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After two nights away from Ari in Sydney catching up with Theo and Lily, seeing his security business and a bit of shopping, I’d arrived at the place that had changed my life.
Shearing School was in session.
Theo was running the show and had just introduced me for a short speech to the group of lads who’d arrived yesterday.
A bloody speech.
For the longest five minutes of my life. Ari got up in front of twenty-five year two students each weekday and taught them things. But me, in front of twenty-two teens who’d been through the courts, this was a lamb-to-the-wolves situation.
“Let me break it down for you,” I began, smoothing my notes. “Everything I owned used to fit in my motorbike’s panniers. AndI mean everything. Clothes, swag, socks, jocks, stuff. The lot. Even a bottle of cologne, which might sound weird, but I liked the brand, and it always worked with the ladies, and yeah, I have cologne.”
The teens snorted and smirked.
“All my music, audiobooks and photos were via an app on my phone. Still are. But now? I have a suit. And three bloody ties. And dress shirts that needed ironing. A wardrobe now, full of clothes and shoes. I even own slippers to wear around the house in winter. And a dressing gown. You feel like lord of the manor walking around in your slippers and dressing gown, listening to the radio, making a coffee at dawn.
“And still have jocks, socks and the same cologne. But now I also have a coffee table covered in photo albums. My, ah, girlfriend, she prints them at the end of every year, choosing her favourite photos, uploading them and ordering a photo book.”
I cleared my throat. “And yeah, that’s a difference; I have a girlfriend now.”
Laughter rippled across the group.
“And not just a coffee table; I now have tablecloths. Placemats. Artwork from the 1970s.”
“So what?” someone at the back piped up. “What’s your point, mate?”
What even was my bloody point? I’d had one a week ago when I’d written my speech notes and then practised every day in front of Ari.
I shifted in my seat, the fabric scratchy, much like my grandad’s old couch. After a year of putting up with its scratchy synthetic upholstery, I realised I could use some of the money I’d scraped together to buy a new one.
My new couch had a chaise lounge to stretch out. Lying on it, in my dressing gown and slippers, drinking hot chocolate with the fire going in winter, I was a king.
Lord Jethro of Kingsley, the name I’d given my property. Named after my grandfather.
Ari had bought me a sign for the front gate for Christmas.
I coughed to clear my throat again. “That’s pretty much the question. What is the point of what I’m talking about? What is the point of being here?”
I scratched my head and stared out at the pimply faces. Some of the guys had dull eyes, glazed over. I was either boring them to tears or that was the look of kids who’d checked out, who’d seen things. Shitty, terrible things.
One or two sneered, as teens did, cynical at the world. What the hell did I have to tell them that could help?
But the majority of the teens were listening. Waiting. A little scared about the two weeks to come, mostly curious. And hopeful.
“I guess what I’m trying to say is you’re not here to choose tablecloths or new couches or slippers. All of that is just stuff, but for the first time in my life, I like being in one place and having roots. Having friends. Finding love. I even enjoy work. It’s bloody hard, and often, but I love getting up at dawn and seeing what the day brings.
“I’m here to say I’m grateful. This place turned it all around for me. People like Theo who challenged me to get on the shears and give it a go.
“I can absolutely say that giving this a go changed my life. And it can change yours if you want it to. You could be cynical and say ‘Whatever, man. I don’t want a place with tablecloths, and fruit bowls and photo albums and the world’s biggest TV.’ Fair call. What I mean is, this place could set you up for a different future. Gives you skills and contacts to earn good money that could mean you could get your own place where you feel safe, where you are loved, where you have a fucking fruit bowl if you want to; you know what I’m saying?”
The group laughed again. Some nodded.
“While you’re here, do it for you. You’re not doing this for a judge or an arresting officer. You have a choice. You’re worth it.” I quickly folded my speech notes and stowed them in my back pocket. “Any questions?”
One teen threw his hand up, grinning. “You gonna marry your girlfriend?”
The group laughed and sniggered.
My hand flew to the front right pocket of my jeans.
