Want To Be A Real Boy

• Campbell Arthur, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2014

‘Have you any news on my Husband? I've been so worried over these last few days…’
The woman’s mouth is pulled down into a tight frown, but the sadness doesn't reach her eyes.
‘There’s no need to be worried, Mrs. Haversham. We’ll find him before any harm is done.’
The policeman’s voice is soothing, but his gaze is distant and he checks his watch incessantly. He has better things to do.
‘Oh don’t worry. The harm’s already been done. He’s taken all of my money, driven out of town and now he’s out somewhere doing God knows what!’ The woman says.
‘Oh? He took the car? I thought you kept the keys so he couldn't do things like this.’ The policeman says.
The woman sighs.
‘I do. But he has another car. One from his ‘golden years’ as he so stupidly calls it. He told me he’d ridden himself of it, but he was merely hiding it at a friend’s place. He lied to me. Imagine that! My husband! Lying to me!’
‘Did you notice anything strange before Mr. Haversham’s… episode?’
‘Do you think I am a fool, officer!? If I had of noticed anything, don’t you think I’d have made sure he couldn't leave!?’ The woman snaps, and the policeman cringes. ‘If anything, he was slower than usual. Didn't even want to get out of bed some mornings, but I got him up all right!’
‘And then he just went and…’
‘Went crazy! He’s forty years old now and still he does these things! Last time he booked a trip to Hawaii and spent all of my money! Don’t worry, I punished him thoroughly. I locked him in his room for a whole month and only allowed him to come out for his job! You would’ve thought he’d learnt his lesson, but then he goes and does it again!’
The policeman nods, pretending to sympathise. He wants to get out of here. Right now. Before this minx lashes out with sharpened claws and tears him in half. Instead she composes herself and looks the policeman straight in the eye with coldness, a smile playing on her lips.
‘It’s fine, really, officer. You don’t need to catch him like some sort of criminal. He’s just a boy. A scared, confused little boy. And in the end, all boys come crying home to their mothers, don’t they…’

The cowboy leans back in the seat of his car, the red paintjob shining under the afternoon sun. His license plate reads UWANTIT. Images of biker chicks are strewn over the frame of his car. His car roars over the speed limit. Covering his balding head is a dusty yellow cowboy hat, complete with spurred boots and sunglasses. In his spare hand he grips a wrinkled wad of cash. As he rides into the sunset, the cowboy doesn't remember his wife, his house, his job, his fear; he only has the open road, stretching out ahead of him. And it’s all his.