Linus turned his coat collar up around his neck and
lowered his eyes to keep out the biting sea breeze. He should have been at
work, but he had called in sick. He didn’t feel he could possibly go to work at
all for the rest of the week—maybe ever again. He needed some time ... time to
weigh things up ... time to work things out ... time to think.
He looked up and, squinting into the teeth of the
salty gale, saw a park bench set back to where the foreshore rose up to meet
the road. It was partially sheltered behind low-growing saltbush. He leaned
into the wind and made his way towards it. Sinking wearily onto the bench he
sighed, hunched forward and twisted his hands together in a gesture of desperation.
He looked quickly to the right and to the left, and when he was sure that no
one was in sight, gave vent to a flood of tears that warmed his chilled and
pale cheeks.
As he sat there on the bench by the sea, his chaotic
thoughts raced in several directions at once. First, he thought of the weekend
just gone—the circumstances of which had led him to where he was right now,
missing work and doubting his ability to return. Then his mind roamed back a
few months, then years, then forward again. He tried to slow the frenetic pace
of his thoughts and memories by taking several deep breaths, and found that
this helped for a while.
He was almost twenty-two years old, but was at a place
one usually arrives at much later in life. He was at that place where you sit
to take stock of your life, wondering where it began to go wrong and looking
for the things that could have been done, or choices that could have been made,
to steer life in a different direction.
As he mulled things over, he realised there was nothing
he could have done to escape any of it. He hadn’t chosen the family he was born
into. He hadn’t been the one in control. Others had mapped out his life and
destiny. He’d had no say in the matter. Maybe things couldn’t be undone, but
perhaps if he put his mind to it, he could find a way out … a way of escape … a
way of setting things right.
His memories settled upon his childhood, and he began
to painfully relive it. It was a childhood that he swore his own children would
never have to live. He was going to be a different kind of man from his father,
and a different kind of man from what his grandfather had shown himself to be
this weekend. As he sat there in the biting cold wind, he swore that the
bitterness that had gripped them in its fatal clutches wasn’t going to have its
way with him. The vicious circle stops with me, he thought.
Hi Kerry
ReplyDeleteI'm sure you have already made your decision re the cover - and I hope it's the top one! Although my eye was drawn to the contrast of the black and gold at first, the top one has a more classic look, the print is easier to read and there is a sense of more complexity that invites you in. Needless to say it will also show less dust on the bookshelf than the black cover! Good luck. Jo Brown
Thanks Jo - if you have a look at the blog entry from July 28th (Which cover did I finally choose) you will see that I eventually went for the black cover. Several other people made the same comment as you did but you are the first one to raise the dust factor. Didn't think of that!It was a very difficult decision as opinion was evenly divided overall.
ReplyDelete