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| The Red Ute |
| by Leanne Wyatt |
Sometimes you just get that feeling, an inclination that you've got to go somewhere.
I hadnt taken Honey for a walk for a couple of days. Honeys my golden retreiver. So I grab her leash, she's jumping up all over me, licking my hands, thank you she's saying.
Walking down by the beach, across the bay from the surf club to the caravan park with the pine trees out the front.
In the distance, over by the point, I see some surfies. The usual blonde, tanned surfies. But today there was a new guy. Not hard to notice someone new in a small coastal town like Pearl Bay. He's walking out of the water with the board under his arm. Walking towards the carpark, and me, sitting on the pine logs with Honey at my feet. I see him walking over to his car, it must be the red WB Holden ute. I know my cars. I'm doing my usual trick where I'm wearing my dark sunnies, I'm pretending to look out across the bay, but really my eyes are on him. Nice bod. He flicks his messy brown salty hair from his face and looks straight at me. I smile.
He smiles back.
He walks toward his car, parked just behind me. It was his ute. I knew it. He loads up his car with all his surfy gear. He's about to get in his car, when I turn around. He raises his arm, gives a bit of a wave. Catchya later he says. I say bye. Its all I could manage to muster. He drives off, I begin my walk home. Coming up the drive, Dads checking the letter box for the local paper. The new neighbours have moved in he says, nodding his head toward the end of the street. I look down the end of the cul de sac. It was his red ute. |
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