My mind will not rest.

Down here, it is summer, and the last few days have been rather hot; well, it is summer after all, but tonight it is particularly hot.

So, as I can’t sleep, I’m lying on the couch staring at the ceiling, otherwise known as the cinema of my dreams.

Where am I?

Well, the location is in keeping with the weather; hot, humid, and cold drinks are mandatory.

I’ve got one now!

…

A sleepless night did nothing to make the idea of going on a treasure hunt more palatable. I couldn’t say I didn’t see it coming, because Boggs had been hinting he’d found something of his father’s when poking through his old stuff.

I was hoping it was money.

And visiting the bar, I thought that he had found a lead in his quest to find some information about his parents, two people he realised now, he knew very little about.

In that quest, I was only too willing to help.

When he finally told me about the treasure, I didn’t think he was the sort to believe in fairy tales, because everyone knew it was little more than that.

I didn’t flat-out debunk the myth, but I could see I was going to have to carefully get him off this track.  Real or not, we were hardly equipped, mentally or physically, to deal with whatever this quest might throw up.

Yes, in my mind’s eye, I had a Raiders of the Lost Ark scenario running through my head, from large rolling stones, through to a snake pit.  I hated snakes, too.

In fact, with the addition of Boggs’ uncle Rico in the mix, it seemed to me we would be better off spending our time looking for work rather than using any excuse not to, but that was the problem with our neighbourhood, too many people looking for work and not enough jobs.  Prosperity seemed to be everywhere else.

“No lounging around in bed, Sam.”  My mother’s voice came from the kitchen, where she would be throwing food into a container for her lunch.

She was suffering from the lack of employment too, being a qualified accounts clerk, but for the time being, working check out at the local supermarket.

A job was a job, but it barely paid the bills.

I made it to the kitchen just as she was about to leave.

“You need to try harder,” she said.  “Walter said they’re looking for people in the warehouse again.  Promise me you’ll go see them.”

I could see the strain of the odd shifts she worked, the fact that she didn’t want to be there, but unlike my father, she accepted responsibility, no matter what it cost.

“I promise.”

A kiss on the forehead, and she was gone.

The jobs at the warehouse were little more than slave labour, minimum pay, very hard work, and ungrateful supervisors.  Most of those, like Boggs and I, lasted a week or less because that way they didn’t have to pay you for the few days you worked.

But it was a job, and it was time I stepped up.

The treasure hunt would have to wait.

…

© Charles Heath 2019-2026