Jonesy

I’m not one to complain! We all have problems- and we all know that. There’s no point even talking about it. But sometimes- it just doesn’t stop bugging me, and – this had better not become a habit with him!
It’s my neighbour, right. Yeah. Everyone has neighbour stories.

Well, I have a Friday evening habit. After the sun has set, I like to keep all the lights off in the house. I take a citronella candle or coil with me for the mozzies to chew on, and sit out on the verandah overlooking the hills. I bring out my bag of rollie leaf- I say leaf, everyone thinks I’m a pot head. No. Camel tobacco, with its rich, thick, musty smell, sweet to my nose. Just breathe it in.

Rolling a cigarette is an art form, isn’t it- I smooth the edge of the paper with my tongue, shuffle the taback into a lithe, smooth, sharp twist- and then -
But it’s the ritual, you know, the process that’s the point.
So anyway my neighbour interrupts, doesn’t he- he calls over the fence,

“Oi, matie, do you have a recent train timetable? Me and the missus have got to make a trip to the city tomorrow, bet we can’t find ours anywhere. Mind if we have a squiz at yours?”

Sure, it’s a reasonable thing to ask, but it bugs me to leave a half-savoured cigarette in the ash tray.
But, “Sure, Jonesy. Jest a sec, I’ll grab it for ya,” I tell him.
Pushing back into the house, I hit the switch, grab open a drawer and fuss around a bit. Fuel receipts, stubby holders, a stapler, a broken shoelace – the works to search through. But finally I see the timetable. Two of them. One from last year.

“Mind if I have a look at it here?”
I turn around- there’s Jonesy, invited himself right into the kitchen, hand on the back of a chair ready to seat himself.

“Hope you don’t mind, mate- do you reckon I could stay here tonight? Me and the missus…”
He just holds the sentence there, hoping I’d jump right in and save him the embarrassment. But I didn’t. It was Friday night! I let the silence hang.
And, “you and the missus what, Jonesy?” I egged him.
“Erm, well… we kinda- it’s like- just need a bit of time, that’s all,” he goes.
“Settle down. Into town tomorra- sister…”
I’d expected as much. Fine – ok, I let him have the lounge.
But then, “Do ye mind,” he says, “would ye mind giving me a lift to the station tomorra? Looks like I need to be there… 6:30. In the morning. Alright?”

I left him in the kitchen and went to retrieve my half-enjoyed cigarette. Just a whiff or two left in it. I’d just settled into the dark again, when some sniffling sounds came out through the window. My wooooorrrrrdddd. I jammed the little stub of my cigarette into the ash tray, kicked open the door and grabbed a roll of toilet paper, and the –

Oh, Jonesy, mate – back from the city already? I didn’t see you there. Pull up a stool, mate. Here, can we have another one, please? You hungry? How ‘bout anyone else? So how was your weekend, Mick?