Missed Freedom

I didn’t see the drone arrive. It was whirring away when I opened the front door, visible over the driveway and capturing the attention of a curious cat. My laconic Lachlan leaned against the door jamb and said, “That package came by the drone.”

I nodded enthusiastically, and said too loudly, “How are you Lachie?”

I was over doing it because this was the first time he had initiated conversation for about a month. In protective mode, I ran my eyes and brain all over his 16- year- old body.

Who knew when he would come out of his room, or explain his arrivals and leavings?

He looked lean, pale, and downright subdued but I’d just found an empty supreme pizza box, and two sucked dry packages of liquid breakfast in the kitchen so I knew he’d been snacking.

I smiled at him, and he smiled back. I relaxed. Then he said the words, “Flights to LA are only 1300 return.”

He wanted to visit his Dad far away, and I pushed down my fear of rejection. I convincingly pretended I didn’t hear him. My brain repeated the justification that he wouldn’t be safe. Our regional city couldn’t prepare a sixteen-year-old for Los Angeles. I was surprised that he disappeared back into his room and didn’t hang around for the package opening like he would have as a child.

I wondered to myself, Who would be delivering a package by drone to me?

I picked up the box, and carried it through to the living room.

Lachlan’s drone had been inoperable for a couple of months, but one of his friends had one so I was surprised that it was my name on the label of the box. I allowed my ego to take over with some imaginary attention. I felt insecure so I wondered if it might be that Tech guy whom I’d first dated about six weeks ago. He hadn’t called for a third date, and I had really liked him, well his sense of humour at least.

I wanted to open the box, but I didn’t. I checked my email, I watered the pot plants, and brought in some clothes stiff with dryness. I brought my invoices up to date. The box was perfectly plain except for the white kitchen string that secured it, and my name written in permanent marker. My anticipation grew, and the silence was punctuated by the ticking of the analogue clock in the kitchen. Perfect shafts of light coming through the trellis on the verandah lit up dust motes dancing inside the window. I reached for a pair of scissors from the caddy on my desk, and cut the string on the box. Inside the box were a lot of old bank notes. The presence of one and two-dollar Australian notes dated the money to about twenty-five years before. The money was dusty and slightly wrinkly as if it had been stored somewhere dirty and damp.

I tingled.

Why would someone send me a bunch of old money by drone?

I counted the money and was surprised that it totaled $2200. But the one- and two-dollar notes would be worth nothing to the bank surely?

I googled the question and found that I could still legally exchange one- and two-dollar notes. I looked at them with a feeling of nostalgia. I remembered when a $1 chocolate coated ice cream was a thing and I bought them with the brown coloured notes.

2200.

I thought of my son and his remark about the airfares. He had sweated and saved to get the equivalent of 1000 USD in spending money. I could buy him the airfare as an early seventeenth birthday present, and I wouldn’t have to dip into my savings. He was asking for that freedom, but my stomach sank at the thought of letting him go.

During the night I tossed and turned.

The money came suspiciously so I need to report it to the police.

I could avoid Lachlan and his questions if I stopped by the police station on the way to work.

The Constable behind the desk stared at me like I had two heads. “How much is there?”

“2200.”

He looked closely. “It’s old and it turned up at your house delivered by a drone?”

“That’s correct.”

“Had you seen this money before it turned up yesterday?”

“No. I haven’t seen any two-dollar notes for over twenty years.”

“You may leave this if you like, but it means paperwork for me. I can just pop out the back for a few seconds, and you can leave taking that box, and the money with you.”

He disappeared through the dark glass door behind the desk. I left with the money still in my possession.

I bought a takeaway at the coffee van in the law courts car park. I sipped my long black while watching the shifting shadows across the footpath of the nearby windblown trees. When the cup was empty I went to the library to do research for a client. In the library car park, I placed the mystery box in the boot of my car before noticing the library wasn’t open yet. I went for a walk and thought about what was going on with me. I’d rather give that money away than send my son to see his Dad right now. I thought of putting the money in a term deposit and pulling it out just before he turned eighteen and giving it to him. The ugly truth was I never wanted to make it easy for him to leave when he was an adult.

I did a morning’s research, and then went to meet two of my friends in a coffee shop that overlooked the local lake. One of my friends started a conversation with an acquaintance of hers while we were in the coffee shop. My friend asked this lady, “So how’s your son Ricky?”

“He’s OK, but a bit discouraged. He’s had a bunch of trouble with his motorbike, and a bunch of medical bills while he’s been trying to save for a trip to Indonesia. He wants to do a six-week volunteer stint at an orphanage there. Some of the kids are blind and deaf. He just wants to be a pediatrician, but he didn’t do that well in year 12. I was sick that year, and his Dad was gone by then.”

“Tell him not to lose heart,” my friend said, “If Ricky’s meant to go it will work out.”

“Yes. The lady looked uncertain, “He’d just moved into a unit down near the local primary school when this run of bad luck started. He had it all figured out but he’s not going to make the trip a couple of months from now.”

“Where does he work again?”

“At the grocery store that’s just opened. It’s only a couple of blocks from where he lives.”

My friend squeezed the lady’s arm. Tears came to the lady’s eyes as she said, “You just want your kids to get a break sometimes, that’s all!”

“Yeah, even when they’re not kids anymore,” my friend said.

Not only was I as sympathetic as the next person to disadvantaged orphans, but I could also get rid of the money without feeling like a villain. However, I was too proud to show an interest right there and couldn’t think what my answer should be when my friends asked why I was keen to give $2000 to a young man who wanted to go on a volunteer trip. I didn’t quite fit the picture of a philanthropist. The trick was to find out where this young man lived.

I asked my friend, “So where is this unit block your friend’s son’s lives in?” I picked a crumb off my plate, wanting to look like I didn’t care about the answer.

She looked at me doubtfully before answering, “If you go out to the parking lot of the Triple A supermarket on the roundabout opposite the main shopping center you can look across the southeast corner of it. On the opposite corner of the cross street there’s about five brown brick units. In there somewhere.”

I felt as if that money was going to catch fire in my boot before I got rid of it. I needed to go to that store so I could take note of the names of the men in their twenties on shift. Then I could check the mailboxes at the unit block. I didn’t realize how hard it was going to be to check the name badges of up to five people at separate check outs without looking like an idiot. After going into the store and purchasing two loaves of bread and some eggs ( they wouldn’t go to waste with Lachlan) I went to the checkout area. The checkout I ended up in was attended by a woman in her forties like me, so I had to hang around after paying for my groceries running my eyes over the employees. There were two men there named Ricky and Michael. Ricky had dark hair like the lady in the coffee shop, and I’d confirmed he was at work.

I grabbed the box from my boot after depositing the bread and eggs. Taking out just two hundred dollars, I put it in my purse. I grabbed some loose sheets of A4 paper from my bag in the boot and folded them in thirds. I put them in my hand and hoped they looked like flyers from a distance. I walked across the parking lot, and across the rear cross street. There were the brown brick units. I peeked into the mailboxes, but I couldn’t see any mail addressed to Mr R… I felt along the back of them, but the backs were secured with padlocks. I slipped one of my fake flyers into one of the boxes. I walked around the block and came back. I went into the car park of the unit block. I noticed a walkway along the side. Could I walk down there and see if there was a way into the back of the units?

I kept following the walkway.

Eureka!

The lane way was L-shaped and off the rear portion were gates into the courtyard of each unit. I randomly picked the third gate across and went into the yard. A dog started a loud high-pitched yapping inside the unit. A voice from the direction of the next-door property called out, “Shut up, Giant!” The dog’s misnomer was followed by a few yips.

Silence.

The money had to be dumped and I needed to get out fast. It never occurred to me to look for evidence of a motorbike, and I didn’t know if Ricky had a dog. I spotted the hot water service near the back door with a box around it. There was a handle on the side of the box to a large access door. I opened it and dumped the money beside the hot water service. The door squeaked when I opened it and snapped loudly when I shut it. The dog started barking again. From next door, I heard the shout again, “Shut up, Giant!”

Absurdly, I stopped at the unit mailboxes and put the remaining pieces of tri-folded paper into the mailbox slots. I thought I had dealt with my problem.

That evening Lachlan appeared when I called out dinner was ready. I had made Spaghetti Bolognaise. We ate in silence for a few minutes before he asked, “So Mum what came in your mystery box delivery?” I didn’t trust myself to speak so I got up, went to my bag, and opened my purse. I pulled out the $200 I’d taken from the box and walking back to the table placed it by his plate. “Money, old money.” I gave an awkward giggle.

He looked at me for a few seconds, sighed, and mumbled, “Thanks.” After finishing his dinner in silence, he got up and left the room. Later, on my way to bed I stopped by his bedroom door, and I heard him moving around. I called out, “Goodnight Lachie.” And I heard his reply faintly through the door, “Goodnight Mum.”

The next day was Saturday, so I didn’t expect to see Lachlan before noon. About 1 pm I tapped on his door and called out that I’d made lunch. There was no reply. About 2 pm I did something I hadn’t done in a long time; uninvited I pushed his door open. Chills went through me when I saw that his bed was neatly made. I looked around and found his nap sack was gone. His wallet was gone.

A week later the police gave up searching when they found that someone matching Lachlan’s description had been seen eating at a Macdonald’s in Echuca. When the minor showed ID to the attending police, proved he had income, and said he was safe they left him alone. They told me he had said he didn’t want to come home. His words had been, “I’m happy where I am.” The next day I woke up crying.

Two weeks later, I was walking along the main street, feeling lost though I was surrounded by the familiar. I thought, I may never know when or whether he goes to LA or whether he ever comes back. It was just a month now until his seventeenth birthday, and because he was believed safe no one could make him come back.

Where had the money come from? It was definitely a test, a kind of parenting test.

I stopped for a cup of coffee and flipped through the local newspaper. On page two in the column entitled Local Odd Spot was the report of an individual finding $2000 in old notes inside a cardboard box, stuffed down beside their hot water service. They weren’t identified but there were clues: they lived near a major local shopping center, and in a “unit complex.” They were going to use the money to buy presents for their grandchildren.

I sighed; that mystery box never did make it to the perfect place.

The End