She shakes her head. "You poor bloke. Here, have the rest of my sarnie." Then offers me half of her sandwich.
Brilliant.
"It’s all right. Thank you." I walk away empty-handed. I don't need food. I need money to go home.
I walk further away and approach the next lot. They look my age. I hesitate, but one of them catches me approaching. "Need help with anything?" One of the lads ask.
"Would you have any spare change?" My voice squeaks at the last two words.
"Sorry, no," he says, shaking his head, giving me a solemn look.
The rest of his mates stare me down in anger.
"Get a proper job!" A gal a few seats down yells.
My head stoops low, but I continue my search.
When I’m far enough, I approach a young mum busy fussing over her two toddlers. "Excuse me, miss, would you happen to have any spare change?"
She looks up at me. I brace myself for another shouting match or anger, but her face registers surprise. She sizes me up, but her hand moves to her large handbag.
"Here," she says, handing me five pounds.
I almost don’t take it because of the way she’s looking at me: with so much pity. I can’t take it. Is this what Dad was talking about?
I can’t fully explain this feeling of having to beg for spare change. I’m ashamed.
"Thank you." I swallow the rest of my pride and take the money. If I am to make it back to Beverley, I need to do this.
"Take care," she says as I turn and to the farthest corner of the station.
I slump on the wall and take a deep breath.
This is what Dad warned me about—his deepest fear for me—yet here I am. Living it.
It’s the thought of having to get home that pushes me forward. I spot a nice looking gal and approach her. Before I even sit down, she shuts her book and narrows her eyes at me. "You. I saw you earlier. Don’t think you can roam around asking people for their spare change. I’ll report you to security!"
I jump back, not expecting her outburst. "Sorry," I mumble. I don’t want to get kicked out off the train station too. I flee to the other end of the station.
Maybe I can try again later when there is a new wave of people waiting for their train. I spot a secluded waiting area, sit down, and close my eyes to get some shut-eye. When I awaken from my deep slumber, it’s past dinnertime.
At night, the station’s fluorescent lights cast a haunting glow that makes the place look abandoned. The walls haven't been painted in a while, so most of the wallpaper is peeling and there are clumps of dust forming in some of the corners of the walls.
My stomach cramps from hunger. I stand to look for the new crowd near the food stalls to ask for spare change. Do I use up the last of my balance to buy a meal or save up what I have left for a train ticket?
I’m about to approach a young couple when one of the train station personnel gives me a suspicious look. I've been at the station for more than twelve hours and have seen him more than a dozen times roaming the area. He may report me to security and then where do I go?
My hunger overpowers the logic to save up for a ticket. I end up buying the cheapest thing I can find: a corn muffin. I have a few pounds left.
Exhaustion hits me as I sit down and devour my meal. I contemplate how much of an attitude change I need. I need to get a grip on how I react to rejection and challenges. I always act on impulse and it hasn’t been the best way to react to situations.
When I check the clock on the wall, it reads nine twenty-six. Do I risk getting kicked out of the station? Someone’s probably already noticed my overstay. The wait for a train doesn’t take more than a couple of hours and I’m certain someone will figure out soon that I’m using the train station as temporary shelter.
The same station personnel walks by from afar. He spots me then looks as if he’s about to approach me. I pull out my mobile and before I can talk myself out of it again, I press Mum’s number.
I wish there was another way to get back home, but their isn't.
The first step is to face my pride. I've already dug myself a deep hole...surely ringing Mum for money can't be any worse than risking homelessness at the train station, where I can be kicked out at any moment.
It rings only twice before she answers.
"Cameron, darling!" she sounds jolly good. That tone is about to change in a matter of seconds. "How’s the tour?"
"I’m coming home," I say with a morose tone and sigh. "It’s…over."
The station personnel halts as he sees me on the mobile. He must have heard me say I’m going home, so he leaves me be and turns the other direction.
"Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home earlier?" She’s panicking. "I have to prepare a good meal for you. I can only imagine what sort of things you must be eating on tour!"
I sigh again. "Mum…"
"What is it, dear?" she asks, noting my tone.
"I’ve made a right mess of everything." My voice cracks. "With Benji and Eric, my tour mates, Cassie…both my guitars have been nicked and to top it off, I don’t even have enough money to go back home." I don’t tell her today I’ve become a vagabond. It’ll only worry her more. "I was foolish to think I could succeed at this. You shouldn’t have risked your marriage for me. I’m nothing but a massive loser."
"Oh, Cameron." Her voice is gentle, but full of understanding. "It’s a risk I’m willing to take over and over if it means a chance for my children’s happiness. No one
