Writer:- Chantell Marshall
Western Australia
THE BRIDGE
Gillian and Ned walked along the winding bridge, footsteps in sync as they traversed the familiar terrain; the marri planks creaking every so often, worn down by perpetual strides across their surface. Walking with arms linked around one another, heads bent in unison, they clung tightly; seemingly keeping each other upright, willing the other to continue.
Countless times they had wandered along this pathway, following the curve of the bridge as it wound its way through the native bushland. Water reeds sprawled around the marri planks; river flowing underneath. Melaleuca paperbark trees extended their limbs in all directions, giving refuge to fairy wrens, galahs and black cockatoos. To them, this was paradise.
Meandering along the bridge, they were both hit with memories; many highlights from their years together had occurred here. Ned had proposed to Gillian on this bridge; just two years later, they hobbled along the rickety planks in an attempt to encourage their son to make his arrival into the world. On future restless nights, they trundled Aidan’s pram over the planks – bump, bump, bump – rhythmically settling him into a slumber. Once Aidan was walking, Ned hovered closely behind as his toddler raced along the bridge as fast as his little legs could go – even at that age, Aidan loved being in motion.
In Winter, heavy rainfall caused the river to rise, often submerging the bridge completely. Being a typical Aussie boy, Aidan didn’t mind this one bit, splashing around in his welly boots, or searching for tadpoles when the water receded.
As he grew older, Aidan discovered faster modes of transport; from a tricycle, to a scooter, to a BMX bike. Bump, bump, bump - over the bridge he went, leaving his parents far behind. In recent years, Aidan had disregarded the bridge for the more exciting option of the open road, having earnt his driver’s license and purchased his first car; a second-hand Holden Commodore, his pride and joy.
Gillian and Ned shakily continued along the bridge, choking back the tears that fell continuously. “A tragic accident”, the policeman had said. Their adventure-loving boy had hit a kangaroo, his car veering off the road, straight into a Tuart tree. In an instant, he was gone.
Gillian lifted her head up to the sky, feeling the warmth of the sunshine on her face as it filtered through the leaves of the paperbark trees above her. The raucous chatter of the black cockatoos filled her ears as the perfume from the Melaleuca flowers wafted past. “Maybe around here?”, she asked Ned, gesturing to the area of bushland in front of them. “Yeah, love”, he replied. “I reckon he’d like this spot”. Entwined in mutual grief, Gillian and Ned both took turns in scattering the ashes of their beloved son across the bushland, watching his remains falling through the air before landing along mulched leaves and mossy rocks below; nature seamlessly interweaving Aidan into the bushland where he grew up.
They both knew this was where he belonged.