Down The Road

I sit in the back seat of Jay’s worn out station wagon, leant against the window to avoid the surfboards.

Years of this salty lifestyle have given her a voice of her own and her break pads shriek as we turn off the Margaret River highway, and begin up a long gravel drive.

The last of the sun peeks through the gum trees.

Saltwater seeps out of my nose and onto my board shorts.

We glimpse the house; tree stumps and corrugated iron, a v shaped love shack, handmade with wild gardens surrounding.

An evening chill begins as we rinse off the boards and put them up against the wall in the garage, a room they share with two acoustic guitars, a broken keyboard, half a drum kit, and whatever other musical treasures Jay has found in op-shops or abandon.

With a spark in his eye, Jay greets the dog, Arohanui (Maori for love), and she pants in excitement. She's a dingo.

Past the tree stump pillars and dusty ground, are two French doors, wide open, and Jay’s fiancé Em, is there to greet us, with her wavy dark hair.

Em asks how the surf was.
Jay smiles.

"I love this place", I tell them.

She is from Sydney, he is a Kiwi.

Maybe one day they will have kids here, they say.

A bedroom above looks down at the wooden kitchen and the lounge filled with treasures found on journeys through India.

An old Bob Dylan record plays. I think Em is making home made pizza. I can smell it.

Kept warm by old jerseys, the three of us sit down outside on cushions, to a shortened table, like the ones in Laos.

Perth is a mining boom city of two million people, it has a world class casino, five star hotels, and Australia’s highest percentage of Millionaires.

Margaret River is three hours away.