Read Online A Shot at Freedom by Kelli Bradicich - Free Book Online

of them see?” The truck driver said rolling up his sleeves, twisting his arms from side to side, showing off portraits of the pets, his mother and then exposing his hairy chest to a chorus of dancing girls. “Better than taking photos to jail. Can look at them any time I want.”
    David close d his eyes, pretending not to care, peering through the haze of his lashes at the rows of banana trees and pineapple farms each side of the road. Farm houses on stilts with wide gaping verandas, prepared for floods he’d heard about but never seen in his lifetime. It was all new, a different and distant place to be. To exist where nobody knew him made everything different. With each bump, his temple tapped at the glass. It felt good.
    The tattooed truck driver sighed. “Man , I thought you’d help me pass the time.”
    ***
    David
    Away from the shadow of the truck, David rolled a sleeping bag out in the grass. With only the moonlight to guide him, he settled in to sketch the land around him, flat with hills in the distance. It was his way of recording his life. Some took photos and forgot what it really felt like to be there. But sketching made sure he took the time to drink it all in. A Queenslander with light streaming out through the windows was the focal point. Cane toads slapped across the quiet highway, two of them stopping to mate on the white line. He captured it on the page.
    The truck driver lugged an Esky and a metal fold-up chair out of the truck. A burp erupted from his throat, as he settled in beside David, taking a swig from a can hidden in a cooler. “You need some light there mate?”
    David twitched but shook his head. “Nup. My eyes can see just fine.”
    “So you like drawing?”
    “It keeps me sane.”
    The truck driver snorted, and took a couple of gulps. He looked down at the can in admiration. “So does a good full can.”
    “I bet it does,” David said, his eye following the outline of the tree branch as he ran his pencil over the page.
    The truck driver reached down into the Esky and rolled a rum and cola onto David’s sleeping bag. It came to rest against his leg, cold. David nudged it away. “Not for me.”
    “Ah, have it. It’ll help ya sleep,” the truck driver said, opening another can with a spurt.
    Lost in the scene, David played with the leaves of the tree, shadowing light to dark with his pencils.
    “Well, it helps me anyway. Otherwise I lay in my truck at night feeling the rattle of the wheel up my arms and hearing the hum of the open road. A guy needs his sleep.”
    His fingers shifted to the outer edge of the page and worked on the truckie’s bulging profile.
    ***
    David stretched, relieving the ache in his back. He admired the completed sketch in front of him, only becoming aware of where he was when the snores of the truck driver drifted out the open truck window.
    After tucking the sketchbook safely into his bag, he dragged his sleeping bag into the shadow of the truck and wriggled into it . Settling in for sleep, he tried to lose himself in the sounds of the night time. But all he could hear were the snores, snores that reminded him of his father, snores he never thought he would ever hear again.
    He rolled onto his side and covered his ears with his sleeping bag and tried again. Between wake and sleep, he heard her voice say hello, and laugh. He stiffened, struggled out of the sleeping bag, and kicked it aside. With feet firmly planted, he stood facing a thicket of gum trees, unzipped his jeans and peed.
    Snores rumbled around him, louder than before. David plonked down on the Esky, his head in his hands, long fingers massaging his skull. He leant over and belted the cabin, four metallic thunks. The earth quietened to such silence he swore he could hear it turn, as he prayed that the truck driver wouldn’t come barrelling out to beat the crap out of him.
    The snoring resumed.
    David swore. He pulled at the catch on the Esky, stood and lifted the lid, staring down at the cans