Autumn/Winter

Part One

As the last siren for the day sounds, Brendon starts to collect his things. The classroom fills with the sound of scraping chairs and instant chatter, and Brendon pushes his things into his backpack, swinging it over his shoulder. He weaves through untucked chairs and out into the hallway, where his friends stand around, laughing and messing around since the school day has officially ended.

They wave to him as he goes to leave, and he waves back, leaving the school gates behind and feeling tension roll off his shoulders. He lets his sneakers kick a pebble down the sidewalk, listening to the tattering noise it makes against the concrete. He veers away from the school, crossing the road and heading down the street.

He kicks another stone past the bakery, and he’s tempted by the rich aromas, but manages to keep on track. There’s a few people sitting in cafe chairs and browsing stores, and a few school kids loitering around near the parking spaces. Brendon looks for the red and white stripy words, and he spots them hanging from the overhanging ceiling, painted on to a sign ‘Barb’s’.

Brendon loosens his backpack, ducking inside the hairdresser and dropping it to the floor. A woman in her early forties looks up, her dark hair streaked with warm honey brown, and she beams at him.

“Well, hello there Brendon,” she says brightly, continuing to shampoo a younger girl’s hair, “good day at school?”

“It was alright,” Brendon says, shrugging, and she laughs. She stands only to his shoulder height, with her tiny waist and flattering curves.

She asks, “Can you sweep that up for me, Hun?” She nods to the many different colours of hair encircling one of the hairdressing chairs, and Brendon nods, grabbing the broom. “How much longer do you have left of school, sweetheart? I know your mother says you have to finish high school first, but I sure need your help around here.”

It’s been agreed that once Brendon finishes his last year, he’ll start his hairdressing course by being Barb’s apprentice. His mother’s friend since before Brendon can remember, Barb has always encouraged Brendon’s creativity and lets him help out at her salon.

“Still a fair few months left,” Brendon admits, sighing, dragging the broom across the ground. “So it’s been busy here?”

“You wouldn’t believe,” she says, laughing good-naturedly, “This little mistress is my last appointment,” she says, motioning to the girl in her early twenties that she is currently rinsing the shampoo from.

“Well, I can’t stick around too long this afternoon,” Brendon tells her, guiltily, kneeling down on the floor, “Ma wants me home early.”

“Ah, you tell that mother of yours she needs to loosen up,” Barb tells him, smiling her pleasant smile, and Brendon sweeps up with hair with a dustpan.

Depositing the cut hair into the bin and grabbing his backpack, he calls over his shoulder, “sure will, see ya.”

He takes a short cut through the football grounds, ducking under the bleachers and jumping over the small fence. The town is surrounded by mountains; anytime you look off into the distance, there’ll be mountains, not exactly obstructing the view, but blending in with it. The town itself was built around hills, and as it grew and moved into the future, more roads and businesses were positioned on the large mounds, making most drives around the town quite bumpy.

Brendon reaches his house, and it’s smaller inside than it looks from the outside. He opens the picket fence, painted green by his father years ago, before he had left. He opens the door, calling out to say he’s home, and dumping his bag ungracefully to the floor beside the coat rack.