Cowboy Town (3 page)

What do you believe?

I was a fence sitter.  I was neither here nor there with the laws, theories and prophecies that surrounded fate, destiny and karma.  That was until I drove into Pine Creek.  I’d been travelling around Australia for six weeks. I had driven from my home in Sydney down through country Victoria, back up through Northern New South Wales, then I crisscrossed my way through Queensland before finally reaching Australia’s Top End – the Northern Territory.  During my travels I had either slept in cheap motels, backpacker’s accommodation or caravan parks.  Oh, and I camped in my car more than once.

I took in tourists sites, went bushwalking in rainforests and checked out novelty attractions along my travels – such as the town that had run competitions for the most inventive mailboxes.  Along the roadside for miles were the most amazing (and largest) mailboxes I had ever seen.  No small white box with a gold plated number for these people.  Some had recycled tin and made them into animals, others had manipulated junk into “people” and sat them on their children’s old bicycles.  I stopped so many times I lost count, and I don’t even want to check how many photos I’ve taken along the way.

I’m not sure how many towns I passed through before I reached Pine Creek, but I do know that when I passed the Welcome to Pine Creek NT sign on my way in, my first thought was: “I’ve been here before.”  My second thought was: “Home.”  My first feeling was shock.  Shock that I had such a strong reaction to a place I’d never been to or heard of before.  My second feeling was contentment. My shoulders slumped and tears pricked my eyes.  I felt like I’d found my nirvana – something I’d been searching for when I didn’t even know I’d been searching and now the search was over.  Relief. 

Have you ever heard the saying déjà vu? It’s a French term meaning “already seen,” and people use it to describe a strong sensation they have when they experience something that they feel like they have experienced in the past, whether they actually have or not.  Well, I watched a Psychic Medium program on television once with Jules and the lady spoke about déjà vu.  She said that when you have that overwhelming feeling of “I’ve been here before”, or “I’ve done this before”, it means it’s the universe’s way of reassuring you that you are on the right path in life. 

I drove through the centre of town looking for a motel.  I couldn’t find one though –
because there isn’t one! 
So instead I pulled into the Cow and Calf Hotel and prayed they’d have rooms.  I took in the massive single story pub that looked like a huge shed.  There were no doors, just a massive fence that surrounded the building and gates which determined whether the pub was open or closed.  The walls were brick and instead of windows, there were large old fashioned wagon wheels and other ornamental pieces in their place.

“What can I getcha, luv?”  The woman behind the bar asked me.  It was hard to guess her age, her face looked leathery (too much sun, not enough sunblock) and she had deep laugh lines around her eyes and mouth.  Her hair was cropped short and was a dirty blonde color.  She had a pink shoestring singlet on that I could see above the bar and she looked about ten kilos overweight, but she carried it well.  Her voice was high, but a rasp to it, like she’d smoked during her life but given up a while ago. 

“Orange juice, please,” I answer.

I slide my ass up onto the stool surrounding the bar and wait for her place my drink in front of me.

“Here ya go.” She takes my money off the bar and a short time later returns with my change.

“Excuse me, do you have rooms here?  I looked for a motel, but couldn’t find one.”

“Ya won’t find a motel around here, luv. Got a few cabins out back we let out.  How long do ya reckon you’ll be stayin’ for?”

“I’m not really sure how long.  A few weeks or so,” I reply.

“No worries.  Come on then, while it’s quiet I’ll take ya out and show ya ‘round.”

I slide down off the chair and follow her, taking in my surroundings as we walk.  The Cow and Calf is like no other.  The entire décor is wooden – there are large wooden beams that span floor to ceiling and I notice they’ve got carvings in them, some are Aboriginally inspired – snakes and lizards, while the others are cow faces and bull horns.  There’s also a large set of horns mounted on the wall and I imagine tourists stand under them for pictures.  We walk past a very antique wooden piano in the corner which is accompanied by a wooden tree stump as a make shift chair.  We walk past the dining area, the chairs and tables in there are all wooden as well. 

“Here we are.  You got your own bathroom in there,” she says indicating to her left, “this is the kitchen and lounge, and through there is the bedroom.”

The room is clean, smells fresh and is bathed in sunlight from the massive windows on either side of the square box.

“Looks great,” I say taking it all in.  I’ll just be happy to have my own bathroom.

“Government decked us out with some of that Wire-Fire whatsit, don’t know anything about it meself but you look like city folk so I’m betting you do.  They reckon you can click on the world web from anywhere on the pub’s grounds.  World’s gone technology mad if ya ask me.  Pen and paper never hurt me growin’ up.”

WiFi.  They have WiFi here! Thank you god.

“That’s great.  I’ll be able to contact my family – the mobile reception has been hit and miss while I’ve been on the road,” I explain.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it.  You need anything just holler.”

“Thanks, uh, sorry I didn’t catch your name.”

“Name’s Doreen, luv,” she smiles.

“Thanks Doreen.  Oh, I’m Eden.  You can call me Edie,” I extend me hand to her and she takes it.  Her grip is firm but her hands are unbelievably dry.

Doreen leaves and I collapse on the bed.  It’s just past lunch time but I’m wiped.  The bed is so comfortable and I’m so tired, it doesn’t take long for me to fall fast asleep.

I wake up after napping for a couple of hours and I feel refreshed and … something else.  What is that feeling?  Contentment?  I’m not sure but whatever it is feels good.  Right.  Natural.  I leave my cabin and walk outside.  I planned on going back into the pub but I decide to take a detour to explore the grounds.  There’s a very tropical feel about this place.  Large, green, lush trees, shrubs and bushes surround the area and to top it off there’s a pool. 
A pool!
  Wi-Fi and a pool – this place has got it all!

The bar is empty except for Doreen and an older gentleman she’s chatting with. 

I give them a wave as I walk up.

“Edie, this is Skip.  Skip, Edie.  She’s stayin’ in one ‘a the cabins out back.”

“Hi, Skip,” I smile.  He’s completely adorable in a grandfatherly way.  His hair is slicked over his head with some sort of cream or gel, his eyes are warm and genuine and I just know I’m going to like Skip a lot.

“Nice ta meet ya, Edie,” he nods.

“I’m just going to unpack my car and then I’ll come have a drink.” 

“I’ll give you a hand there, Edie.”  Skip offers.

“Oh, no that’s fine, Skip.  You sit and enjoy your beer.”  I insist.

“Don’t be silly.  Come on.  Sooner it’s done, sooner I can get back to my beer and you can get yourself one ‘a them girly drinks,” he banters as he follows me out to my RAV.

We manage to get everything in two trips.  I’ll unpack later.

“What are you drinking, Skip?  I owe you a beer.”  I perch myself on the stool next to him and Doreen comes over.

“Can’t say I’d ever turn down a free beer,” he grins, “I’ll have a Four X.”

“Two four X’s please, Doreen,” I state.

“You got quite a bit of luggage there, Edie.  Someone who’s only staying for a couple ‘a weeks,” Doreen mutters while popping the tops off our beers.

“Cheers,” I say, chinking my bottle with Skip’s.  I take a hearty mouthful before I continue.  “I’m on a bit of an adventure.  I’m born and raised in Sydney – I’d never ever been this side of the blue mountains, save for a field trip we had to Lithgow when I was twelve.  That’s not to say we didn’t go on annual family holidays – we did, we just went to Manly or the central coast.  Things happen in life and before you know it your life has changed direction.  That’s what happened to me.  I thought I was finally sailing smooth waters.  Turns out, I was in the eye of the storm.  Anyways, I packed my belongings instinctively and that right there, what Skip just helped me cart up, is what my mind decided I needed to leave my house with.”

They both study me for what feels like forever.  Then Skip nods and takes a slug of his beer.  I do the same.  Doreen continues looking at me, but her face has softened. 

“Dory, can I get Bourbon?” Someone yells from down the bar.  Doreen nods at me and turns to serve the customer.

“G’day Skip,” The man calls.

“Luke,” Skip raises his beer in greeting.

“What’s your name, beautiful?” the man, obviously named Luke, calls to me.

“Luke,” Skip warns.

“Hi, I’m Edie,” I smile.  He’s not bad looking – in a rough and ready cowboy kind of way.  He’s got a dirty, old, torn Akubra perched on top of his too long brown hair.  He’s clearly just come in from work.  His jeans are covered in dust and god knows what else, and I’m sure underneath the ten-day old growth is an alright looking face.

“Nice to meet ya,” he smiles and then turns his attention to the sport that is playing on the overhead television.

Skip and I spend the next few hours sharing beers and stories.  He tells me about his wife, four kids, seven grandkids and he surprises me with the knowledge that he even has five great grandkids.  He’s retired now but he earned his living as a shearer.  I tell him about my parents – what kind of people they were, the way they raised me and I also told him about the accident that took them from me and I told him a G-rated version of what happened with Matt and me. 

“Is it usually this quiet here?”  I ask as I finish off my orange juice (I stopped drinking beer two shouts ago because the last thing I wanted to do was get myself wasted in front of my new friends, in a new town which also happened be a town I possibly wanted to make a new life in – first impressions and all…).

“Pretty much,” he muses, “Thursdy, Fridy and Satdy nights are when things start to pick up in here.  You want sleep tomorrow night, I suggest you head down to Turner’s Hardware in the mornin’ and pick up some earplugs,” he states matter-of-factly.

“Good to know,” I mutter.

“Well, I best get back home.  See ya ‘round, Edie.”

“I’m going to head off to bed myself.  See ya, Skip.”  I slide off my stool and make my way down the bar.  Catching Doreen’s eye I give her a wave.  “See ya tomorrow, Doreen.”

“You got it, luv.”

Once I’m in my room, I take out my toiletries and pajamas then make my way into the bathroom.  I shave my legs and wash my hair, then I stand under the hot stream until the water is losing its heat.  Stepping out, I take a towel from the cabinet and wrap in around my hair.  Then, I take another one and while drying myself, I decide that I’ll be picking up some new towels tomorrow. 

I walk into the bedroom, collapse onto the bed and promptly pass out.

I wake early the next morning with the warm Northern Territory sun shining through the window.  I stretch out and sigh.  I decide that today I am going to explore Pine Creek.

“Hi, what can I get you?”  The perky waitress asks me.

“I’ll have a tall skinny latte with a shot of caramel, please,” I answer.

I’m at the Pine Creek Coffee House.  I’d already stopped by Turner’s Hardware and got some disposable earplugs, and then I’d stopped by a home store and purchased some bottle green colored, thick and soft towels with matching hand towels, face washers and also the bath mat.  Then I stumbled across a cute little country clothing boutique so I went in there and ended up spending enough money to keep the girl who served me in a job for about a year.  And now I was across the road at the Coffee House getting some brunch.

“Can I grab a ham and cheese toastie, as well?”  I add.

“Sure thing.  Takeaway?”

“Um, no, I’ll have it here, thanks.”

“Take this number and grab a seat anywhere – inside or out,” she instructs as she hands me a silver stand that has a white number four etched on a black metal plate.