My Island

• Kristin Lambrinos, Grade 10, Danebank Girls School
• Short Story
• 2004

3rd in the 'Write On 2004' competition

"Sitting in a hot bus my skin stuck to the set. The overpowering silence, as no one has the energy to fuss and fiddle. The narrow confines of the long road challenges the bus, possibly the only one on the island, it changes gears constantly. The hills and houses are teasing me as I see glimpses of the sea and catch a glance of the sparkling water. I begin to struggle my way to the bus exit and argue with the driver about the fare.
Finally I am there and dumping my bags filled with unnecessary junk my mother insisted on me taking. I wade out into the water. No one is there as it is 2:00pm and every sensible villager is at home and asleep. The whole town dies for the afternoon in the summer months. I move out further into the water, navigating my way around the rocks. Water finally up to my shoulders, I dive in. Everything is still; the occasional fish strays from the school to see who is swimming at this time. As I swim, I realise 60 years ago my grandfather would have been here as a boy.
The grandfather I never knew. His face is only familiar to me because of the time stained framed photo in my father’s study. For years I stared at that face, and imagined how different life would be for my family if he was still alive.
This island, Astypalea, feel right. The nosy women who know everything about me within days, the superstitions that the whole island abides by, the one taxi driver who tells me what to avoid and whom to ignore.
Everyone on the island has their daily routines and change comes slowly to this rocky isle in the Dodecanese. No one comes here without a reason. My island is different to the others, it doesn’t have the modern comforts that all tourists demand, and traditions from years before are still kept by all those who live on the island.
The closure I have in this society and the simple way of life, free from confusion, doubt and worry, is the life I crave for. Yet at the same time is so foreign to me I wonder how long I would be able to handle it. The sun slowly dries my body as I lie out on the sand. The bells of the crumbled watch tower ring as they have done every hour before for centuries. Gradually the town begins to stir from their afternoon slumber. Here on the beach I am free.
"