Columns from The Weekend West
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Tangled Web
His chair scraped mine. He acknowledged the intrusion with a polite smile and settled at a table for two. We sat at adjacent tables and observed the Saturday pageantry of the Fremantle cappuccino strip.
My neighbour ordered a beer. He shuffled his chair counter-clockwise to capture the last shaft of afternoon sun. His closely-clipped beard shone auburn but was greying around his sideburns.
He seemed fidgety, drumming the footpath with one scuffed boot. He undid the buttons on his polo shirt. Then he quickly fastened them again. A moment later, his hand flew up to his neck to check his collar was sitting obediently flat.
Leap of Faith
Fear pricked the soles of my feet. The Griffin road bridge over the Collie River was so high I could feel the adrenalin flooding my gut. My legs felt wobbly. I tried to ignore the pounding in my ears. My brain scrambled to process three converging phobias: my fear of heights, fear of falling and fear of drowning.
Five metres beneath me, the dark water swirled in murky green currents. I perched on the rusty water pipe slung beneath the bridge, my left hand a row of white-knuckles gripping the guard rail behind me. Could I jump?
“C’mon Mum” shouted a voice from the pebbly beach.
Cuts Both Ways
I glide around the shop display, high on the heady scent of perfumed candles.
“Would you like to sample our skin creams?” purrs the willowy shopgirl. She hands me a luxury Popsicle stick. With it, I scoop out a polite portion of Kashmir Petal lotion and knead my hands until I smell like a marshmallow. I admire her little amber pots arranged in careful rows along the counter and marvel at her equally decadent prices.
Into the shop walks a woman my age with a familiar face. I can’t place her but I know we’re acquainted somehow. Perhaps we have friends in common? I acknowledge her with a smile and say ‘Hi!’.
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