A Free Feed
(A fictional short story based on a real incident)

Neatly dressed and so badly inebriated, he waved to us. We ignored him.

Mumbling he tripped up the curb, grabbing hold of a lady standing there.

“How embarrassing, for that poor woman.” I thought.

He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her over.

It was funny though, and we couldn’t help laughing at the incident. Jerry the cameraman nearly fell off his chair he was laughing so much.

My friends had come up to Newcastle (Australia) to shoot some footage for their T.V. Show.

It was Anzac day and after the shoot I had driven down to Newcastle from my village near Cessnock to meet up with them for dinner.

We found an outside Indian café and happily sat down to a nice meal with some local Hunter Valley wine we had purchased over the road at the bottle shop.

Undeterred, the man picked himself up and headed for our table greeting us as though we were long lost ‘buddies.’ He seemed to have forgotten the woman on the curb.

I guessed that he was in his thirties and that he had been to the Anzac march, he told us he had been drinking with his mates, but “Now I have lost them.” He said. 

Without an invitation he pulled up a chair and sat down with us. When he noticed we weren’t eating anymore and saw there was still food in the bowls in the middle of the table, he decided to help himself.

He staggered over to the counter and asked for a clean plate, and a glass. “I’ll help you eat this.” He said.

He poured a glass of wine and sipped it appreciatively “Good wine.” he told us.

Jerry had stopped laughing and told him off good and proper, but he didn’t mind. He just kept on dining at our expense taking abuse as if it was payment for the good wine and food.

This happy drunk told us he was from Canada and he now lived in Newcastle with his Aussie wife.

Jerry said “What part of Canada are you from?” the man said “I’m from Fort Seven, and I have been here for fifteen years working as an ice hokey coach for the local team.

Jerry was beginning to get curious about this man, he reminded him of his father to look at, even though he hadn’t seen his father for a very long time.

After the Vietnam War Jerry’s dad had been so depressed that he’d packed up one day and just left, without a word, and just taking a small bag of clothes with him.

“Do you know a David Wiltshire?” Jerry questioned him. “That’s my father’s name, I’m his son Steven.” “Oh no!” said Jerry in shock and disbelief, “We must be brothers.”

Quite sober now, Steven and Jerry talked for ages finding out a lot of things about each other and their dad.

Jerry was sad to learn that his father had died of cancer just a year earlier, but both he and Steven were so happy at having found each other. They exchanged addresses and promised to keep in touch.