Markle

Once I had a long trip from Brisbane to Camp Echo in upstate New York, I had just turned 19.

The plan was to fly Brisbane, Sydney, LA (meet Aunt Maggie), New York. Then via bus from JFK airport to Port Authority Bus terminal in Manhattan. Then a state bus to Burlingham where I would be collected by car and driven to camp.

The trip was going well until just before take off on the first flight. They brought out little plastic jars of orange juice to enjoy and as I peeled back the thin foil lid I splashed 30% of the juice onto my stiff khaki pants. Khaki! I took a deep breath and flew off on my first big adventure with excitement in my heart and orange on my pants.

Cool Aunt Maggie drove for 3 hours to meet me at LAX, buy me a coffee, pat me on the head and see me onto my flight to New York. I landed in New York and it was so late that I missed the last bus and I needed to sleep in the Airport. This was way less cool than I had visualised as there was only one small side terminal that stayed open overnight. I lay down along some seats with my little bag under my head and an arm clipped into my big bag. It was not cool and I did not sleep.

The next day I caught the bus into Manhattan, it was a rainy and bleak day, the summer had vanished and the grimy streets of New York looked foreboding to me through the blurry bus window. Port Authority terminal was large and built of grey concrete and greyer steel, I found a corner to huddle in for a few hours.

At one point I became hungry and scurried out into the bustle of commuters to purchase a hotdog. The line was long and people impatient. I had my large backpack on my back, my small one on my front and a secret money belt looped around my body beneath it all. I took a deep breath. After ordering and paying, the hotdog guy put a hotdog, a napkin, two $1 bills and two quarters change onto his little stainless steel hotdog shelf. I fumbled slowly to collect the hotdog and bills over my front pack while also holding the secret money belt and bills. The two quarters glinted on the metal shelf as I struggled to juggle the various elements in my hands.

A large woman behind me made a ‘humpf’ sound and stepped up next to me. She reached out her hand and took the 2 coins while saying “he ain’t gonna pick 'em up, i’ll pick them up.” I looked at her, she looked at me briefly then began ordering her hotdog. I moved  meekly back to a hard seat beneath a large concrete wall.

My bus came. I watched through the window as the sun emerged and the trees began to take over from the town. I was headed into upstate New York. It was almost 40 hours into the trip and I was feeling a little desperate for a welcome landing. The bus stopped in Burlingham on a beautiful Sunday afternoon. The post office was closed, the single traffic light flashed red over the only major intersection in town. I watched it blink slowly as the bus departed the vacant street. There was no car to pick me up. I was a long way from Brisbane. One shop was open, a pizza restaurant, I took a deep breath.

“Hello, I’m trying to get to Camp Echo.”
“I’m sorry hun, what did you say?”
“I’m supposed to be picked up for Camp. Camp Echo.”
“Oh the camp? I just love that accent. Are you English?”
“Australian. Could you call the camp for me please?”
“Say again, sweetie.”
“Could you call the camp please?” I tried to sound a little American on the ‘call the camp’, it seemed to make things easier.
“Oh sure. They’ll come and get you. What should I say your name is?”
“Thanks very much. Mike.”
“Mark?”
“No Mike, like Michael.”
“Markle??”
I took a deep breath.

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