Your House

I stood at the foot of the trail that winds through the salt marsh. 

I was on my bike with my brothers here once, 15 years ago. I hadn’t been back here since then. Now, here I stood. 

I closed my eyes and thought back to 15 years ago. I’d just arrived back in Sydney from a student exchange program in Tokyo, and had quickly settled back into the malaise of Sydney suburban life. I was winding down my final year of art school, I had broken up with my girlfriend, and I was briefly living back at my childhood home in Dulwich Hill with my parents, my brothers and my sister. 

Immediately upon arriving back in Sydney, my brothers had wanted to go on a stoned bike ride with me. This had become a brotherly tradition before I went to Tokyo, and we were keen to recommence our psychedelic explorations of the endless bike trails, mangrove swamps and forests that snaked out from our neighbourhood. 

15 years ago we jumped on our bikes and headed for the river near our home. We followed the river south, across bridges, through parks and forests, and eventually ended up at the trailhead of the salt marsh. 

Although we had passed this way many times before, we had never noticed this particular trailhead. We decided to explore it and see where it led. 

The trail began as a dirt path winding through the salt marsh, but after a few hundred feet it became duckboards. We rode our bikes over the wooden duckboards, and they made a pleasant bumping vibration as the wheels rolled over them. 

Sam had ridden up ahead, but stopped and turned back towards Eddy and me. Covering Sam’s face was a protruding, white mask that gave him the mixed-appearance of a duck, and a plague doctor from the Middle Ages. He had recently undergone a nose operation for sinus issues, and the mask was to aid his healing. It gave him a menacing and ghostly look. 

Behind Sam, and further up the trail, I could see a line of figures moving down the path, away from us. I strained to look closer and could see the figures wore black robes and hoods. There were nuns!

My brothers and I hurried towards them, as they disappeared behind a bend in the trail that was dense with mangroves. 

As we drew closer to the bend in the trail, and rounded it, we saw a long corridor of spindly mangroves, forming a dark tunnel over the trail. The nuns were far off in the distance and rounding another bend, disappearing from sight. 

The trail through the mangrove tunnel was very boggy, and we couldn’t ride our bikes easily through it. Regrettably, we decided to stop following the strange nuns and head for home. Turning our bikes around, we rode away from the salt marsh and back towards the river. I didn’t know it would be 15 years until I would come to this place again. 

Where did that trail go? What was at the end of the long corridor of mangroves?

For 15 years I had wondered. For 15 years my brothers and I had told the story about the nuns in the forest, but we never went back to see where the path led. Now, I had my chance to find out.

I entered the salt marsh and began to follow that same old trail. 

As I walked towards the bend in the trail, past the duckboards, and drawing closer to the thick mangrove forest, a shy looking man appeared from behind a tree. 

The shy man smiled at me nervously, and began looking towards the tree tops, clutching a camera. I smiled back, and I guessed quietly that he must have been photographing birds.

As I passed by the man, I arrived at the bend in the trail. I felt a melancholy wash over me as I rounded the bend, and my stomach began to knot. 

The mangrove corridor was exactly the same. The trail, still boggy, cut that familiar, black, ropey path through the trees. 

The dark, muddy trail did not look at all inviting, but today I decided that I would finally solve the mystery that had been circling my dreams. 

My sneakers sank into the mud as I entered the mangrove tunnel. Looking to the sides of the path, I watched inky water slosh around the gnarled fingers of the mangrove roots. It looked prehistoric, and I could imagine giant crocodiles lurking in the shadowy gloom. 

My imagination getting the better of me, I smiled to myself. The mangrove swamps and rivers of Sydney are full of giant eels and bull sharks, but it is too cold for crocodiles down here. 

As I neared the central point of the trail, it became almost completely engulfed in the inky water of the swamp. I had no choice but to get my shoes covered in it, as I was determined to go on. I made my way through the bog, feeling the cold water ooze into my socks, glancing towards the final bend in the path up ahead. 

Passing through the worst of the mud, I finally reached the place where I had long wondered what lay beyond it. The final turn of the trail. 

Feeling excited, I rounded the trail’s bend, and saw that it carried on further through mangrove forest, but then opened up onto a road. 

Walking through the final section of the mangroves, I emerged on a tiny cul de sac that looked over a wide, grassy park. The cul de sac had a white cottage at the end of it, nestled up against the mangrove forest. 

Something washed over me at that moment, and the sky changed its colour to something more faded. Everything around me became both blurry and bright at the same time.

I looked back towards the house. A figure was moving behind the window, and the front door of the cottage clicked open. 

Sam walked out of the door, and onto the road, greeting me with a big smile and holding a small bottle of beer.

Sam looked healthy and strong. He was wearing a crisp polo shirt, white tennis shorts and boat shoes. He looked like a fisherman. 

“Hey Villo! Can you come in and help me choose what movie I should watch?”

The laughter of a small child floated from the house, and the sound of a woman singing. 

The family he always wanted.

“Nice house, bro! I’m really proud of you!”

Sam smiled, but his eyes looked sad and faraway.

I turned back towards the path that went into the mangrove forest. The mystery was solved. 

As I approached the duckboards at the trailhead of the salt marsh, the shy man with the camera wandered out from behind a tree. 

This time, I passed by the man without exchanging a smile. He didn’t notice me at all because he was focused on a beautiful bird that was sitting on the tree’s fork above him.