At first, Roy tried moving to different spots where the brush was thicker. Like a wombat digging its burrow, Roy used his hands to dredge the dirt away and bunkered in. Then he’d use what scrub he could to drag over the top of him, but each night the gang always found him and would drag him out and beat him up.
After seven more nights of, harassment and beatings, Roy gave in. His eyes were blackened from the beatings and every bone ached. His stomach longed for food and he hadn’t slept since they first found him. Roy decided it would be easier to give in to survive - and so, he became a one of the group of misfits.
Joining a gang wasn’t something he would have thought of doing a few months before. When he was at school, one tried to force him into enlisting, but he’d managed to convince them he wasn’t the right fit. It cost him a few lunches but eventually, they gave up and left him alone. But out here, with no other friends, Roy was alone and exposed, and the leader knew it. Each member had lived rough in the bush of Bass Point, trying to avoid becoming members until they too, would eventually give in, realising it was a kinship and source of food.
Bass Point was a seventy-two hectare stretch of national park and though it had long since overgrown, was protected for the moment; though the gang knew their days were numbered once some builder came up with enough cash.
Most had either been rebellious teens, beaten by a parent, spent time in juvenile justice for petty theft or joyriding, or were victims of the system where a paedophile had gone under the radar and used it to find their next prey. They kept to themselves and most locals ignored them.
A month after joining, Roy heard that one of the youngest of the gang members was almost killed as he pushed his way across a roundabout in the nearby village on a motorised scooter he’d stolen. A local driving through hadn’t seen him and had collected the scooter as the kid sped out in front.
Scattered on the road, he’d landed heavily on top of the car and had broken and arm and leg. The kid was carted off to hospital but was released into the local foster care. The accident was a lesson for the rest of them to stay off the roads in the middle of the day when the wrinklies were about.
A local organisation ran the foster support and whilst families where kids were placed were friendly and supportive, sporadically a kid would rebel. Feeling life had dealt them a raw deal, they ran away to join the gang.
The Bass Point Boys grew quickly as society seemed to turn their back on kids when they were at their most vulnerable and needed love and support. The system couldn’t cope, youth services were overflowing and less people were becoming foster parents. That’s where they were picked up and taken under the gang’s wing. Vulnerable and sobbing, they would be curled up on a gutter near their home or under the shelter of a bus-stop nearby. The gang would surround and bully the kid, like they’d done with Roy. The leader had his script down pat.
‘Hey kid, you know no one loves you. Why else would they throw you out? You may as well join us where we will protect you. If you don’t, you get beaten up by the other gangs round here. But we’re survivors.’
The recruitment happened regularly, and younger kids believed their parents wouldn’t take them back. Once the leader found what they’d done, he’d say their parents wouldn’t forgive that kind of behaviour, but with the gang, they were safe - and so the gang grew, somehow surviving and finding brotherhood in one another’s wretchedness.
Chapter THREE - The Principal
Roy wasn’t the only one who'd come from a good background. His dad was the principle at the local high school and he was teased about the fact by kids in his year.
‘No wonder you get good grades,’ they would say. ‘I bet he tells the teachers to give em to you.’ However, Roy knew the opposite was true as his dad constantly told him he was a ‘no-hoper’ and ‘useless.’
To prove his worth, Roy worked hard to achieve the best grades he was possible of, though they were never up to his dad's standard or as good as his brother’s. Eventually he gave up trying to live up to his their expectations. That was when things changed.
Roy knew he was different from the other kids too, finding it difficult to sit still or concentrate. When he was ten, his mum took him to a specialist where he was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder. They suggested he should be on Ritalin, but his mum was reluctant to use chemical drugs and spent time trying alternative therapies.
Roy couldn’t sleep as his mind raced in bed each night. He persevered for a while with the meditation tapes his mum bought and the different therapies the naturopath had suggested, but none helped long term. Then one day, Roy found that alcohol did. Seeing his dad fall asleep in his armchair after a beer each night, one evening, he stole a can from the fridge. Quietly, Roy took it up to his bedroom and sipped on the hops tasting drink when his parents thought he was sleeping. After he'd finish, Roy fell into bed and has the best night’s sleep - and so he stole more.
To begin with, Roy's dad was oblivious to the theft, though after a short while he found one drink wasn’t enough. Roy found he needed two, then three. With supplies running out quickly, his dad caught on and confronted him. Roy's dad then locked him in his room after dinner each night.
'You can concentrate on studying more Roy. That will help you fall asleep!' was his dad's reply when he asked why he was stealing his beer.
Roy knew he had to find an alternative source after laying awake again for several nights. He would lie in bed, watching the ceiling fan spinning, then turn on the light and read a while until his dad yelled at him for that.
'Turn that light off Roy. You can't get to sleep if you have a light on!'
Tossing and turning, Roy finally decided he needed to escape and buy some beer at the local grog shop. Later that week, he waited until his brother came for a visit, then stole his ID card. After his parents went to bed, he climbed down the lattice outside his window and stole off to the local grog shop. Roy managed to get away with this routine for a few months - until one night he was caught by his dad, climbing back in.
His dad was waiting in the bedroom with the light off and as Roy crawled back in through the window, he flicked on the switch. Used to the usual punishment of a belting, Roy bent over and waited, though this time, his dad turned and walked away. Roy crawled back into bed but couldn’t sleep, knowing his dad wouldn't let him get away with it. He was terrified of what punishment he might be in for and lay awake all night.
Groggily, the next morning, Roy went down for breakfast. After a silent meal, his dad rose and walked over, indicating for Roy to pick up his backpack near the front door. His mum placed a container of food in his other hand and as he looked at her red eyes, Roy hung his head in shame.
'I'm sorry, mum.'
She nodded and walked back into the kitchen. Roy stood facing his dad as his father pointed to the door.
'I warned you Roy.' was all his dad said and Roy was unceremoniously shoved out the door, his dad slamming it behind.
Roy stood, in shock, on the front porch and stared at the closed door - waiting for it to open. Surely his dad wouldn’t - couldn’t do this. He was only fourteen. He knew he’d stretched the limits, but never expected this. It was always, ‘do that again and this will happen,’ but his mum would talk his father out of any punishment.
Tears welled as his stomach churned and as he stood facing the door, remembering his dad’s last warning;
‘Next time you’re on the streets.’
With nothing much more than his PJ’s, shorts and the overnight bag holding a few belongings he knew his mum would have packed, Roy turned and walked away. He knew that once his dad made up his mind, there was no turning back. His dad was a man of his word.
Roy dawdled down their driveway, stopping and turning occasionally,