Walking In Detail

• Helena Watson, Grade 7K
• Short Story
• 2013

When I leave my redbricked house from under the blue painted, tiled roof, passing the massive silver Kia Carnival and saying goodbye to my parents. Every morning, I go off to school with my school bag weighing a ton, most days with my clarinet and music bag over my shoulder. I pace over the spiky, weed-covered green grass to take a trampled short cut through the garden, and with an olive tree on one side, and a salvia bush and a beautiful blue-flowering plant on the other. I stride through the colourful and nice smelling plants to the footpath. Once on the hard, grey footpath, I ponder whether to cross near the roundabout, or walk a little further to the house of my friend. Most days, I walk further down the street. If I do, I pass under a drooping tree limb, and a small patch of weeds, which in the spring flowers with beautifully coloured blooms. A tall blue mailbox stands alone in another patch of the weeds, signaling my neighbour’s land’s beginning. Their house sits a bit further back from the main road, but squats right on the edge of the street at a right angle from the main road. There is a miniscule nature strip in front of their house, with little geranium bushes surrounding a massive ironbark in the middle, shadowing the road and our two houses. I look left, and then right, to be sure there are no cars approaching. My eyes sweep the ‘T’ intersection, but my ears give me the final verdict, and if they give the all clear, I cross. The bitumen road is bumpy with tiny potholes and loose black pebbles. On the other side, two large, tall bushes that flower into large pink blooms, cast a deep, black shadow on the road and footpath. I continually glance at the intersection two crosses away for the bus. Slowly plodding along, passing the beautifully coloured gardens of the houses along the street. At a house a small way down the road, I check the driveway for a friend. That friend is Grace, a tiny grey tabby kitten who is very friendly. However, she is not normally there. At that point, I continue down the road, to another small nature strip, past a house with two small, barking dogs confined behind the woven gates of their garage. On their driveway, I scan the road, up at the roundabout, and down at the intersection. Once it is clear, I cross again. I walk up the driveway, and I knock quietly on the white door of my friend’s house. We wait, watching TV, until 8:15 in the morning, when we leave her house with her brother and pass under a tree with low branches. We again watch the road, and when safe, we cross. The other side of the road is pockmarked, with numerous, shallow, steep-sided holes in the grass. A concrete square marks the end of my journey. Now for school.