Most spring mornings Jane got up early. Before heading to work, she enjoyed the beautiful crisp weather, stunning mountainous views, vegemite toast and strong coffee, with entertainment provided by local magpies and their young.
One crisp Tuesday in November, Jane overslept; and with an early appointment in town, the routine went out the window. If she had been up early, she probably would have noticed a young man sitting out the side of her house. Maybe he was angry, or sad, or up to no good. Jane probably would have thought he was a bored young thug, with nothing better to do, just looking for trouble.
If Jane had not rushed that morning, she probably would have fed the birds over the back fence. She would have definitely noticed the young man then, walking along in a daze, high as a kite. Knowing her, she would have watched him like a hawk. But then she would have decided that he was too miserable to cause any real damage. She probably would have ignored him after a while.
If Jane had not rushed that morning, she would not have forgotten her lunch. But it was such a beautiful day, she decided to go home during her break to eat it outside on the balcony. As Jane drove up her street, she saw a police car.
With young hooligans a few doors down, this was nothing new. As she opened her back gate, she saw men in suits with clipboards on the hill out the back. A cluster of police officers. A big blue structure had been erected around a tree. Bright yellow police tape was attached to her back fence. Detectives. A coroner. Something had happened. A camera flashed behind the blue tent as the sun dipped behind a cloud.
If Jane had been up early that morning she may have noticed a depressed young man out the side of her house. She may have nodded in his direction. Or do something, anything, except ignore him. But knowing her, she probably would have just dismissed him.
She probably wouldn’t have noticed him looking at the trees; looking for a sturdy one. He picked one that she could see from her kitchen window. A tree on a busy firetrail. Jane hoped that was unintentional. Because nobody noticed the young man throwing the rope over the branch.
© 2010 Elizabeth Neil All Rights Reserved
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