My short story 'The Question' was commended in the 2020 NZSA Page & Blackmore short story competition. You can read all the winners here:
http://www.topwriters.co.nz/2020-stories.html The Question Banks Peninsular, 2019 Where shall I go? I pull my ponytail tight as I stare across the glassy bay. How about over to that yacht; the one past the island? The weather report looks wrong again. So much for squally showers. That water’s as smooth as an oaky chardonnay. I walk down from my parents’ holiday cottage to the boat shed. Inside, the paddleboards rest against one wall. I drag out the one with the seat attachment. I like the stability of sitting. With all this uncertainty at work, the last thing I want is to be wobbling about on the water. I nip back to the shed to grab the life jacket and discover Mike still hasn’t returned it. I boot a stone off the path and curse my brother. Sod it—I’ll go anyway. After five days at work, my stiff body is craving exercise. Crunching down the pebbles to the water in bare feet hurts like hell, but what makes me swear is the icy shock when I wade in. Strands of black seaweed stick to my legs. I flick them off, then float the board and adjust the seat. As I sit, it wobbles. I change position and secure the ankle leash. Grabbing the paddle in both hands, I dig the blade into the water and push away from the shore. Overhead, a lone gull lets out a shrill cry. Can’t I even get some peace here? Wilson was pestering me all day about the job. Jen, I need your answer by Monday. What with Mum saying I’m too risk-averse, and Dad telling me Guangzhou’s too far away, what should I say? The water’s choppy. Two yellow buoys bob to my right; spray flecks my sunglasses. If it weren’t for the blue overalls hanging on that washing line, I’d swear nobody else was in the bay. Perhaps someone just forgot them—I haven’t seen another soul. I should have arrived earlier; the sun’s almost gone. Fucking Wilson! Did he need those stats today? As if he’s going to pore over them all weekend. Then again, he probably will, the sad loser. That yacht’s getting closer. I bet it’s someone’s dream. What on earth do I want? When I was a kid, I thought to be happy at my age all I’d need was a well-paid job, a husband, two kids and a dog. One out of five—fucking great. The wind knocks me sideways. I roll my shoulders, then pull harder on the blades to get back on course. Answer the question—do I want to take the job? Some risk-analyst I am. Why is this decision so difficult? Setting up the Guangzhou office would be a stretch, but why shouldn’t I do it? I shift on the board and chew my lip. My father’s voice echoes in my mind: Face it, you’d be in too deep. Would the Chinese even accept a woman in that spot? Now if Mike was offered the job. Why did Dad say that? Mike would be clueless. I look up. Black clouds are rolling in from the mouth of the harbour. Shit, maybe the forecast was right. I should head back but the yacht’s right there. I want to reach it. I put my head down and press on. When I hear the clicks from rigging hitting the mast, I look up again. It’s a tidy yacht. I like the colour—white with a thick turquoise line around the deck. Through the window, I can see a cereal bowl and dishcloth on the table. Did the owners leave in a hurry? I smile when I read the brass letters on the wooden plaque attached to the cabin: SERENITY. Out here it’s anything but serene. A wave rolls over my legs and then another smacks my board. In an instant, I’m off and under. The air rushes from my lungs. The water’s in my ears, nose, and my sunnies have gone. Fuck! Another wave slams me hard against the side of the yacht. Adrenaline shoots through me. I force myself up, gulping and thrashing. I tug on the leash and the paddleboard slams into me. I drag myself on to it. Standing, I stretch across and push away from the yacht’s hull. Shit, the paddle’s the wrong length now, but I’m not going to sit—if I do, I could end up back in the drink. The sky’s like a dark blanket sagging over the bay. Inside my head, I hear Mum’s voice: Jen’s the sensible one—she never takes risks. I shudder, gulp in air and paddle. It’s difficult to hold this course because it’s been a while since I paddle-boarded standing and the current’s driving me further out. With each stroke. I keep my eyes on the two yellow buoys in the distance. My teeth begin to chatter. I want to wipe the spray from my face. Why did I have to lose my sunglasses? I can’t afford to stop—the rain will be here at any moment. The houses along the shore are in darkness. I can just make out the white fence running along the bottom of my parent’s garden. It looks ridiculously far away. I pull harder and sharp jolts of pain shoot across my shoulders. I try a new position but can’t find relief. The hill behind the house is suddenly floodlit. Thunder rolls directly overhead. I flinch. My board wobbles and I’m swept further back. The hail feels like needles on my arms and shins. Why didn’t I put on my full-length wetsuit? I squeeze my eyes shut and put my head down. “Shit!” The sound of the waves slapping against the board drowns out my voice. I peek and catch another flash of lightning illuminating the shore. My legs feel like they’re burning. There’s a tingling in my arms. Please God, not a heart attack—don’t let me die out here. If this is the end, have I done everything I wanted? Why do I care so much what my parents think? Mike doesn’t. In my head, I beat time with each thrust—one-two, one-two. I keep paddling, staying with that rhythm until the fin under the board scrapes on shingle. I stumble off into the surf, but the leash jerks me back. I grab it and pull. Lurching, I drop the paddle. Waves suck it backwards. “Fuck!” I lunge and manage to retrieve it just in the nick of time. Panting and retching, I drag everything up the shore and drop to my knees. A sudden coughing fit forces me lower. Steadying myself, I take in a lungful of air. I brush seaweed strands off my legs and laugh. “Risk-averse, am I?” I whoop and punch the air. I have the answer.
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BioI am an author and artist. I enjoy writing short stories, flash fiction and am currently working on a Biblical Historical Romance series. Categories |