[5]: A Shivering Night (2)
Chapter 5: A Shivering Night (2)
"That would be five dollars and seventy-nine cents, sir." The cashier handed his purchased items over the counter, pushing them to his side. There was a hint of boredom and irritation in his voice as he spoke. His tone was flat and stern.
A young man, around Marco's age, was manning over the cash register. He was an inch or two shorter than the hungry, lost lad, although his posture was listless and not precise. His chin-length jet black hair was disheveled, but it still suits his vibe along with his deep ocean blue eyes.
The cashier was oozing a cold temperament and boredom while staring at him, waiting for the payment. His overall character seemed aloof, although the lollipop bulging inside his mouth contrasted with his disposition.
Through the other person's aloofness, Marco wondered if he was usually like this indifferent along his voice being that chilly. That, he wouldn't know.
Marco sighed and took out six dollars from his wallet. He mentally bade farewell to his money before handing it to the cashier.
'That'll be worth my bike's petrol expense if ever.' Marco sighed in his heart.
Money was precious to him, especially in this kind of situation, so every cent needs to be spent wisely. He was reluctant to spend it on food, but his hunger comes first now. He might go crazy if he does not eat anything at all.
"Thank you. Come again," the cashier said monotonously after handing the change to the poor young man. He then sat back on his stool and picked up a book beside the counter.
The aloof teenager began reading silently while continuously nibbling a lollipop in his mouth. He did not even give a care about the lost poor soul just right in front of him. He was so immersed in his own world and ignoring everything else.
Marco courtly nodded to him, although he knew the lad was not paying attention to him and didn't saw it. He put the coins inside his jeans right pocket and went near the entrance of the convenience store, where there are tables and benches.
He chose to have his meal right there. After placing his things aside, he started eating his fill without wasting any second. His dinner was a sausage and a regular-sized burger composed of buns, an average-sized patty, mayo, and, thankfully, a thin slice of cheese.
He paused in the middle of chewing his last bite from a burger when a thought suddenly crossed his mind.
'Now what?'
Marco swallowed the food in his mouth and crumpled the wrapper on his hand. He unscrewed the cap and chugged on the bottled beverage, letting the water run down his throat, and wiped the remains on his lips with the back of his hand afterward.
His long legs, crossed on top of the other. They were stretched under the table and effortlessly touching the base of a bench on another side.
He began thinking about all things that come down. He collected his thoughts, grasping the situation at hand, and he started by enumerating the obvious.
'My stomach is not empty.'
'I got away from Da's house.'
'I'm in an unknown town.'
'Lad's currently sitting on a chair inside this convenience store.'
'Now what?' he was stuck at that.
Then questions emerged one after another.
'What should I do?'
'What's the plan, Marcus?'
He wants to curse his freaking self as of the moment for being a complete damned idiot.
'Who would even runaway while also having no idea of what to do or even where to go?'
'Of course, who else would it be? The living example would be none other than me.'
'I'm an eijit, really.' ¹
He tried to at least think of a way to get out of his current predicament. He was exhausted and just came up with something he, himself, disagrees with.
'Should I just head back there and shout "IT'S A PRANK!" to their faces?'
He cringed at that thought. That was the most foolish and lamest idea he had so far. And he hopes for none in the future.
But taking his idiotic thought seriously, he already discerned the possible outcome.
'If I do come back… Ellie would probably be furious, and the house would turn upside down again. Her motor mouth would eventually cause our ears to bleed if not physically getting hit by what she throws.'
Imagining such a situation to happen gave Marco a strange feeling.
He heaved a sigh and slightly bent his knee. His head resting on his palm while his forehead met the other, massaging it a little
"I should have thought about this thoroughly," he told himself, lamenting with his current predicament.
He let out a sigh once again.
---
Marco was in the middle of cursing and lecturing himself when his eyes caught something. It made him abruptly stood up and stormed outside the convenience store in a hurry.
He came to where he parked his motorcycle and stopped a few meters away when he saw a man running his fingers on it.
Marco cleared his throat loud enough for the man to hear him.
"Excuse me. I don't mean to be rude but, that, right there, is my bike, sir," the owner of the motorcycle said in a calm and most proper tone as he can muster.
"You got a pretty good bike, boy." The man's voice was raspy and deep, which perfectly fits with his huge physique.
Under the flickering light of the lamp post from his back, the strange man's shadow loomed over the asphalt flooring of the parking lot. It merged with the shadow of the bike, creating a silhouette of a Viking riding a bull.
It caught Marco's attention for a moment before he focused on the stranger keenly eyeing his two-wheeled vehicle.
He found out that the stranger was a middle-aged man. Although the area was dim, the little light the lamppost produced let him see the elder having a mustache covering his mouth.
It was a typical representation of almost every old man Marco knew in his younger years. His father was none of those.
"Oh, don't get me wrong, kid. I just adore the whole… This!" The stranger gestured to the black motorbike with both hands. He was too energetic for this shivering cold night.
'I can clearly see that, sir.' Marco can only say in his heart.
The stranger was a few inches taller than him and has a well-built body. His blonde-brown hair was quite messy with the ragged cap on.
The young man pondered whether it must have been due to heavy workloads or he do workouts. He was more inclined to the former, sensing the vibes the old man emitted.
Unlike the poor, lost, shivering lad, the stranger was well dressed for the current weather. He has a jacket on, cargo pants, leather boots, and an old cap.
Marco couldn't help but envy him, 'A jacket would be enough for me.'
He was hanging in such a cold autumn night with just his plain white t-shirt, black fitted pants, and casual running shoes.
He sighed in his heart and decided to give a response to the stranger who adores his motorcycle.
"Well, Lady Luck seems to favor me before," Marco said, continuing the conversation. He smiled to himself while watching his feet.
'Only until that event...' It left a bitter-sweet taste to him just by remembering.
The young man moved and let the stranger inspect his bike. He just stared at him whilst leaning on a car with his left hand inside his pocket and the other hanging loosely on his side.
"You race, kid?"
Marco got stunned by the sudden question, but he felt his lips grinning afterward.
"Ah, race?" He stifled a laugh. "Why do you ask, sir?"
The old man returned a grin under his mustache and patted the tank of Marco's bike.
The lighting of the lamppost behind the stranger cast a shadow on his face, "I've seen quite some race, cars, motorcycles, and whatever. I know a racing vehicle when I see one."
'He seems proud and true to his words.'
"Well, yes. I did race before. Just a few times though," Marco told him and then added, "I'm not a professional racer."
"Hmm…" the old man nodded, but his eyes were fixated on the rear of the black bike, then squatted over for a better look.
'It appears that he's really interested in my bike.'
After a minute of silence, the old man huffed and said with his rough voice, "You sure don't look like one."
Marco squinted his eyes, absorbing what he had just heard, and then stared at his feet.
'Should I be offended with his comment?'
He felt complicated but chuckled at the stranger's remark.
"Hey, kid. This bike…" Marco turned to him when he spoke again. He met the other's prying gaze. "You also got this on a race, didn't you?"
'This old man seems to know a lot.'
Marco nodded, "Yeah… That was one of the prizes for the race I had before. My-" He paused, hesitating if he should continue or not.
The geezer stared at him, wondering why he stopped midway. He was not demanding him to continue or prying to know more, but the youngster felt that he just needed to.
This topic was a sour spot to him, and opening it up again made him feel sullen. A surge of images flashed in his mind, and varied emotions cause him to be astounded. He felt like his heart was stuck in his throat. It was getting harder for him to breathe.
'Calm down. It has long been over.'
Even though he was reluctant and a little breathless with all the images swirling inside his head, Marco still explained, not that he was forced to do so. "My uh… my old acquaintances pushed me to enter an event. I should've… I got the bike, and they got the money."
The cold night wind blew, making a few fallen golden leaves swirl in the air. The street was empty, devoid of people and silence enveloped the surroundings. Even the convenience store seemed distant. The flickering light on the lamppost dimmed down, and it wholly dies thrice longer than its usual pace before lighting up again. Only the faint rustlings of leaves could be heard in the fleeting darkness.
Marco quietly shivered at that, 'I should really put on something for this weather. It was still early autumn. Why is it, even so, cold in this town?'
The stranger chuckled after seeing the lean young man shivering. It caught the latter's attention and stared back at him. He stood up from his crouching position and reached out for something in his pocket.
"I'm heading home, kid." He made an overall look at the lost young lad and then grinned. "You should too."
Marco was taken aback by that; his emotions were all over the place. He lowered his gaze and smiled to himself.
'Head home, huh? Should I?'
'But where is home?'
Scotland.
His eyes winded for a second at the thought that crossed his mind before gradually returning to its usual lifeless demeanor. The lost young man sighed and began rubbing his nape.
"This escape is problematic," Marco silently whispered to nothingness.
***
[1] "Eijit/Eejit" is Scottish and Irish slang for idiot.