Anna

Chapter 3

Sitting on a battered bench in the park near Sydney’s Central Station, Anna felt a cold autumn wind biting through to her bones, even though the calendar insisted it was the height of the Australian summer. In her hands, she clutched her phone, the screen of which had cracked a week ago—the very moment Graham, his face beet-red with rage, had pointed her toward the door. People rushed about around her, but Anna felt as if her life had ground to a halt, and she was watching everything from the sidelines, no longer a participant in the frantic pace. She couldn't believe this was happening to her. In her mind, she pictured the office door. Just a little more, she imagined, and she would reach for the handle, open it, and simply step back into the world she had known before. She wanted to run—to escape these circumstances and the people who had birthed them.

On the lawn beside the bench, a flock of grey sparrows busied themselves around a crust of bread someone had dropped. The birds chirped loudly, bickering and snatching crumbs from one another, taking flight and landing again, oblivious to the enormous, roaring city surrounding them. Anna watched them with a hollow, bitter envy. Their goal was simple: to live, to find food, to carry on their kind. She, meanwhile, had nothing—save for an empty bank card and a mind in total disarray, filled with the crushing realization that her former world had ceased to exist.

Unable to collect her thoughts or focus, she scrolled through the contacts in her phone, searching for Amanda’s number. It suddenly caught her eye.

They had been in college together. Amanda was a year older, a year ahead, and had finished her studies earlier. They had lost touch, but surely, she must have landed on her feet by now.

Amanda had always been a bit careless, slightly chaotic, constantly complaining about not having money for rent or expensive textbooks. Anna, whose family had always been more affluent than Amanda’s, had never found it shameful to help her. She had sincerely believed in their friendship, in the idea that a helping hand extended would be met with another when her own time of need came.

Anna remembered one time, during their sophomore year, when Amanda had come to her in tears. She had gambled away almost all the money she had set aside for her dormitory fees at some questionable party. Even though Anna had scolded her slightly for her frivolity, she had handed over her entire scholarship without a second thought. Amanda had sworn to pay her back in a month, but Anna had forgotten the debt by the end of the day, having waved it off the moment she saw Amanda with a brand-new phone.

Another time, Amanda had asked for a tidy sum—a full thousand dollars—without bothering to explain why she needed it. She just needed it, and that was that.

Anna had never had that much money on hand. She had to lie to her father once, saying she needed the money for a new laptop because her old one had stopped showing signs of life. The second time, she lied, saying the new laptop had been stolen—on a bus, or in a park, she couldn't even remember where. This was all after Amanda had informed her she wouldn't be able to pay the money back yet because her father was sick and every cent was going toward his treatment.

And then there were the countless small favors—five dollars here, ten there. They were impossible to even keep track of.

Anna had forgiven it all, writing it off as Amanda’s difficult personality and hard childhood, never realizing that to Amanda, she was simply a convenient wallet.

Anna dialed the number. The beeps lasted an eternity, triggering a viscous, aching anxiety in her chest. A train rattled past the station, and the metallic screeching amplified the thumping of her heart as it threatened to burst from her ribcage.

"Hello?" a slightly cold but still recognizable voice came through the receiver. "Anna? Is that you? Haven't heard from you in a hundred years. How are you?"

"Hi, Amanda," Anna’s voice trembled. "I… I… I’ve run into some trouble. I was fired. I literally have nowhere to live, and I have no one else to turn to. I have a favor to ask. Could I stay with you for a couple of days? I need time to pull myself together and find at least some kind of part-time work. And, if you can… could you lend me a small amount of money for a while?"

A long, suffocating pause hung at the other end of the line.

"Oh, Anna, that’s so… unexpected," Amanda’s tone was full of performative concern, behind which one could clearly detect a subtle, sticky glee. "You know, my boyfriend is living with me right now, we have absolutely no space, not even for a mattress. And lately, the landlord has been grumbling about guests. I have a very strict contract with him. He’s incredibly touchy about noise in the building. I just can't risk it. You have no idea how hard it was for me to find this apartment."

Hearing these words, Anna felt a massive lump rise in her throat. She looked at her own hands, at her shoes that were in desperate need of repair, and felt utterly worthless.

"I understand," she replied quietly, stifling a sob.

"But," Amanda’s voice suddenly shifted, "I might be able to help. My uncle, Barney, has an establishment in a town called Dusty Creek. You know, it’s in the interior, northwest of Sydney. Sort of the backwoods. Not far. About three hundred kilometers. He has a bar there called The Solid Line. He’s looking for a helper. People are scarce out there. He called me recently. Asked me to find anyone, maybe even an immigrant. Uncle Barney is a simple man, but very fair. He can give you a room attached to the bar. For free."

"A bar? A housekeeper?" Anna repeated, feeling her insides tighten. It sounded like a sentence. She had been envisioning office work, an analyst’s role, not the life of a servant in a bar.

"Well, what did you expect? There’s a crisis in Sydney right now, office workers are being laid off left and right. Out there, you’ll have a roof over your head and at least a few pennies. You were always so proper, so smart, top of your class. Go apply your skills to something real," Amanda giggled, and the sound hit Anna harder than a slap in the face. "I can send you, say… fifty dollars to your card. That’ll be enough for a ticket to Dusty Creek. But, Anna, I beg you, don’t make me look bad in front of my uncle. He’s a strict man; he doesn't like lazy people."

"What exactly will I have to do there?" Anna asked, sensing a trap.

"Oh, what does it matter? Just go, you'll see," Amanda cut her off, clearly in a hurry to end the conversation. "Don't be a princess. You have to know how to survive now. And who knows, maybe things will work out."

"Maybe I could come by your place? Just to see you," Anna asked.

"Oh, I can't at all right now. Packed schedule. Send me your account number. I'll transfer the money now. Bye-eee!"

Amanda hung up.

Fifty dollars arrived on her card a minute later. It was barely enough for the intercity bus ticket that left early the next morning.

Anna sat on the bus, watching as Sydney’s posh suburbs gave way to an endless, sun-scorched, orange desert. The bus was old; the seats creaked at every pothole, dust seeped into the cabin, and the air smelled of diesel. The people around her looked dreary. To Anna, they all seemed elderly. Their faces were carved with deep wrinkles. It was clear that in the place she was heading, there were no young people at all. Anna felt like a stranger in this environment. A foreign body.

She watched the old villages float past the window—sometimes just two or three houses, a gas station with peeling paint, for some reason always painted a faded red.

It seemed to Anna that Amanda was sitting in a cozy café right now, sipping a latte, perhaps smiling as she imagined Anna scrubbing the floors of a grimy roadside dive. Amanda had always been jealous of her success, her abilities. And now, with Anna at rock bottom, Amanda felt a triumphant victory. She had finally become "better" than that Anna who she once had to borrow money from. It was a triumph of her ego.

Before the bus crossed the state line, Anna dialed the number for Uncle Barney that her friend had sent her.

"Yeah," a rough, nicotine-stained voice growled into the phone. "Dusty Creek, The Solid Line. Barney speaking."

"Hello, Mr. Barney. This is Anna, Amanda’s friend. She said you needed some help..."

"Ah, the niece called," Barney grunted, and there was something menacing in his voice. "Get here. Bus arrives Thursday evening. You’re late—consider the vacancy gone. Room’s behind the kitchen. Conditions are what they are, but bearable. Don't expect a five-star hotel. And, yeah, the work isn't light. I don't tolerate whiners. I need working hands, not some delicate flower."

He barked something else unintelligible and hung up.

Anna closed her eyes and let out a heavy sigh. Dusty Creek. What a strange name. This place would either be her salvation or her grave.

The bus continued its journey, carrying her further and further away from civilization, from her former life, from her plans and hopes.

The eucalyptus forests were replaced by thorny shrubs, and then by the boundless flatness of the bush, where rare, dry trees stood like charred skeletons under the blistering sun.

"I’ll manage," she whispered to herself, even though her hands were trembling. "I’ve always managed."

But deep inside, she understood that this trip was more than just finding a way out of a bind. It was exile. And Amanda was the one who had gleefully opened this door into nowhere for her. She wasn't just helping; she had sent Anna to a place where, in her mind, she would disappear forever. And not a trace of her successful friend would remain.

Anna wrapped her cardigan tighter around herself, despite the stuffiness of the bus. She knew there was no going back. Tomorrow, she would see Uncle Barney.

She was afraid. But despite the fear, a strange resolve began to spark within her. If she had to work in a bar, she would be the best worker there, so good that even this rough Uncle Barney would be forced to respect her. If she needed to survive, she would. And someday, perhaps, she would return to Sydney—not to beg, but to take back what was hers.

She closed her eyes, trying to sleep, but in her ears, she could still hear the mocking voice of Amanda and the cries of the sparrows in the park, so desperately fighting for their place in the sun.

The journey to Dusty Creek took two days. It was far more than three hundred kilometers.

The bus stopped right in front of a solid white line painted on the road.

"Well," Anna whispered, stepping off the bus. "I’m home."