What happens when your past finally catches up with you?
Christmas is just around the corner, a time to be with family. For Will Mason, an orphan since he was fourteen, it is a time for reflection on what his life could have been, and what it could be.
Until a chance encounter brings back to life the reasons for his twenty years of self-imposed exile from a life only normal people could have. From that moment Will’s life slowly starts to unravel and it’s obvious to him it’s time to move on.
This time, however, there is more at stake.
Will has broken his number one rule, don’t get involved.
With his nemesis, Eddie Jamieson, suddenly within reach, and a blossoming relationship with an office colleague, Maria, about to change everything, Will has to make a choice. Quietly leave, or finally, make a stand.
But as Will soon discovers, when other people are involved there is going to be terrible consequences no matter what choice he makes.
I asked myself that question when about 1000 odd words into a current short story, one that I continue to go back to, but found an initial reluctance to write, and now seems to be difficult to continue.
Is the reason because I don’t feel like writing, that I’ve written myself into a corner, the story isn’t flowing, or there’s something else I’d rather be doing…
Like, scouring the internet…
Working on writing some blog posts, like this one…
Checking my email…
Checking my other blogs to see how many people have viewed my recent posts,
Or just puddle with anything other than what I should be doing.
The thing is, I know where most of the stories are going, it’s just a matter of sitting down, picking up the threads, and writing. Certainly, I could be working on one or another right now.
But, something is nagging at me.
I thought it was that I wanted to write another Being Inspired piece, having the photo I wanted to use for inspiration in my head. I sat down this morning and started it, and got seven or eight paragraphs done, and then it was time to go down to breakfast.
Attention diverted.
I could have written more after breakfast, but that seemed to segue into a chat over coffee that ran into lunch. It’s odd how it seems there is so much to talk about.
Then it’s been one excuse after another that has kept me from picking up that story and running with it. I could do it now, but that reluctance remains.
Perhaps tomorrow.
For now, I’m going to work on some crosswords and see if that doesn’t inspire me, and if it doesn’t I could always have an early night.
It’s the same every time we go away, on the run all day doing touristy stuff, making notes for later on, on the run, and then getting back to the room exhausted. After all, there is so much to see and do.
Maybe I’ll just reflect on today and worry about it tomorrow, except…
We have an equally hectic day planned.
Maybe I’ll get that holiday from writing after all.
“Sunday in New York” is ultimately a story about trust, and what happens when a marriage is stretched to its limits.
When Harry Steele attends a lunch with his manager, Barclay, to discuss a promotion that any junior executive would accept in a heartbeat, it is the fact his wife, Alison, who previously professed her reservations about Barclay, also agreed to attend, that casts a small element of doubt in his mind.
From that moment, his life, in the company, in deciding what to do, his marriage, his very life, spirals out of control.
There is no one big factor that can prove Harry’s worst fears, that his marriage is over, just a number of small, interconnecting events, when piled on top of each other, points to a cataclysmic end to everything he had believed in.
Trust is lost firstly in his best friend and mentor, Andy, who only hints of impending disaster, Sasha, a woman whom he saved, and who appears to have motives of her own, and then in his wife, Alison, as he discovered piece by piece damning evidence she is about to leave him for another man.
Can we trust what we see with our eyes or trust what we hear?
Haven’t we all jumped to conclusions at least once in our lives?
Can Alison, a woman whose self-belief and confidence is about to be put to the ultimate test, find a way of proving their relationship is as strong as it has ever been?
I had one myself once, whether it was a peek into my future, or whether it was just playing out a scene for one of my stories, it was rather intense.
That variation of the word vision is one that uses one’s imagination. I do it quite a lot, and I call it the cinema of my dreams.
But…
Vision, in the simplest sense of the word, is sight, what you see.
People can try to make it better, like movie studios, who have called it rather interesting titles such as VistaVision or Panavision, either of which sounds quite remarkable, and it may have been back in the day, but it’s probably quite ordinary these days.
A vision, in another sense, might be something like a dream as mentioned before, which might happen when we are asleep, but if awake, it might be because we are very bored with our job and we’re imagining what it would be like at Santorini or the Bahamas, or anywhere but where you are now.
It might also describe our particular slant on what else we would like to happen, whether at work or somewhere else, but it’s usually confined to our closest circle of friends. Bosses never invite nor want to hear plebs ideas of improving their lot.
Hence, I have a vision…
But no one will listen. Perhaps if I was Martin Luther King, things might be different.
Then, at the end of it all…
There are visions and then there are visions, like seeing something that no one else can see, whether driven by hallucinogenic drugs or magic mushrooms, or you just happened to be there to see what no one else could.
When I opened my eyes, it was a revelation that I was still alive.
Whether or not I was still on one piece was not exactly the first thought that crossed my mind.
It was, oddly enough, how I got into this situation.
So, two days earlier…
Someone once told me it was not a good idea to ask your commander out to dinner. Not a date, just the fact you’d like to get to know her better.
Yes, my commanding officer was a woman.
I thought the dinner went well, we found some common ground, ice hockey, and baseball, albeit barracking for different teams.
Then, the next day when I went into ‘the office’, the operations officer called me aside.
“Who’d did you piss off?”
Good question, had I, and who? And asked, “You tell me.”
“Apparently the Commanding Officer. She asked me to put you on patrol, where nothing ever happens and it’s as boring as shit.”
Usually, I was in the front line, what they called in the army, cannon fodder. Some said I had a death wish.
I shrugged. “No doubt she has her reasons. I could think of worse assignments.”‘
“Well, till then you’re on standby. Make the most of it.”
Of course, the question I should be asking is why she had put me on patrol, where I was rostered for front line recovery.
When I got back to my quarters, I called her.
Her assistant answered, “The commanding officer is not available at the moment and has advised me that she will remain so for the next forty-eight hours.”
That was the end of the conversation.
How come she had not told me? Probably none of my business, but it was worrying.
She was a good worker, but extremely private. Her path had been clear; work, no play, and avoid everyone. I’d seen her deal with executives and office boys alike, and put up barriers that no one could penetrate. She made herself deliberately unattractive and unapproachable for reasons unknown.
Over time I tried to penetrate that steely exterior with moderate success, trying to get to know her better. And, in doing so I discovered she apparently had a bad experience early on in life with someone, and it had affected her deeply.
Of course, it didn’t progress much more than that one admission, not until the divorce. It was long and problematical because Ellen had chosen to go the hard route rather than just call it off, perhaps to make me realize just what I had put her through. The sad fact was, there was nothing I could do to make it right, now or in the future.
But because of that, and because it seemed to Jennifer that I needed someone to ‘lean’ on in my time of trouble, she became the only person I could talk to. It wasn’t difficult. We were both working long hours in each others company, and neither of us had a desire to go home.
Then three months ago, something happened and everything changed.
Well, it changed between us, but to the outside world, no one would ever know. That didn’t mean we hadn’t been friends of a sort before that, it was just we were, well, I don’t think I could describe it. All I know is I knew my feelings for her had changed, or perhaps they were the same, and she had changed. Whatever it was, I was glad. Ellen had been dragging me down for so long; just being with Jennifer was like a breath of fresh air.
I found I could pour out the details of my sad and undistinguished life to her. She was the one and only person to whom I could talk freely. And, all of a sudden, apparently I was the only one she could talk freely to too. From that point, we had become a different sort of friends, and, in the last week or so, a little more than that.
Our last encounter had been interesting to say the least. I was still not sure of what I said, or how it ended, other than I had apologized to her the Friday night before we parted. I hadn’t exactly wanted any vacation days, they were thrust upon me, but perhaps it was fortuitous in that it would give us both time to consider our relationship.
After Ellen, I hadn’t thought about getting involved in a relationship, or anything else for that matter, but it seemed that was where Jennifer and I could finish up, despite the fact neither of us were realistically looking for anything other than a friendship.
That very subtly changed on that Friday night.
Now I’d been thrust back into the fire, and I wondered just how I would feel seeing her.
Jennifer is an important character in several ways, as a friend to Bill, and in a way, connected to him in a way he doesn’t yet know. She will also have some impact when his past finally catches up with him.
I’m still working on her character background, but more will follow soon.
She is about to change, especially in the eyes of Bill.
As some may be aware, but many not, Chester, my faithful writing assistant, mice catcher, and general pain in the neck, passed away some months ago.
Recently I was running a series based on his adventures, under the title of Past Conversations with my cat.
For those who have not had the chance to read about all of his exploits I will run the series again from Episode 1
These are the memories of our time together…
This is Chester. He’s finally got a starring role in one of my stories.
The thing is, I tried to keep it quiet so he wouldn’t get delusions, but it failed.
I made the mistake of leaving the page with the ‘cat’ part on the screen. The screen saver should have kicked in, but I think a well-placed paw brought it back to life.
So, the next morning, I come down and see him sitting on the desk, waiting.
It can either be good news or bad news.
“I see you’ve finally written a cat into the plot.”
“It was only a matter of time. I think you made your case a week ago by sitting on the keyboard until I agreed. Now, you’re in.”
“Yes. I see. Who’s idea was it to call the cat Herman? I mean to say, really, Herman?”
“I thought it was a great name for a cat.”
“What type of cat is it?”
“I don’t know. A cat’s a cat isn’t it?”
“Why not a Tonkinese, like me?”
“Alright, I’ll change it.”
“You made him jumpy, skittish even. I’m not like that.”
“It’s not you in the story.”
“So you’ve found another cat, who is it. It won’t last long when I get to them.”
Maybe it’s easier to write him out of the story. I don’t think I can take this criticism.
There’s something to be said for a story that starts like a James Bond movie, throwing you straight in the deep end, a perfect way of getting to know the main character, David, or is that Alistair?
A retired spy, well not so much a spy as a retired errand boy, David’s rather wry description of his talents, and a woman that most men would give their left arm for, not exactly the ideal couple, but there is a spark in a meeting that may or may not have been a set up.
But as the story progressed, the question I kept asking myself was why he’d bother.
And, page after unrelenting page, you find out.
Susan is exactly the sort of woman the pique his interest. Then, inexplicably, she disappears. That might have been the end to it, but Prendergast, that shadowy enigma, David’s ex boss who loves playing games with real people, gives him an ultimatum, find her or come back to work.
Nothing like an offer that’s a double edged sword!
A dragon for a mother, a sister he didn’t know about, Susan’s BFF who is not what she seems or a friend indeed, and Susan’s father who, up till David meets her, couldn’t be less interested, his nemesis proves to be the impossible dream, and he’s always just that one step behind.
When the rollercoaster finally came to a halt, and I could start breathing again, it was an ending that was completely unexpected.
These gardens are very tightly put together and are interspersed with buildings that you can go in and look at as distinct from just looking in from the outside.
There are lots of paths that wind around interspersed with rocks which may or may not be sculpted, and equally interspersed with trees, bushes, and small plants. In the middle is a lake which usually has lotus plants in bloom, but they are not in season.
The gardens were built around a small lake that was filled with fish of all sizes and colours
The buildings were also a contrast for those built for the men
and those for the women
In the middle of the garden was a significant rock pillar
surrounded by certain areas of the garden that had smaller rock formations
At the end of the garden is a large collection of bonsai trees, some of which are quite exquisite.
50 photographs, 50 stories, of which there is one of the 50 below.
They all start with –
A picture paints … well, as many words as you like. For instance:
And, the story:
Have you ever watched your hopes and dreams simply just fly away?
Everything I thought I wanted and needed had just left in an aeroplane, and although I said I was not going to, i came to the airport to see the plane leave. Not the person on it, that would have been far too difficult and emotional, but perhaps it was symbolic, the end of one life and the start of another.
But no matter what I thought or felt, we had both come to the right decision. She needed the opportunity to spread her wings. It was probably not the best idea for her to apply for the job without telling me, but I understood her reasons.
She was in a rut. Though her job was a very good one, it was not as demanding as she had expected, particularly after the last promotion, but with it came resentment from others on her level, that she, the youngest of the group would get the position.
It was something that had been weighing down of her for the last three months, and if noticed it, the late nights, the moodiness, sometimes a flash of temper. I knew she had one, no one could have such red hair and not, but she had always kept it in check.
And, then there was us, together, and after seven years, it felt like we were going nowhere. Perhaps that was down to my lack of ambition, and though she never said it, lack of sophistication. It hadn’t been an issue, well, not until her last promotion, and the fact she had to entertain more, and frankly I felt like an embarrassment to her.
So, there it was, three days ago, the beginning of the weekend, and we had planned to go away for a few days and take stock. We both acknowledged we needed to talk, but it never seemed the right time.
It was then she said she had quit her job and found a new one. Starting the following Monday.
Ok, that took me by surprise, not so much that it something I sort of guessed might happen, but that she would just blurt it out.
I think that right then, at that moment, I could feel her frustration with everything around her.
What surprised her was my reaction. None.
I simply asked where who, and when.
A world-class newspaper, in New York, and she had to be there in a week.
A week.
It was all the time I had left with her.
I remember I just shrugged and asked if the planned weekend away was off.
She stood on the other side of the kitchen counter, hands around a cup of coffee she had just poured, and that one thing I remembered was the lone tear that ran down her cheek.
Is that all you want to know?
I did, yes, but we had lost that intimacy we used to have when she would have told me what was happening, and we would have brainstormed solutions. I might be a cabinet maker but I still had a brain, was what I overheard her tell a friend once.
There’s not much to ask, I said. You’ve been desperately unhappy and haven’t been able to hide it all that well, you have been under a lot of pressure trying to deal with a group of troglodytes, and you’ve been leaning on Bentley’s shoulder instead of mine, and I get it, he’s got more experience in that place, and the politics that go with it, and is still an ally.
Her immediate superior and instrumental in her getting the position, but unlike some men in his position he had not taken advantage of a situation like some men would. And even if she had made a move, which I doubted, that was not the sort of woman she was, he would have politely declined.
One of the very few happily married men in that organisation, so I heard.
So, she said, you’re not just a pretty face.
Par for the course for a cabinet maker whose university degree is in psychology. It doesn’t take rocket science to see what was happening to you. I just didn’t think it was my place to jump in unless you asked me, and when you didn’t, well, that told me everything I needed to know.
Yes, our relationship had a use by date, and it was in the next few days.
I was thinking, she said, that you might come with me, you can make cabinets anywhere.
I could, but I think the real problem wasn’t just the job. It was everything around her and going with her, that would just be a constant reminder of what had been holding her back. I didn’t want that for her and said so.
Then the only question left was, what do we do now?
Go shopping for suitcases. Bags to pack, and places to go.
Getting on the roller coaster is easy. On the beginning, it’s a slow easy ride, followed by the slow climb to the top. It’s much like some relationships, they start out easy, they require a little work to get to the next level, follows by the adrenaline rush when it all comes together.
What most people forget is that what comes down must go back up, and life is pretty much a roller coaster with highs and lows.
Our roller coaster had just come or of the final turn and we were braking so that it stops at the station.
There was no question of going with her to New York. Yes, I promised I’d come over and visit her, but that was a promise with crossed fingers behind my back. After a few months in t the new job the last thing shed want was a reminder of what she left behind. New friends new life.
We packed her bags, three out everything she didn’t want, a free trips to the op shop with stiff she knew others would like to have, and basically, by the time she was ready to go, there was nothing left of her in the apartment, or anywhere.
Her friends would be seeing her off at the airport, and that’s when I told her I was not coming, that moment the taxi arrived to take her away forever. I remember standing there, watching the taxi go. It was going to be, and was, as hard as it was to watch the plane leave.
So, there I was, finally staring at the blank sky, around me a dozen other plane spotters, a rather motley crew of plane enthusiasts.
Already that morning there’s been 6 different types of plane depart, and I could hear another winding up its engines for take-off.
People coming, people going.
Maybe I would go to New York in a couple of months, not to see her, but just see what the attraction was. Or maybe I would drop in, just to see how she was.
As one of my friends told me when I gave him the news, the future is never written in stone, and it’s about time you broadened your horizons.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 