. At first all would be as expected, when slowly the stepping pattern would slightly alter and the tempo of which the arms were swung would increase, of course to what effect was strictly on a case by case basis however there was no mistaking as people strolled past going about their daily business, the rhythm in which they would do so was dramatically changing and then changing back within the space of a few square meters. Almost as if stepping through an invisible force field of funk, to which all who enter are un knowingly, un willingly forced to bust a move as if in a Coca Cola commercial, only to cease immediately upon re entry to the human realm as if nothing had happened at all.

This pleased me. I stood and observed for awhile wondering if this was actually happening or whether there was a little something extra in my donut. I walked closer and found that I too was succumbing to this phenomena of soul and as I entered this new world to my surprise found the source to be a short homeless man, noticeably old but the years had served him well. He was wearing an old grey suit which was stained and the stitching was coming undone from the seams on his left shoulder. His weapon of choice was an old wooden guitar and a voice which seemed unfitting from the body it was coming from.

I stood for awhile longer trying to look casual by leaning against a near by Streetlight smiling and bobbing away to the performance at hand when I noticed as people passed by, they would drop coins, notes or cigarettes in a case sitting half a meter away from the man. Confused I looked at him as he stopped what he was playing to lean over and retrieve one of the cigarettes that had been given to him. He stared back inquisitively as he sparked one up, as I continued to linger in thought over the situation.

“So you’re a beggar then”

He looked up at me with a smile, smoke almost covering his face as he chuckled to himself

“No son, I aint no beggar”

The look on his face explained that he was well aware of how this confused me so.

“Im a busker kid, I put on a show and if you like what im doing you can contribute, or not, there’s no pressure”

Taking my support off the street light I walked towards the case reaching into my pocket and pulling out my last five dollar note and placing it inside the case.
He nodded in approval and began to play again. I stood some more watching what was happening I had seen it before but not like this, he was actually…well…good.

“They call me River”

“River?!”

“yes sir, River Casey, the rivercat of Nepean and Im pleased to make your acquaintance”

“River Cat Casey huh”

“that’s right, and now that we are friends, why don’t you come around this corner here, Ive got something to show you.”

Ha, no I’m lying! River was o.k.

As young as I was, I still remember pondering just what the hell kind of name is that. I had asked him later on and he used to just sit with a smile, saying “my parents were hippies”, as a youngster this of course made no sense, but you’ll be happy to know that I am now fully aware that mama and papa River showed their loving support to the earth by rolling her up and smoking her.

God damn it hippies give the worst names, they really should be banned, both hippies and celebrities. I mean River seemed almost fitting for the man now, but as a kid? I don’t think so. I dare say they pretty much decided his future right there and then. I’m not doubting the parenting skills or anything like that but you name your kid Nigel, odds are your not looking down the barrel of a winner. God only knows what’s going to happen to poor Apple. I fear that senator Apple may not get a fair go. However I can’t say I blame em, how can anyone listen to a word anyone says when all you can do is think of pie, I do love pie though, mmm mmm sweet senator pie.

It’s odd to think about, how one single cinnamon influenced afternoon could make such a difference. Some time passed and I was honestly captivated by the atmosphere. River had it down, cover to cover and I learnt a lot through it. He installed a passion for music in me through which he taught me not just how to play and sing but how to entertain, that even the lowliest of person could be the object of peoples affection, if only for a glimpse.

For sometime I would return to Rivers spot 3,4 sometimes 5 times a week throwing in what money I could spare and jamming along with my gifted but kinda funky smelling friend.

I met many different types of people, from all different backgrounds and ideas at that spot, there was really only one purpose to anyone who intentionally showed up, But it was interesting to see in the different manners of which people would go about it, some would get jiggy with it, right there in an extremely extravagant display, others would show their support by throwing in some supplies and standing off to the side nodding away and simply agreeing with the show. And there was also others who might grab a guitar or some bongos and join in.

But there were others, some would attempt to dictate the pace requesting songs without ever throwing in to contribute, announcing how they do it and demanding we do the same, Ideally they were their in support but to me they had know business or authority to be demanding anything. But old River cared not, he would just throw me a glance with that smirk of his and calmly oblige to whatever request, it didn’t matter to him that it was a different thing every week or even that some things contradicted the prior demands. Even as a youngster I questioned the importance of these people, but River was the boss and I would do my best to comply.

8 years passed almost to the day, and things had un noticeably changed, I realise now that when things slowly change over a period of time, it is almost impossible to detect.

The imperial finger of blame had been directed at me by many, both friends and acquaintances alike, sadly I wish I could agree, for then I could have analysed and changed accordingly, for truth be told I loved what I was doing. Unfortunately this was not the case, I could not agree, honestly in my opinion, I simply just grew up.

I began to notice little differences at first, Rivers clothes began to get nicer and nicer which, you know, is a good thing but with it, that sweet, wise old man was beginning to become a young, egotistical business man, if that makes sense. Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, only the way he began to deal with situations and people had gotten to be almost disturbing and indecent. Understand that it may not have seemed so bad coming from some jerk in the office, but this was River, my beacon of light, the sign that there is still good in this world yet.

Another thing that I didn’t see until it was to late was the regular attendees seemed to be over run with the people not there to support River but to control and manipulate him, and me for that matter, to suit there own agendas. Between the arguments came the silent confrontations. Hidden smirks and pre meditated fights, said assailants would begin to pressure me and bait me, to which I would react quite irrationally only for River to scorn me, whilst standing in plain view as River did so they would stand smiling and winking satisfied in there deceit. Not even 90210 or Passions can prepare you for that kind of ordeal.

Then the days came when River stopped showing up altogether, I would cover him gladly though it was beginning to become remorsefully, only for River to show up later on to collect the earnings.

I never once took a cent from that guitar case, it wasn’t mine to take. I loved playing alongside and for him, I loved most of the people that were involved in his streetlight production and I really respected and trusted River enough to be there for him despite the circumstances.

None of these things made much of a difference to me. Don’t get me wrong, they sucked, Hard! But they were never enough for me to walk away. The kicker was River began to stop talking to me. In the old days we would sit and chat, he’d tell me bout his crazy stories and I’d ask him if he thought Mary had cooties or not. River was more than a friend to me, River was family and the growing distance, made the whole musical service seem pointless and time waisting.

To make matters worse, I began to need times for study, times when my job or girlfriend came first, River always proclaimed he understood but as I was unable to be there 5 times a week anymore tension was beginning to surface.

It got to the point where I would arrive, play, throw some cash into the pot and be on my way without even a single positive look from River, he would accuse me of lying about where I was and not contributing as much as before both money and time wise, seemingly unaware that I was in fact, volunteering my support, services and finances.

Here say and slanderess gossip began to flow between River and these others whom I’d had contested. Rumours of me undercutting River, reached his ears and by this point he did not speak to me at all. Never once did he ask me if there was truth in their words. Ironically I had always assumed that if he believed it he would ask me, and he was under the belief that if it wasn’t true I would come say something (assuming that I knew.)

And then one day, he spoke. I’d almost forgotten what he sounded like.

I was early that day, because I couldn’t stay too long. I assumed that’s why he was there, I figured he wasn’t expecting me so early as an explanation for his rare appearance. I through a look over to him as a replacement of saying hi, but he seemed to be busy with whatever. Case flipped open I assumed the position and began to tune.

“I wouldn’t make yourself to comfortable kid, you and me gotta talk”

I lifted my head to find River standing over me, with business written all over his now well shaven face.

“This here, what we’re doing, it’s finished o.k! You’re out. you have no place here anymore”

He didn’t wait for a rebuttal, almost immediately he turned and began to walk away.

“Are you kidding me, I told you I can’t make it Sundays anymore! and you know damn well why.

River was all business now and continued to walk away with out any acknowledgement.

“it doesn’t have to end like this River, you owe me more than this”

His head dropped as he stopped walking.

“its nothing personal, but I got rules now, its just how it is”

“Personal! Not personal, Ive come back here for 8 years River, ive given you my time and my money, I put this before my career and even my girlfriend. Ive stuck through 3 years of complete bullshit just so you can turn around and say the place that I have earnt is no longer mine, and you wanna tell me its not personal”

“this was inevitable, you know that. Right from the start you were never gonna be like us, and now it’s like you act like your always annoyed or angry. Just seems like you don’t wanna be here anymore”

Both of our voices were beginning to escalate, as two years of built up aggression was finally seeing the light of day.

“of course I don’t seem happy, you treat me like shit River. All I ever wanted to do was be a part of this and you haven’t spoken to me in months, you learn every bit of information from your dick head groupies and cut me off every chance you get, and yet I stayed like an idiot, hoping that just Fucking once, someone could see the reason that I’m still here.”

“You act like you make the rules here, but you don’t. This is my game, not yours and your part in all of this is over”

“Rules, since when has anything we do here represent your legalistic declarations created off the bat of your own egotistical, manipulated mind! and would you mind telling me just what the hell has that to do with anything, just what the hell is all this about?”

“YOU!!! IT’S ABOUT YOU, O.K”

And then there was silence.

The loudest silence I have ever witnessed. The best I could do was stare blankly at him, I had never heard River scream like that before.

After a few deep breaths, he re adjusted his composure and returned to a normal volume.

“Its you kid, I hate it but it’s you, everything you’ve done here, everything! its erased by every problem that you being here has created. Your fault or not, you gone means problems gone.”

“River, you cant mean that, your…your selling me out.”

“enough o.k, just let it go. You need to be a man about this now, you just don’t belong here.”

“8 years and this is how it ends? There is no coming back from this you know, this changes everything.”

“Coming back? I think we both know you ain’t ever coming back”

No goodbyes and no apologies. Just like that, it was over. I placed my guitar inside her case, as River turned his back for the very last time. I began to walk, where? I did not know, I was merely floating, hovering if you will, in and out of the boardwalks and Starbucks’s of Sydney’s westend.

1999 – 2007

14 – 22,

Such was my time at that corner. The now concreted pavement, that was once my home away from home, remains nothing more than the worlds education to a somewhat naïve kid.

From that very spot, I have seen businesses go up and businesses go under, constant renovations and technology advancements. I sore people change, change back and change again and yet as I turned to gaze back, it had seemed as if only a moment had passed since that day all those years ago.

I wished it all had been just that, a moment, a glimpse, just a bad trip from an otherwise delicious cinnamon experience.

I glared expectantly into my reflection off a nearby shop window, hoping for that 14 year old kid to be staring right back at me, wishing I could warn him, hoping I could stop him. But no matter how many times I clicked my heels, the only one staring back at me was this unimpressed, bitter man.

I could see the distrusting nature in his eyes, the burning anger of his waisted years. He shrugged at me and I shrugged back, I asked what had happened and he kicked me in the crutch.

I hobbled down the busy boardwalks of Sydneys west, I wasn’t lost, nor did I know where I was headed, shuffling in and out of the department stores and Starbucks’s, with every 5 syllable beverage, becoming more and more high to its blend. Only one thought, only one ambition circulating through my mind.

“God, I wish I had another Donut, hot damn that would be sweet.”