Month: April 2022

“Chance Encounter”, A short story

The afternoon rush hour jammed the exit roads, particularly those to the beach.  Nearly everyone was heading for relief from the heat wave, now in its tenth consecutive day.  What had started out a novelty was now just tiresome, with no forecast respite.

A light breeze tried to fan away the afternoon heat, but it had little impact.  The temperature was still hovering in the high 30’s when Bill left the office at 6:30 that evening.

On the road it was little better, and hotter in the car than out.  There was no point running the air conditioner in those conditions, as both he and many others had discovered.  The stop-start traffic made it worse, and people who had already suffered enough were close to breaking point.

Once again, the traffic stopped, and tempers frayed to the point of blowing horns and yelling forlorn abuse at some unseen driver or cause.  It was a no-win situation, and to Bill, a waste of time and energy.  His time and energy, he thought, was best directed at analysis.  Yet how different had the afternoon been to what was currently happening?

In charge of the Customer Service centre for the area’s electricity supplier, it had been difficult to say the least.  That afternoon had seen the highest consumption of electricity since the heat wave began, since time immemorial for that matter, and had started to affect the functionality of the grid, with the first failures occurring. 

It had been predicted, but was not expected quite this early, and as parts of the city were beginning to feel the effect of temporary blackouts, his, and his staff’s work had begun to receive the full effect of the community’s contempt and hatred. 

The traffic disaster was not a patch on the abuse both he and members of his staff had received that afternoon, and he instinctively knew it was not going to improve.

Normally he would stay on and help the incoming supervisor.  This time, someone else could handle the problems.  Doing the usual Friday afternoon desk clean up, he’d found the invitation to Wally’s stag party and as best man, he was obligated to go.  One of the other and more compelling reasons was to see which of his colleagues would make a fool of themselves.

…

It didn’t take long to get home and change into what he considered proper party attire.  He smiled at the thought of being an anachronism from a bygone age, and of what others thought of him.  He was too old to change.

Before leaving, he lingered over several glasses of champagne, and strawberries, trying to get into the mood.  At the same time, he surveyed the ravages of middle management pressures.  Just a year in the job had aged him five, and a tinges of grey beginning to appear at the sides.

A wave of tiredness came over him.  The thought of staying home and immersing himself in classical music and another bottle of champagne crossed his mind, but he said he would go.  Wally was one of the few he could call a true friend.  He would go, but not stay long.

…

As usual, he was late.

Groups had spilled out onto the front veranda, and onto the front lawn.  He knew most of the partygoers by sight, if not by name.  Acquaintances, not friends.  Not the sort of people he usually mingled with.  He exchanged greetings, accepted drinks, and tried to maintain appearances.

It didn’t take long to realise it was a mistake.  The carnival atmosphere and good cheer all around him made him feel melancholier, as a wave of loneliness closed around him like the night air.

He knew only too well what the problem was but had no idea how to deal with it.  Neither his upbringing, nor experience was of any use.  It would require outside help; the sort Wally had already offered.  Just when would he do something about it, if at all?  If the truth were known, Bill was too frightened of the consequences, of getting hurt.  Perhaps a few more drinks…

Making his way through the crowded rooms towards the back of the house, he felt the deadening effect of the alcohol beginning to fight off the empty feeling within.

He made desultory conversation with a secretary he knew was high on the dating list for most junior executives, deriving some pleasure in the thought she talked to him, then to another young lady who worked his shift, whom he thought both intelligent and charming, and whose behaviour didn’t shatter his assumptions as some others had.

As the night wore on. it became evident few had noticed his arrival, even fewer his sudden disappearance to the back veranda, overlooking the ocean.  He had seen Wally on one occasion when he was trying to drink about 10 gallons of beer in one attempt and thought it wise not to interrupt.

It was, he thought, all part of the game, to drink so much he would forget how it was when he was single, though Bill doubted he could do it in a single night.  Bill could hardly wait till the wedding the next afternoon.

…

He looked back momentarily at the apparent abandon of the other guests, hearing the muted murmur of endless conversations, and loud music.  Everyone was having a good time, as it should be.

The gentle, soothing, lapping of the tide on the beach beckoned him.  He put his empty glass on a ledge and went quietly down the stairs onto the sand.  A refreshing, cool breeze rolled in with the tide, immediately improving his mood.

At the water’s edge, he paused momentarily to soak in the calming atmosphere, then put his hands in his pockets and headed for the pier.  A leisurely stroll there and back would be sufficient break to enable him to endure the rest of the evening.  Yes, he would stay, if only to see that Wally didn’t overindulge.  After all, some duties did fall on the incumbent best man.

Occasionally he kicked the sand with the toe of his shoe, once for a thoroughly detestable human relations consultant, and another for a particularly annoying assistant.  It scuffed the high polish, but he didn’t care.  This was a time where near impeccable would be good enough.

He was alone, and in more ways than one, he thought, but it was more by design than by accident.  He had recently been involved in a relationship that was doomed before it began.  Work had always pushed that side of his life into second place because he let it.

Now, having thought about it rationally for the first time, he realised it was time to place less importance on work, and more to giving any sort of relationship a chance.

Wally had offered to find him someone, but knowing Wally as he did, Bill had declined.  Of course, to Wally ‘no’ really meant go ahead anyway.  While at the party, he had surveyed those he thought Wally might have invited as potential matches, some voluptuous, some half-naked, some painted, some all three.

There was no doubting their intent, and he had seen the same in the singles bars when on the town with Wally when they had nothing better to do with a Friday night.  Yet, none of those he’d seen, then or now, matched his criteria.  Were his standards set too high?  Wally never said it, but the fact he didn’t said more than if he had said it out loud.

Bill sighed.  Perhaps he was too set in his ways and unable to change.

…

Adjoining the pier was the old amusement centre, burnt down several years before.  It was the reason for the closing of the beach, and its recent exclusivity to those nearby backing onto the beach.  All that remained was the scorched concrete floor and parts of the walls.  It was these remains he had just gone under.

Beneath them, the sounds of the sea and the night were more pronounced, creating an eerie, sinister feeling.  The smell of the burnt timber still hung in the air, despite the intervening years.

“Hi!”  A feminine voice came out from the shadows, behind one of the pylons nearby.

He started violently, not expecting anyone else.  It took a moment to collect his thoughts, then turn to see who she was. 

“Oh,” was all he could say to the now visible girl’s outline etched against the distant city lights.

Both came out the other side together into the half-light, leaving the gloom behind.  She began, “I hope I didn’t scare you back there?”

“Only half to death.”  He brushed the non-existent wrinkles out of his dinner suit, more a reflex action, then put his hands back in his pockets, composure regained.

“I’m awfully sorry.  I didn’t mean to.”

He was a little angry, and turning to her, said quietly, “Then what was….” He stopped suddenly, surprised at what he saw.  Tall, well proportioned, dressed in expensive eveningwear, much the same as he was.  He instantly realised she could almost pass as an exact replica of Venus except for the untidyish, waist length hair.

“I don’t know.  I guess I wanted to talk to someone, you were handy, so I just said ‘hi’.”  Her tone was apprehensive, with a slight tremor in it. 

She smiled nervously, yet in a way, he noticed it totally changed her appearance, and his heart missed a beat.

“Oh,” he said again, subconsciously feeling she had put him in his place.  He shook his head and looked again, disbelieving what he saw.

“I hope you don’t mind?”

“Don’t mind what?”  He’d lost track of the conversation, and realised he was quickly moving towards looking and sounding like a gibbering idiot.  It was, he realised, just like every other time when faced with a beautiful woman.

“Me talking to you.”

He took a deep breath and tried to remain calm.  He could feel a runnel of sweat slide down the side of his face, “No.  Not really.  It’s just the diversion I need”.  He looked at the sand, the sea, then her.  “I have a feeling I’ve seen you before.” 

He moved on, and so did she, both in unison.

“Staring at you from the pages of magazines?”

“I guess so.  What did you do?  Rob a bank?  Divorce a Prince, or millionaire?”

“As if.  Nothing quite as exotic, or exciting, I’m afraid.  Just draped in clothes or plastered in make-up.  Boring huh?”

“No.  Not really.”

“You’re a bit hard up for new lines?”

He shrugged.  It was difficult talking to this woman, and, lacking in confidence, he was starting to feel a little embarrassed.

She changed the subject.  “Do you live here?”

“No….”

“Don’t say it, not really!” she interrupted.

He sighed, trying to regain composure.  “OK.  I was at a party.”

“Aha.  Now we’re getting somewhere.”  Then she gave him a curious look.  “Was?”  Then, after he didn’t answer, “How come you’re not with the others, having a good time?”

“Perhaps I’m not cut out to ‘have a good time’.  Actually, I thought I’d take a time out from the frenetic pace and get some fresh air.”

“And now the fresh air had lost its appeal?”

“I didn’t say that.”  Did that come out sounding flustered?  It was how he felt inside.  He was going to have to try harder if he was to keep her interest.  “It’s beginning to get interesting.  And I still can’t place where I’ve seen you before.”  He shook his head.  “No matter.  What brings you here?”

“Someone told me about this place a long time ago.  I thought I’d come and check it out.”

He turned and headed back, deciding the diversion had exceeded the time limit he’d set, and it had now become an elongated absence.  She did the same.

“And what do you think?” he asked.

“About what?”

This conversation would sound very strange if anyone else was nearby listening to them.  Luckily, there wasn’t.  “This place.”

“Very peaceful, secluded, interesting, as you said.”

“Interesting in what way?”  Damn, had he asked that already?

“Well …”  She shrugged, then asked, “Do you always walk around with your hands in your pockets?”

Simple answer, yes.  “Can’t think of where else to put them.” 

What did it have to do with her anyway?  And, in that instant, he realised that it he who was the problem here, not her.

“What if you were to hold a girl’s hand?”

“I don’t know of any who would want me to.”

“Would you like to hold mine?”

“Why?  Is it going to run away?”

She smiled.  “More than likely.”

He stopped.  She stopped.  He surveyed her with a critical eye.

“Aha.  The eye that asks, ‘Who is the disreputable and outrageous person who dares to ask such a thing?’

He smiled and took her hand in his.  It was soft and warm, and sent a slight tingle up his spine.

“I talk too much. Don’t I?” she asked suddenly, after they started walking again.

“No.”

She sighed.  “Here we go again.”

…

On the other side of the pier there was an old car park, no longer used.  Along the beach front was a long, low stone wall, and they headed towards it.  Once there, they sat down to watch darkness finally settle in, the last of the sun’s rays melting in a glorious display of reds, oranges, and yellows.

Without speaking, they were content to listen to the waves, feel the cooling breeze, and watch the sea glisten in the moonlight. 

Nothing happened for an indeterminable length of time, during which he nearly forgot she was there.  He suddenly snapped out of it when he heard a match rasping.

He turned to see her trying to light a cigarette, but her hand was shaking so much, the match went out.  She tried again, but the same thing happened.  She savagely threw the cigarette away and pounded her hand on the cement as though it was something she hated.

He took a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his coat pocket and offered her one.

“No.  It’s reason enough to try to give it up,” she said quietly.

He returned the items to his pocket and took her hand in his, looked carefully at it, then kissed it.  “Trying to dent cement is not wise unless you are superman or Supergirl.  I know.  I tried once and broke three fingers.  Fortunately, nothing is broken.”

She moved closer.  “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“Making me feel silly.”

“But … I didn’t mean to … I mean …”

She leaned towards him and kissed his lips.  “Hush.”

He held her hand up and looked at it, rather than her, trying to get a grip on his emotions, and saying, a good dead steadier than he felt, “I need a third hand.  Do you think I could have it?”

“With pleasure.  It’s apparently no good to me anymore.”

“Why?”

“Shakes too much.”

“Perhaps I could use it to massage my face.”  He gently moved her hand down the side of his face and again felt a tingle up his spine.  Again, he kissed it gently where she had hit it, not knowing why, just that it seemed like the right thing to do.

“Perhaps not.  Seems to me you have a case of bad nerves.  These are familiar symptoms.  You need a rest, perhaps a holiday, and complete relaxation.  That will be a five-dollar consultation fee.”

She smiled.  “Will you stop it.”

“Why?  It makes you smile.”

“Your right, of course.  I need a rest.  The last six months have been horrible, working day and night, and a failed relationship on top of it.”  She sighed.  “I feel sleepy.”  She leaned against him, putting her arms around him for balance.

“Hey, no.  You can’t do that.”  He fended her off gently.  “I’ve got a party to get back to, and by now I think I should be missed.  God knows what Wally will think.”

He stood and she rolled sideways.  “Oh, come on.”  He looked up towards the sky.  “Why did you make some women like this for,” he muttered.  Then he put his arms around her and lifted her to her feet.  She leaned back against him and he could feel how warm and soft she was.  It was a battle just to make sure he kept his hands in the right places, and she wasn’t making it easy for him.

He held her up then moved around to the front and caught her just as she began to fall forward.  It was exasperating, and yet amusing.  He let her go and she began to fall down, so he caught her again.

She was smiling.

“Beware the smile on the face of the tiger,” he muttered.  His face was level with hers and just then an idea came to him.  He kissed her forehead, nose, chin, then finally her lips, and she came to life.

It was just what she was hoping would happen.  Instead of surprising her, she surprised him by responding in kind; leaving him with a feeling he’d never experienced before.  And a heart rate that was off the chart.

“Now, if only you’d tried that earlier,” she said.

He looked her straight in the eye.  “Just who are you?”

“Me.”

“Does ‘me’ have a name?”

“Do you want ‘me’ to have name?”

“Yes.”

“Claire.”

“Then you may call me Bill.  Do you often pick up strange lonely men on secluded beaches?”

“No.”

“Infuse life into otherwise dead souls?”

“No.”

“Just happened to be the one thing I needed right now?”

She smiled; a smile that made his heart do double somersaults.

“Perhaps a yes.”

“Can I see you again?  I have to see you again.”

“Have to?”

“Like to, then.”

“Perhaps.”

“When?”

“Soon, perhaps sooner than you think.  Do you have to go back?”

“Yes.  If I don’t, Wally will be mad at me.”  He pulled out a notebook and pencil he always carried with him.  “Where do you live?”

She told him.

“If I come by Sunday may I take you out, a drive, somewhere up the coast.  Fresh sea air, total relaxation.”

“Part of the therapy I’m paying five dollars for?”

He brushed a few strands of hair out of her eyes, feeling her warm soft skin under his hand, then kissed her.  “Until the next time.” 

She smiled again. “Until the next time.”

He turned and headed back to the party, not looking back.

…

No one noticed his absence; despite the fact over an hour had lapsed.  He resumed his place on the veranda, new drink in hand looking vacantly towards the pier, wondering if he would see her again, if she were just a figment of his imagination.  It was just too good to be true.

“Ah, Bill.  I thought I would find you here.  Thinking about a walk.  No, I see you’ve already been.”  Wally sounded sober and looked it.  Perhaps this was all just a dream.

He looked down.  His shoes still had sand on them.  He looked at Wally and smiled.  “Fresh air.  Contemplating the human condition.  You know what I’m like at parties.”

“Better than you think.  What did you think of her?”

“Her?”

“The so-called blind date.  I didn’t think a formal introduction would work.”

Bill shrugged.  “Very nice, but a little…”

Wally smiled the same unique smile of hers.

“Your sister?”

Wally nodded.  “Take exceptionally good care of her my friend.  She’s very vulnerable at the moment, and I couldn’t think of anyone better to look after her.”  He held up his glass.  “Cheers.”

…

© Charles Heath 2020

Writing about writing a book – Day 22

More of Bill’s backstory, and, if it’s possible, I’m beginning to like this guy.

I suspect, for him as well as many others, it wasn’t easy, but in war zones, it’s either hot or cold, but never any pleasant in any weather conditions, and perhaps if there was a possibility of a fine, balmy, day, there would be no time to enjoy it.

Sleep was difficult. 

Sleep was always difficult, if not impossible. 

Whilst I had lived in barracks, in the tropics as part of my training and acclimatization, it was nothing like this.  Nothing could have prepared me for the endless, oppressive heat.

It started from the day the plane had landed on the tarmac at Saigon airport, the crew opened the door to the cabin, and we walked down the stairs.  The heat came from above, and from the tarmac below.  We were soaked in sweat by the time we reached the buildings.

And it was difficult not to be exhausted, even if you were lucky enough to get a few hours sleep.  That constant feeling of exhaustion was the biggest enemy, and what caused many of the unnecessary deaths.  In the end, for many, it was just too much.  For me, it was training that kept me alive, because of that little voice in my head that kept me vigilant.

That and a keen sense of self-preservation.

Our platoon was still recovering from the shock of seeing the death of two of our mates the previous day.  Although in the camp only a week, already it felt like a year.  We’d been sent out on a patrol, trying to find a group of the enemy who was responsible for cutting one of the supply lines, and it hadn’t taken long for us to realize we didn’t really know if it was the Viet Cong or the people we were supposed to be protecting.  They all looked the same to me, and we had to rely on our South Vietnamese Army liaison to ensure we didn’t shoot the wrong people.

After an eventless day, if you discounted the rain, the heat, and the scares, the Lieutenant ordered us to make camp, just before darkness set in.  We had not seen the enemy, and, as I was finally getting to understand, we probably wouldn’t until they were prepared to show themselves.

At that moment of maximum unpreparedness, when our attention was diverted, and after a long and debilitating day, they chose to attack.

I had no doubt they had been tracking us, and for quite some distance.  I had that effect of hair standing up on the back of my neck.  It actually saved me from getting shot.

The attack killed three of our men and shattered our confidence.

No one slept that night, either from fear the attackers would return, or because we were just plain terrified.  I volunteered for guard duty.  It was easier to be up and about instead of on a camp stretcher staring at the roof of the tent waiting for the inevitable.

Seeing our mates killed so horrifically, before our eyes, had the desired effect.  In the beginning, we expected it to be a walk in the park, with some hoping that we would just stumble around in the jungle for a week or so, then go back to the camp for a well-earned rest.  None had counted on the reality of war, or the fact some of us might die.  Some were even hoping they would not have to shoot their gun.

All of those illusions had now gone after three months had passed, and as reality set in.

Some had sobbed openly, such was their preparedness.  I had to say, I was a little more prepared, but had hoped for a little more time before the battle.  And it surprised me how calm I was when all around me it was chaos.

“Bastards,” Killer muttered.

We called him ‘Killer’ because it was the nickname the Army had given him.  We were sharing the guard duty and had spoken briefly over the watch, but up till then, the silence had stretched over an hour or so.  It didn’t take long for anyone to realize he was a man of few words.

He’d been in the regular army for years and asked for the posting.  He’d made Sergeant several times, only to lose those same stripes for fighting, usually after R&R and a bout of heavy drinking.  Now assigned to our platoon to lend his experience, the conscripts were expecting him to ‘look after’ them.  Other than myself and the Lieutenant, he was the only other regular soldier.  Unfortunately for them, he hated both conscripts and the Viet Cong in varying degrees, and depending on his mood there was little tolerance left for the rest of us.

“The people who sent us here or the people trying to kill us?” I asked before I realized I’d spoken.

I didn’t hear the reply, the skies opening up with another torrential downpour that lasted for about five minutes, and going as fast as it came.  When the sun finally came up, it would make the atmosphere steamy, hot, and unbearable.  It was quite warm now, and I was feeling both uncomfortable, and fatigued.

Killer looked just as stoic as he had before the rain.  He looked at me.  “Damn weather.  Worse than home.”

“Scotland?”

“Scapa Flow, Kirkwall.  I should have been an engineer on ships like my father, but I was too stupid.  Joined the Army, finished up here.  What’s your excuse?”

“Square peg in a round hole.  The army seems to handle us in its stride.”  It was more or less the truth.  I joined the Army to get away from my parents.

“That it does.  That it does.”

The rain came and went, during which the rest of the camp roused and went about its business.  It had been a long night for some, still getting over the shock of the attack, and the ever-pervading thought the enemy was still out there, biding their time.  It would be, for them, a waiting game, waiting for the conditions to wear us down, and lose concentration as inevitably we would.

Certainly, by the time we were relieved from sentry duty, I felt I was in no condition to match wits with a donkey, let alone the enemy on his own home ground.  When I stumbled over to the mess area and looked at the tired and haggard looks on the faces of the platoon, I realized that went for all of us.

Killer and I managed to get about an hour’s rest before the call came to move out, rain or no rain, and after a breakfast to make anyone ill, we left.  For hours it rained.  No one spoke as we strained to listen over the rain spattering on the undergrowth, all the time expecting the unexpected.  That was the benefit of the surprise attack; we no longer took for granted we would be safe.

Water gathered in pools along the trail, hiding any chance of seeing landmines.  Rainwater and sweat ran into our eyes, making it difficult to see.  Water leaked everywhere, making it very uncomfortable.  This was not a war; this was utter stupidity.

I was about to remark on the futility of it all to the Lieutenant, who had taken the lead, when one second he was talking to me and the next he crashed to the ground, a sniper’s bullet killing him instantly.   Someone yelled “Contact” and we hit the ground, bullets flying all around us. 

Too late, I thought, as I felt the hit of what seemed to be a large rock, then the searing pain in my leg, just as I hit the ground…

 

© Charles Heath 2016-2021

Searching for locations: New York to Vancouver

The flight from Newark via Air Canada to Vancouver is about 5:30pm so we are slated to be picked up by the limousine about 2:30.

We have to be out of our room by 11am so we decided the day before that on our last day in New York we’d go to the Times Square red lobster.
It gives us about three hours to get there, eat, and get back.

It’s always fun packing bags the day you leave, so most of the hard work was done earlier. This time it’s particularly a trial because we have so much stuff to fit into a small space, and weight considerations are always paramount because of the 23kg limit.

Outside is has gone from minus four to minus two in the two hours before we leave the hotel at 11:30, but that’s not so much of a problem because we have a long walk from 56th street to 41st street to warm us up.

At least today it’s not so cold, as it has been previously.

At Red Lobster it’s not difficult to make a decision on what to have, the mix and match special, with Lobster alfredo, filet mignon, and parrot island coconut shrimp, with walts special, though what that will remain a surprise until it is served.

To drink, it was the Blue moon beer, wheat type.

For appetizers, we had scones that are supposedly bread but to me are dipped in garlic butter and baked like a scone. Australian style. They are absolutely delicious.

There is an expression a one drink screamer and we’ve got one, but the truth is the drinks are very lethal. Pure alcohol and ice with a touch of soda.

The meals at this Red Lobster are definitely better than those we had in Vancouver, except for the pasta with lobster I had which was little more than a tasteless congealed mess after it reached the table. This did not detract from the deliciously cooked and served seafood that accompanied it.

All in all, after such a great lunch and the thought of having to walk ten blocks the decision was unanimous to get a cab which took us back to the hotel by a rather interesting, if not exactly the most direct, route. I think the driver guessed we were tourists.

We are picked up at the hotel by a driver in a large Toyota which had enough space for 3 passengers and all our bags. The driver was chatty and being foreign, preferred soccer to the other traditional American sport. Don’t ask me how the conversation turned to sports, but we may have mentioned we went to the ice hockey.

At Newark airport, all I have room for is a glass of burned beer, whatever that means, though it has an odd taste, and a Samuel Adams 76 special which was rather tasty.

Today we are flying in a Boeing 787-9 Dreamliner with a maximum of 298 passengers in three classes.

It looks very new even though it is about 6 months old. It has seating of 3 x 3 x 3, and we are in row 19, just behind the premium economy cabin, and the closest to the front of the plane of all the Air Canada flights.

Engine startup is loud at the lower revolutions with the vibration going through the airframe. Like all planes, the flaps being extended, it is very noisy. All of the vibrations go away when the engines are up to speed. On take off the engines at max are not as noisy and other planes and relatively quiet. It will be interesting to see what the landing is like.

In flight when not experiencing turbulence the ride is very smooth and reasonably quiet which is better than the other planes with seeming continuous engine whining and the flow of air past the fuselage.

The seats are comfortable but still just a little small and the middle passenger can be tightly squeezed in if the two on either side are larger than normal. The seats fully recline but the seatback is not completely in your face, and bearable when you recline your own seat.

There are several seats by the toilets that would be terrible on a long-distance flight because the passenger inevitably comes very close to the seat when entering and leaving. As for the toilets, they are larger than any of the other airplanes, and so too, coincidentally, are the windows.

The plane also makes the same amount of noise when it lands so I’m failing to see what’s so good about it. I’ve also been in an Airbus A350 and those planes are nothing to write home about either.

I suspect the only advantage of having planes is for airlines. Fewer costs and more sardined passengers.

It’s something else I can write off my bucket list.

When we arrive back in Vancouver it’s the same reasonably simple process to get through immigration.

Outside our driver is waiting and this time we have an Escalade picking us up. A very large SUV that fits us all and our luggage.

But…

We were lucky because we were supposed to be picked up in a sedan and the baggage would not have fitted which would have involved one of us taking a cab with the extra luggage.

He was in the neighborhood and picked up the call. His advice, called the service and request a bigger car and pay the difference. We did. It was going to cost another 20 dollars.

As for the hotel, what is it with hotels and late-night arrivals? We get in, the check-in was smooth, we get to the room. Very large with a separate bedroom. But only a sofa bed.

It was not a desirable option, not before 24 hours in relatively squashed plane seats, so it necessitated a change of rooms to one a bit smaller, but a corner room with a reasonable view, and two proper beds.

Late night, need rest, but we have free breakfast so there will be no tarrying next morning. We have to be down by 9am being Sunday.

Besides, we have a mission. There is a toys-are-us nearby and it does have the toy we want. All we need to find is a cab.

Memories of the conversations with my cat – 92

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…

20160922_162007

This is Chester.  He’s been missing a lot.

It’s the confined to quarters thing he doesn’t understand.  We had the discussion about the coronavirus, and the need to stay at home and only go out when there is a reason to go out, like to get food.

Which brought up another concern that he didn’t let go of,  that he didn’t think we had enough cat food or cat litter, or treats, though he didn’t define what he meant by treats.

I assumed it was real fish.

I didn’t tell him that it was a treat for us too, the cost of Barramundi and Salmon just a little expensive for pensioners.

Not that he remembered that we have been pensioners since April last year.

I swear that cat is getting more forgetful.  And, yes, that was another heated debate, whether he was getting dementia.

So, now he’s been taking to his hiding places, and keeping away from me, coming out only to get a pat or two from my other half, and give me the daggers look.  And eat, though some nights he turns his nose up at it.

You can tell his displeased because some of it ends up in his water bowl, and then sits by the water bowl and moans and groans till the water’s replaced.

I swear I’m going to go bonkers if we are forced to stay in the same place much longer.

His annual visit to the vet is coming up, and maybe I can get something for his grumpiness.

 

Inspiration, Maybe – Volume Two

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.

Perhaps it was.

© Charles Heath 2020-2021

Coming soon.  Find the above story and 49 others like it in:

The A to Z Challenge – B is for – “Be careful what you wish for”

Everyone always wants to change their circumstances, particularly if you are among those who are not so well off.

My father always said, whenever we complained about not having enough money to go on holiday, or buy something we needed, that there was always someone worse off than we were.

As a child, I could hardly believe that was true when it looked like everyone else had everything they wanted.

As an adult, I promised myself that I would never be in those circumstances, that I would always have enough money.

And, of course, what you want, what you would like, and what really happens are very different outcomes, and no matter how much planning, or how many contingencies plans you have in place, a single event can wreck everything.

When you open the front door and see policemen, two thoughts cross your mind.  The first, they’re at the wrong place, the second, that something awful has just happened.

“George Williamson?”

It was the second.

“May we come inside?”

As I stood to one side, a thousand thoughts went through my mind until it settled on one, something had happened to Jane.

As she did on every Wednesday morning, she got up early, I made her breakfast, she kissed the tones and told them she would be back the next day, then headed for the airport for her weekly visit to hear office. 

When we had to move, her company agreed to let her work from home, and it was an arrangement that worked well, she was only missing for two days a week, and a week when the annual accounting was done.

She was due back this morning.

Instead, I had to police officers in my lounge room, looking very somber.

“Something has happened to Jane, hasn’t it.”  I almost couldn’t bring myself to say it.

The policewoman spoke.  It was like they had drawn straws and she got the short one.

“I’m very sorry to say your wife was involved in an accident this morning, on her way to the Atlanta airport.  We have just been informed she passed away.”

It was one of those moments when there were no words.  In fact, I was not sure what I felt in that moment other than a great sadness.

“How?” 

“We understand a car ran a red light, hit the limousine.  Had she been on the other side…”

Not much consolation in speculation.

“Do you have someone you can call; do you need us to arrange for support…”

“I have a sister, I’ll call her.  Thank you for coming and telling me, I guess this is not what you want to be doing at this time of the morning.”

“Part of the job, sir.”

I ushered them to the door and after reassuring them I would be OK, and getting out the phone to call my sister, they left.

The shock of it hadn’t set in.  As I closed the door, my thoughts turned to the twins, now at school.  They adored their mother and would be expecting her to pick them up from school.

I would have to get them before news of her death reached them.  These days, with the internet, someone would find out and it would be better to hear it from me.

“George?”

My sister, Eileen.  She had been amazed that I would find a girl like Jane let alone marry her.  She had always expected me to be the philandering bachelor.

“Something very bad has happened?”

“Jane?”

“Killed in a car crash this morning in Atlanta.  The police were just here.”

“Oh my God, George.  The girls.”

“I know.  I have to get to them.  Can you be here when I get home?  They’ll need you.”

“Sure.  On my way.”

Next call, the girl’s school.  I called the head Master and explained the situation, and he immediately had them brought to his office.

When I arrived, I put on my best ‘this is a happy day’ face and went in, mustering all of the courage I had to not look like something bad had happened.

The girls, of course, thought that their mother had arrived home early and come to get them.  She had done it before.

They were only mildly disappointed to see me.

“Mommy not here?”

“Sorry, you have to tolerate me for a while.  We have to go home and you’ve been given a day pass.”

Knowing how much they preferred not to be at school, the diversion worked.

The headmaster gave me a wan look as we left.

I fielded a hundred questions on the way home, all of which centered around what surprise Mom had in store for them, and the fact it had to be monumental since they had to go home early.

All the tome I was trying to think of a way to let them down gently, but there wasn’t one.  Being blunt wasn’t the way either, they deserved the truth.

As soon as they saw Eileen, I could see the hesitation and a note of trepidation.  Usually, Eileen came over when Jane was going to have an extended stay away.

“I need you two to go into the lounge and sit down.  I’ll be then in a minute.”

“Is mommy’s not coming home today?”

They knew something was wrong.

“I’ll be in in a minute and will explain everything.”

At least Eileen had to foresight not to show any sign of the distress I knew she must be feeling.

When the girls had gone into the room she gave me the teary-eyed look, and a hug.

“You must be devastated.”

“It hasn’t sunk in.  I’m still expecting her to walk in the door, and this is all a bad mistake.”

“The girls…”

“This is one time I hate the idea of being a father.”

“Then I’m glad you called me.  You could not break this alone.  They are going to be devastated.”

Everyone who knew her would be.

Once again I had to find the courage to keep it together, but at least I had support.

It went better than I expected.  At first, they thought it was an elaborate prank, though I was not sure how they could think that.

Then, when they realized it was true, they, like I was when I first heard the news, were in shock, and barely able to comprehend the reality of it.

I did remember saying at one point, “I wish she was still alive, and that she would walk back through that door…” but not able to finish.

So, we just sat there, in silence, the rest of the world passing by, going about its business.

Until there was another knock on the door.

I was going to ignore it, but a nod from Eileen got me off the seat.

Perhaps the police were back to tell me it was all a big mistake, and it was someone else who’d died.

I opened the door…

…and neatly had a heart attack.

“Jane?”

A wish come true?  Standing before me was a woman who looked exactly like Jane, down to the last detail, including the unmanageable whisp of hair.

“You must be George.  No, not Jane, Jill, the banished evil twin.  Now, where is she?”

…

©  Charles Heath 2022

“What Sets Us Apart”, a mystery with a twist

David is a man troubled by a past he is trying to forget.

Susan is rebelling against a life of privilege and an exasperated mother who holds a secret that will determine her daughter’s destiny.

They are two people brought together by chance. Or was it?

When Susan discovers her mother’s secret, she goes in search of the truth that has been hidden from her since the day she was born.

When David realizes her absence is more than the usual cooling off after another heated argument, he finds himself being slowly drawn back into his former world of deceit and lies.

Then, back with his former employers, David quickly discovers nothing is what it seems as he embarks on a dangerous mission to find Susan before he loses her forever.

http://amzn.to/2Eryfth

whatsetscover

NaNoWriMo – April 2022 – Day 2

First Dig Two Graves, the second Zoe thriller.

…

Just when you think you’ve got a good start, it all comes crashing down.

Here’s the thing…

I’ve been planning the sequel for quite some time, and from time to time, I’ve been jotting down notes about how the story will go. I thought I had filed them all in the same place, and because I thought I had all of them, I missed a part.

This was confirmed when I found a synopsis, something I rarely make before writing a story, with details of several sections I obviously added when the thought came to me. Perhaps the idea of the synopsis was to consolidate all the ideas, at a time when I thought I was going to sit down and write the story.

Dated a month or so before covid came along, I suspect it all got set aside for the two-odd year’s hiatus.

Now, the time has come, and today, I went n a detailed search of three computers, four phones, cloud storage, and the boxes that hold all the handwritten notes.

I have a reference to the section, several chapters, but no writing. In the back of my mind, I have a feeling I’d written the chapters, but the evidence says otherwise.

Damn!

I’ll move on, and come back to it later. At the moment it doesn’t have relevance.

Oh, and Zoe has now become Mary-Anne. What is John going to think when he finally finds her.

…

Todays writing, introducing Mary Anne, 1,501 words, for a total of 3,610.

An excerpt from “Echoes from the Past”

Available on Amazon Kindle here:  https://amzn.to/2CYKxu4

…

With my attention elsewhere, I walked into a man who was hurrying in the opposite direction.  He was a big man with a scar running down the left side of his face from eye socket to mouth, and who was also wearing a black shirt with a red tie.

That was all I remembered as my heart almost stopped.

He apologized as he stepped to one side, the same way I stepped, as I also muttered an apology.

I kept my eyes down.  He was not the sort of man I wanted to recognize later in a lineup.  I stepped to the other side and so did he.  It was one of those situations.  Finally getting out of sync, he kept going in his direction, and I towards the bus, which was now pulling away from the curb.

Getting my breath back, I just stood riveted to the spot watching it join the traffic.  I looked back over my shoulder, but the man I’d run into had gone.  I shrugged and looked at my watch.  It would be a few minutes before the next bus arrived.

Wait, or walk?  I could also go by subway, but it was a long walk to the station.  What the hell, I needed the exercise.

At the first intersection, the ‘Walk’ sign had just flashed to ‘Don’t Walk’.  I thought I’d save a few minutes by not waiting for the next green light.  As I stepped onto the road, I heard the screeching of tires.

A yellow car stopped inches from me.

It was a high powered sports car, perhaps a Lamborghini.  I knew what they looked like because Marcus Bartleby owned one, as did every other junior executive in the city with a rich father.

Everyone stopped to look at me, then the car.  It was that sort of car.  I could see the driver through the windscreen shaking his fist, and I could see he was yelling too, but I couldn’t hear him.  I stepped back onto the sidewalk, and he drove on.  The moment had passed and everyone went back to their business.

My heart rate hadn’t come down from the last encounter.   Now it was approaching cardiac arrest, so I took a few minutes and several sets of lights to regain composure.

At the next intersection, I waited for the green light, and then a few seconds more, just to be sure.  I was no longer in a hurry.

At the next, I heard what sounded like a gunshot.  A few people looked around, worried expressions on their faces, but when it happened again, I saw it was an old car backfiring.  I also saw another yellow car, much the same as the one before, stopped on the side of the road.  I thought nothing of it, other than it was the second yellow car I’d seen.

At the next intersection, I realized I was subconsciously heading towards Harry’s new bar.   It was somewhere on 6th Avenue, so I continued walking in what I thought was the right direction.

I don’t know why I looked behind me at the next intersection, but I did.  There was another yellow car on the side of the road, not far from me.  It, too, looked the same as the original Lamborghini, and I was starting to think it was not a coincidence.

Moments after crossing the road, I heard the roar of a sports car engine and saw the yellow car accelerate past me.  As it passed by, I saw there were two people in it, and the blurry image of the passenger; a large man with a red tie.

Now my imagination was playing tricks.

It could not be the same man.  He was going in a different direction.

In the few minutes I’d been standing on the pavement, it had started to snow; early for this time of year, and marking the start of what could be a long cold winter.  I shuddered, and it was not necessarily because of the temperature.

I looked up and saw a neon light advertising a bar, coincidentally the one Harry had ‘found’ and, looking once in the direction of the departing yellow car, I decided to go in.  I would have a few drinks and then leave by the back door if it had one.

Just in case.

© Charles Heath 2015-2020

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A photograph from the inspirational bin – 13

I came across this photo:

This is like so many roads off in what is known as the Gold Coast hinterland, that tract of land between the ocean and the mountain range that runs along the eastern side of the country, known as the Great Dividing Range.

This is the road that runs behind where friends of ours live, and runs on down into a valley where a river runs, and when the rains come down, floods.

It’s hard to imagine that a few hundred years ago all of this would have been tropical jungle, and intrepid explorers would be making their way north or west, just to see what was there.

I imagine in another 100 years, all of this will be gone, given over to housing, shopping malls, and factories, and anything that resembles country living will have been moved out to far beyond the mountain range and towards the what is called the ‘red’ centre.

Or over that time there is a reckoning with mother nature, and if there is, I know who I’d put my money on.

But, as for a story…

…

It was quite literally the road to nowhere.

You just had to follow it until it disintegrated into a dirt track, and then for another 20 miles before you finished up at a rusty gate attached to a dilapidated fence that surrounds the a house that was cleverly hidden behind a grove of trees, the only place I knew as home. We had no phones, no television or radio, no real contact with the outside world.

Until, one day, my fairy godmother came and rescued me.

Yes, it felt like that.

Little had I realized that there were any other people in our family, and it took until the death of my parents to find out I had grandparents, and a much larger extended family.

There had been, according to my father, no reason to leave. Or for anyone else to come, and the few that ventured to end of the road, found there was nothing to see, and no reason to stay.

For all intents and purposes we didn’t exist, and, oddly, I was content with that.

Until I decided to venture further afield, run into two people, a man and a woman, both of whom said they were related to my father, and ask me to take them back with them to meet my father,

A bad choice, but I didn’t know it at the time.

Not until my father ran them off at the point of the gun he always had with him.

He knew who they were, and it surprised me to see the change in him, from the strong silent type, to a man greatly afraid, though he would not tell me of what.

He just told me to lock myself in my room, and not to come out for anything.

I heard him leave, but not come back.

It took three days before I left that room, to find I was completely alone in the house. Outside, it was a different story. There, half way between the back door and the barn were the two people I’d brought home, both dead. A little further away were my parents, also dead.

And another man, who was leaning over my father.

I stopped when he looked up in my direction.

“You must be Jake.”

How did he know my name? I nodded, warily watching him in case I had to run.

He went from body to body, checking to see if they were still alive, then stood and turned around to look at me.

“Do you know what happened?”

“No.”

“Do you know who the other two are?”

I assumed he was referring to the visitors.

“No. The man said he was a relative, asked me to bring them here.”

“How did you…”

Escape? “My father told me to hide and not come out.” If this man was associated with the other two…

Perhaps he saw my trepidation.

“I’m a friend of your father’s, a policeman. You were supposed to be safe here.”

We were, until I brought the harbingers of death. “Not any more,” I said.

…

© Charles Heath 2021