Author: Alexander Fawn

The young men would occasionally catch up after work.

Years earlier they had been close friends at school. But now, their times of leaving work would vary, and every now and again they would see each other in the café near the station. It was more pleasant than waiting on the platform. It was some time since they had seen each other and the man entering was pleased to see the other reading the paper in their favourite corner. He ordered and sat down.

“Long time, eh?”

The other looked up smiling. “You’re right.” He folded his paper and said, “How are things?”

“Oh! You know, same old same old.”

The waitress came across with his coffee. After a silence, he said, “I heard you broke up with her.”

“Yep.”

“Just so happens I passed her today, coming out of the station this morning. I don’t think she saw me.”

The other nodded.

“She was on the arm of this guy. Big fella; looked like a bouncer.”

The other grinned.

“Come on, I bet your still keen on her.”

The other moved his paper around. “Just a little, I guess.”

“Just a little? Oh! I don’t believe that for a minute. Last time we caught up, what, just a few weeks back, you were telling me how incredibly perfect the woman was.”

“I was, wasn’t I?” the other replied shaking his head.

“Yes, you were. You were saying that you shared the same taste in movies, music and books. You said she was so easy to talk to, that you could share all of your private thoughts with each other. You made a point of telling me she was the one, the one and only true love in your life. You said you could hardly believe that you had found such happiness!”

The other nodded in agreement.

“Hey! You told me all this right here; right here in this café.” He looked around. “Probably at this very table.” His eyebrows went up, questioningly. He drank a little coffee. “I just couldn’t believe it,” he went on, “when I heard you weren’t together any more. I mean, what happened?”

The other tapped the newspaper. “You’ve been keeping up with all the stuff that’s been going on since the election, I’m sure?”

“Of course. Couldn’t avoid it if I wanted to.”

The other let out a long sigh. “She voted for him!”

While working out what rhymes with red,

It took a while, it should be said.

So many swirled around my head,

I thought I’d go for pink instead.

–

Now, there’s a colour, don’t you think?

Although this one can make men shrink.

It could take them to the brink.

This calls for a quick rethink.

–

Brown’s the one to pin it down,

Although it wouldn’t paint the town.

The thought of it may make you frown.

I’ll have to try another noun.

–

Now, blue’s a colour of a different hue.

Again, for choice, a lengthy queue.

The more I looked, the more it grew.

I’d look for something that isn’t blue.

–

Green sounds nice and often seen.

After rain it looks so clean.

But maybe something in between.

Turquoise may well suit the scene.

–

Turquoise? Are you kidding?

He’d been stuck in the terminal for eighteen hours with the storm still raging outside.

Bad weather had grounded everything. There was no way of knowing when the airport’s operations would restart. He was on his way to an important meeting, with its outcome for the company worth millions. He had built it up from nothing. What was it worth? Two hundred, three hundred million? He didn’t know. He was tired of it, tired of it all.

As the hours dragged by, a sense of personal renewal was going on: yet again. His wife, children, friends, all good, but… he would love to be able to start again. He could lose the mansion, the boat and the club memberships. He was quite sure of that. In a way, it bothered him that these thoughts had been plaguing him of late, but on the other hand the thought of it gave him a sense of calmness; a joyful resolve that had him flashing back to the happy, carefree times of childhood.

People just disappeared didn’t they? One minute they were where everybody expected them to be, the next, gone. Didn’t you have to plan these things? Legalities, ownership stuff and bank accounts; or do these people just wing it. It would be his choice alone. Nobody else could make the decision. What was it the doctor said? Go on at this rate, I give you two years, three years tops.

He got up and walked around. He went again to the ‘Delayed’ notice on the departures board. He returned to his seat. He stood, eyeing his travel cases. Nothing had been checked in yet. Apart from his electronic flight ticket there was nothing to say where he was going, or that he was going anywhere. He wondered what the weather was like in Chicago. He checked his mobile for world weather. Not much better.

He settled back on his seat and let his memories of childhood holidays return with vivid recollection. That little village in Spain that his parents would take time off in. Where was it now? Jubrique, or at least somewhere near it. So long ago. Yet he clearly remembers the row of white chalets, with a view out across the rugged blue-green hills. The old caretaker with his guitar, sitting in the rented chalet, sipping offered wine and playing; such playing, such magical music!

Another six hours went by before the airport was reopened for business.

He changed his ticket.

She was very young and very bright.

She had a secret desire that only she knew about. It is true that others saw her as, well… different. Ever since her kindergarten teacher had told the little ones about the existence of the almighty, she had held a most secret passion to meet him, and that’s when she started looking. She felt sure that it would only be a matter of time. It could be said that her young mind had got hold of the wrong end of the stick, but the spirit of it was there, and it would stay. When she went with her mother to the big shopping centre in town she would often look down from the upper level at the milling crowds. She felt sure this would be a good place to look.

One day, when she was barely old enough to leave the house on her own, she put a bottle of juice and a small packet of biscuits in a paper bag, and before her parents were awake, left the house for the town. She had the bag because her quest could well take the entire day. It was a long walk and she was pleased to find it was already open. She made her way to one of the many bench seats and sat catching her breath. Clutching her bag and watching the shoppers, she felt sure that this would be the day. It would happen today.

First she looked down from the third gallery, then from the other end of the great hall on the second level, then down into the growing mass of shoppers. She made her way through the moving people, looking up into their faces, searching. She returned to the upper levels and started again, using stairs and elevators to travel between floors. Hours passed and it was lunchtime because people were now filling the food hall. She wasn’t at all hungry. The mission that burnt within her was all she needed to keep her going. Her strategy of moving from one vantage point to another was repeated into the afternoon and the numbers in the shopping centre began to dwindle.

She was riding down one of the elevators when she saw him. What she saw was an old man, sitting quietly on his own. Without hesitation, she made her way to where he sat. She stood in front of him with a look of wonder in her eyes. He slowly looked up into her young eyes and smiled with a smile that she had never seen the like of in her short life. His hair was white, his eyes a deep blue, his face was thin and wrinkled; wrinkled and beautiful. She sat down next to him and just stayed there for the longest time with neither speaking.

Eventually, she opened her bag and unscrewed the top from the bottle. She held it out. He drank and turned to her with a smile that flooded through her with a heavenly ecstasy. She took a sip and opened the biscuits. He took one. She took one. They sat eating and drinking without a word until the announcement that the centre was closing rang out through the building. She was unable to fully comprehend the joy that she felt. There was no sadness for either of them as she stood in front of him again. She raised a young hand and moved her fingers gently, as a goodbye. With his penetrating smile he did the same.

As she moved away she thought for the first time that her parents would be worried about her. On her way to the exit she heard voices calling out. Looking back she saw people approaching the old man but then lost sight of it with those following her. She knew without any doubt at all that he would be alright. He would always be alright.

Now, truly exhausted, she slowly walked the long journey home.

Her head was full of wonder.

When she arrived, she was greeted by anxious parents.

“Her father said, “We’ve been so worried.”

She said, “I met God today.”

Her mother cried and hugged her.

Meanwhile, in the old people’s home, the nurse said, “We were very worried about you, wandering off like that.”

He said, “I met God today.” His eyes filled with tears and he added, “She was so young.”

The nurse kindly patted his hand. “I’ll get you a nice cup of tea.”

…and who is to say who met who?

Who is to say?

The fact is, I don’t really know how I got here.

I think it must have started the night they had visitors over. I had been used once or twice during the day, but hadn’t been put back properly. I remember something heavy being placed on top of me. Later in the evening, somebody was clearing up. I was swept off the counter top with lots of other bits and pieces and dropped into the kitchen’s rubbish pot. I had never been in there before.

Then I was tipped into a bag, with things being piled on top of me. I recall the bag being lifted out and the top being tied off. I remember being carried, because I was swinging around. Then a bigger drop and a lid banging down. I seemed to be in there all day, and in the evening everything was moved and a rumbling of wheels was heard.

The next morning there was a lot of noise. There was a great whirling sound of machinery and I was lifted up and tossed into something. Then a great jaw closed down and I was squashed with a lot of other stuff. The noise and the movement went on for hours. Finally I was tipped, and that’s where I am now.

I’m sure I shouldn’t be here because I’m not being used. I was used regularly, before any of this happened. I wish I could glint more, then someone might see me. I’m sure I am needed somewhere!

Meanwhile, at the house.

She says, “I wish I could find that key.”

He says, “Don’t worry, it’ll turn up.”

The woman at the reception desk gave him a welcoming smile.

Still a little shocked, he stood looking around. He felt light-headed and not at all sure about where he was. The surroundings were both strange yet peaceful at the same time. The woman was waving at him. She called out, “Please come forward. This won’t take long.” Wondering what wouldn’t take long, he approached the counter.

“Welcome,” she said again, tapping at her keyboard. “Let me see now, yes, there you are. It happened this morning, I see.”

“What did? I’m not sure what I’m doing here.”

She scrolled the screen. “Oh! Yes, I see. Bound to be some trauma.” She stared at the screen again. “Ah! Nasty!”

“Nasty?”

“Yes, machinery related ones often are.”

“What do you mean by machinery?”

She looked up with a frown. “I’m going to have to leave it there, sorry. It’s a policy. Besides, it is generally best if a person has it all come back to them naturally.”

“I only know I was out at the mine site doing maintenance work on the rock crusher, when…” he fell silent.

“Yes, well, as I say, let it come back naturally.” She stretched across to a printer and removed a small card. She handed it to him, saying, “This will get you through security.”

“Really?”

“Yes, we’ve had to tighten our screening process. Nothing for you to worry about, I’m sure.” In almost a whisper, she said, “Apparently, we had a couple of wrongens slipped through.”

He nodded and looked down at the card. “It doesn’t have my name on it.”

She smiled. “Quite right. We don’t use those here.”

He grimaced and flapped the card. “I don’t see any mention here that I’m a vegetarian. I’m pretty strict about that.”

“That’s not a problem. We don’t eat here either.”

“Oh! Really?”

She smiled politely and said, “Really. Anyway, this will all be explained later. I understand there’s a bit of a queue down there, because of the latest security upgrade.” She pointed to the door behind her. “If you make your way through there. Just keep going past the golf course…”

“Golf course?” he interrupted.

“Yes. Just follow the path,” she went on, “it’ll swing round to the right and you’ll see the gates, very large and pearly, you can’t miss them. Just hand over your card.”

“Of course. Eh, thank you.”

She nodded.

He was almost at the door, when he turned and went back. “My offsider,” he said, “It’s coming back to me now. Such a nice young lad. One of the new apprentices. He was right there, next to me.” He looked around.

She moved across to another screen. “You’re right, it seems that you went together.”

His eyebrows shot up in anticipation.

“Sorry!” she said with a sympathetic look, “he’s got history. I’m afraid he won’t be joining us.”

It’s where poems and stories come together.

It’s where peace and harmony meet.

It’s where thoughts run free, by unfettered degree.

In short, it’s a writers’ retreat.

It’s not hunting shooting or fishing,

Or anything so dubiously mannish,

That takes them there, away from all care,

Allowing all burdens to vanish.

–

There’s a complex, serious ‘out there poet’,

With essays on the shelf.

There’s a simple, trivial, ‘poet in hiding’,

Just writing for himself.

–

There’s a time when people write,

When self-expression needs to vent.

There’s a place that takes there workings,

When a concept’s fully spent.

–

There are no rules that govern

How a notion comes to be.

Nor any imposed boundaries

To stop it flying free.

–

Both the serious ‘out there poet’

And the trivial ‘in hiding’,

See their work take form, on each platform,

With their points of view providing.

–

With points of view in many a guise,

With both stories and rhyme being written,

It’s easy to see how it comes to be,

Once the writing bug has bitten.

–

So, for both the ‘serious’ and the ‘’trivial’,

Let their rhyming voices sing.

So that each may have their say

In their own distinctive way.

Let their notions interplay.

Each to do their very own thing.

–

It’s where ideas and notions come together;

Where fact and fiction meet.

It’s where thoughts can flow and ideas grow,

With meditation and musings replete.

It’s a place unlike any other.

In short, it’s a writers’ retreat!

She sat down with a cup of tea, made herself comfortable and dialled the number.

A woman’s voice came on, “Hello.” There was a pause. “Sorry. How did you get this number?”

The old lady said, “Pardon? My hearing isn’t so good.”

“I don’t understand how you got this number,” came the reply. “For you to be calling here is most inappropriate.”

“Well, I don’t know about that.”

“I can only repeat, however did you get this number?”

“Oh! I see. I bought it on the Internet.”

“You did?”

“Oh! Yes dear, you can buy just about anything on the Internet.”

Prolonged silence. “On the Internet, you say. We need to look into that.”

“Yes. It wasn’t cheap, I can assure you of that!”

After a silence. “You do realise that strictly speaking this line is not a line for the… well, not for the living.”

“Yes, I know, but I really wanted to schedule.”

“Schedule?”

“Yes, with your man. You know, the one bony chap with the black cloak and the big scythe.”

More silence.

She went on. “I’ve always been something of a private person, you see. I know it’s getting close. Popping off, I mean. I’d really like to slip away quietly without family, friends and neighbours all gathering around, commiserating and generally carrying on.”

More silence.

“There was an awful fuss that time I dropped the iron on my foot. It was… well I’m sure you don’t want to hear about that.”

A polite cough was heard from the other end. “No. Probably not.”

“I was hoping you could schedule him for next week… preferably Tuesday. They’ll all be away you see, the family, on holidays, and the old man from flat number seven never calls in on a Tuesday.”

Still nothing on the other end.

“I was hoping you’d understand.”

A long silence, followed by, “Thank you for the call madam.”

Then, in a softer voice, “I’ll see what I can do.”

It started out as just another bus ride into the city.

He had been daydreaming, staring out at buildings as they went by. She had been peering into the bus, looking to see how full it was. He found himself staring back at her as the bus pulled up at the stop. It was her bright blue eyes that caught his attention. He watched, as she worked her way along looking for a seat. If only he wasn’t so much of a romancer. He felt a thrill run through him when she stopped, looking around. She gave just a flicker of a smile and sat down next to him. Out of the corner of his eye he watched as she took a book from her bag. She opened it at the bookmark and began to read.

He sat for a while wondering how he could start up a conversation with her. He caught the title and could see it was a book of poems by a Percival somebody he had never heard of. He considered the possibility that she wasn’t going all the way in to town. She may get off at the next stop! He had to think fast.

“Now, there’s a coincidence,” he said, trying to sound casual.

She turned her blue eyes on him. “Pardon?”

“The book,” he smiled, “I read it just a few weeks back.”

“Oh! Really?”

“Yes, sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you; just thought it was one heck of a coincidence, that’s all.”

“That’s OK,” she said and went back to the book. She carried on reading for a while, then suddenly, she stopped reading and closed the book. “What did you think of him?” she asked.

“Pardon?”

“The poet; what did you think of him?” she repeated.

“Oh! Yes, well, brilliant, of course. He has such a wonderful way with words.”

Her face clouded a little. She looked surprised and disappointed at the same time.

He said, “What?”

“I guess that would make us pretty incompatible.” She smiled as she put her book back in her bag.

“It would?”

“Oh! Definitely.”

He was afraid to ask, but did anyway. “You’re not so keen on him?”

“Oh! I think he’s really dreadful!”

“You do?”

“I certainly do.”

“Why read him then?”

She pulled a long face. “Not through choice, I can assure you of that. It’s just part of my English studies. He’s just one of three very different poets that we have to write a paper on. You know, to compare them.” She stood up saying, “My stop.” She smiled and her eyes twinkled. She moved to the door. The bus stopped. She was gone; lost in the crowd.

If only… if only he’d told the truth. What if he had asked if the book was any good? What if he had said he really didn’t know much about poetry? Would she have enjoyed telling him all the things that she found awful about the poet’s work? Would they have got into a deep conversation?

Anything could have happened. Before she got off she could have scribbled her phone number down on a scrap of paper. They could have caught up for a coffee and a chat from time to time. They could have done this more and more regularly over a few weeks. They could have gone steady. She could have gone on to complete her studies. He could have finished night school. They could have married. They could have saved up and bought a house. They could have had children. They…

The bus reached his stop with a jolt. He got off. If only he wasn’t so much of a romancer.

He never saw her again.

It was a quiet day in the street.

The yapping dog across the street, in number 42, had been driving him nuts for weeks. But today, it was eerily quiet. His mind went back to the day before. On his way home from work, he stopped off at the shops in the high street. As he came out of the supermarket his attention was grabbed by the name on a vehicle’s door. It was a utility vehicle, belonging to a plumbing company, parked in the street. What he noticed was the name of the town it was from. He had lived there himself a few years before, it was a good two-hour drive away. Something other than a plumbing job had obviously brought it all this way from its home base.

Having a few minutes before his bus, he strolled over to take a closer look. It was then that he saw the scruffy little dog curled up on some old sacks in the back. At the time it had occurred to him that it looked very much like the yapper from his street. It was a Yorkshire terrier, but they must all look alike to some degree. He felt a twinge of guilt when he found himself wishing this was the one from his street, about to be taken across the country, never to be heard from again.

He leant forward. It was wearing a collar with a name disc partly hidden under tufts of hair. He didn’t want to wake it up. It would have been useless anyway, as he didn’t know the name of the troublesome dog in his street. He could see the letters ‘e l o’, just maybe that was all there was to it; a pet named after a pop group.

He went back to his bus stop and waited. Shortly before the bus came, a man returned, climbed into the utility and drove off.

That was yesterday. Today, a deathly silence had fallen over the street. Maybe the woman in number 42 had done what the man in number 44 had suggested, quite forcibly, that she get a muzzle for her dog. It was such a yapper; only a small dog, but amazingly loud.

The man who lived across the street from the offending animal was now enjoying the rare silence, stretched out on his sofa, reading his book, when his doorbell went.

He opened the door to be confronted by a nervous looking lady from number 42. “I’m sorry to bother you, but it’s my Angelo.”

The whole thing became clear to him in a flash. “Angelo?” he echoed, playing for time.

“Yes, you know, my little doggy. You’ve probably heard his happy little bark.”

He froze for a moment, then gathered himself. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, help, of course!” she flapped her hands. “Sorry, I’m a bit frantic I’m afraid. Him being out there somewhere.” She waves a hand at the street. “He’s simply not use to it. You know, the big wide world. He knows nothing about it. I keep him in the house you see. He must have escaped.”

“So,” he said slowly, trying to calm her down by example, “you’re telling me that you’ve lost your dog, right?”

“Yes. Right.”

“And you came to me… why?”

She lowered her voice. “The neighbours either side aren’t very nice,” she whispered. She was obviously completely oblivious to just how much angst this creature had been creating.

“OK. I’ll look out for it,” he said, and closed the door.

He returned to his book, enjoying a newfound peace.