The Easterly: Chapter 1

Drizzle

It wasn’t the air that made Albany cold, or the incessant sprinkling of rain that interrupted walks along the beach and Sunday barbeques. It was the wind, a wedge, which jammed itself into the gaps of jumpers and jackets. There were places along Albany’s coast where you could lean forward into the driving gale and be held in place by its force. Wild and fierce, in the past year alone three men had lost their lives to its rugged coastline.

It was the wind that made Grace love this rock so much, perched near the top of Mount Clarence overlooking the town below. Boredom and tears had brought her here initially, but now she came as though called, a way of escaping the nagging at home. Grace's red jacket billowed around her tall frame as the wind curled underneath. A gasp escaped her lips as the cool air pushed its way down into her chest. Is this what it felt like to be free? She would soon know. The problem with climbing hills was you couldn’t stay at the top forever. At some point you have to turn around and walk back down. The climb is tough, invigorating, and driven with purpose. There’s nothing exciting about moving down hill. Soon the scenery disappears from view and your left to scramble back through the bush you had conquered only hours before.

With every step down the changes Grace had felt began to reverse. A sombre weight returned, her heightened senses became dull again. Nearing the road to her house Grace heard two boys further up talking, they were coming nearer. Grace burst out of the bushes just as they rounded the hill on two bikes and with all the gusto of male tenors began an operatic version of Advance Australia Fair, Grace giggled, the melodrama of her internal melancholy forgotten. As they whizzed by one of the boys spotted her and the performance halted, at first turning a bright crimson then a ghostly white, he gripped his wobbling steering wheel but it veered off the side of the road and straight into the open arms of a Lantana shrub. Grace ran over to the bush, his friend was still peddling back up the hill, realising what had happened but too late to stop. The two boys were also in year 12 from Grace’s high school, Jake and Marcus, she had barely spoken to either of them all year. Jake, now attempting to extract his bike from the shrub smiled jovially.
“Not to worry!”
“Impressive.” Grace had felt sorry for Jake, though quietly thrilled it was someone else embarrassing themselves for a change.
“Thanks, been practicing for days now.” Jake quipped back.
“I was talking about your singing.”
“So was I.”

.....To be continued