Early Bird Season

Award-winning writer Raphael van Workum’s story of chance meetings and dubious connections far from home

Here I am, Lossiemouth beach. The most northern point in the world I have been. It is further north for someone born and raised in New Zealand than for most. I got here a lot of ways, but most recently by car. From Edinburgh to Elgin I drove, the first car I have hired. The first time driving with signs that read miles. What a glorious day trip it was, driving through the back roads: Scotland reminds me of home, just colder.

But yesterday was pleasant and I stopped to climb Kinnoull Hill. I danced on the picnic table at the top, then stood on the edge of the cliff looking down. I thought about jumping, but I didn’t have my licence on me so they wouldn’t know I want to be a donor. I’m not sure I can even be a donor here.

I saw an old Gaelic church and graveyard. I love talking to spirits, so I stopped for a cuppa. They were in a good mood. The sun was shining and most seemed at peace. I can always feel tension around graves of the young or tortured. There were few here. People had lived good lives. What an appealing deathstyle.

Now I am here on this beach. I made it. A woman and her daughter walk arm in arm down the beach. I wave them over and ask for a picture. “Where are you from, lass?” “New Zealand.” “Oh wow, you’ve come a long way, ’aven’t ya?” “Haha, yeah, you could say that.” “And what brings you to Scotland of all places?” “For views like this.” The daughter looks into my eyes for the first time and asks: “Do you like it here?” “Yeah. It’s very beautiful.” “And the people?” “Some are nice, like you and your mother,” I respond with a smile.

“So you’re out here all on your own, lass?” The mother observes me with worry behind her eyes. “Yeah, I am travelling the world alone.” She asks me many questions about my safety and methods of travel. She asks where I sleep and how I get food. She asks me how old I am and what I was doing before travelling. I answer everything truthfully except when she asks: “So you have been completely safe, then?” At the end of it all she turns to her daughter: “Well lass, don’t be getting any ideas from this lass here. You’d be much safer to stay with me, I think.”

When they are half a kilometre away, I cry for the first time since the morning after. Since I woke up in the morning and looked into his eyes. I tell myself