Hello there. It has been quite some time since I posted here. There have been a number of reasons why not.
The main one is that, while I intended to share a couple of chapters of my life story, it has been more difficult to write than I expected. That isn’t to say that I’ve given up on it by any means.
It is just that I need time to mull over the contents of the story. There is sex, drugs and a bit of rock and roll and in writing such, it has brought up many memories, some sweet, some good, and some that tear at my heart. With time, and thought, I plan to write it. Just not as quickly as I originally planned.
In the meantime, here is a previously published short narrative.
A friend mentioned that she would like to learn more about the lady in the passage. To begin, here is the introduction to the character and her meeting with a fellow bus passenger.
When he boarded the bus I had to move my feet out of the way as he pushed by me to sit in the window seat.
The first thing I noticed was the odor – a mixture of sweat, old socks and a hint of raw meat gone bad. He was too large for the seat I thought.
He wore an army fatigue shirt, unbuttoned and over a black sweater. His blue jeans, past the point of fashionable, had tears at the knees and along one side. His long greying hair, pulled back into a pony tail, was caught with a bright pink hair clip. Where had this hair clip come from?
As though reading my mind he turned from looking out the window and said, “I got it from me little sister.”
“Oh, I see,” I said carefully looking around and trying not to stare at him.
He shifted in the too small seat and held out his arms in front of his body. He had big hands, with calluses and a scar on the left hand, that ran from thumb to wrist.
“She died,” he said. He looked at me and his brown eyes filled with tears.
“I am sorry to hear that. It must have been hard on you to lose her.”
Why did so many people feel they could unburden themselves to me? Perfect strangers often accosted me on this bus route or when I sat in the park. I supposed I was the stereotypical old lady. White hair, pink jacket and white sandals. I looked the part of a respectable senior.
“Oh no. I expected it. But then I expected me Ma and me Father to die and they did too.”
He shifted in his seat to look at me straight on. I noticed there was a deep wrinkle, an old scar perhaps, running across his forehead, above his bushy grey brown eyebrows.
How had he gotten the scars? It seemed rude to ask.
As before it was as if he knew what I was thinking.
He held up his left hand and pointed at the scar with his right.
“I got this when I was in a fight with my old man.” He closed his eyes for a moment then opened them and looked at me. “I got the better of him though. Last time he ever hit me.”
I waited not sure what to say.
He went on pointing now to the line on his forehead.
“This here, that’s from me Mum. She fought almost as hard as me Pa did.”
He grinned at me and shook his head, his pony tail swinging back and forth.
“Didn’t do her any good though. Got the same as me old man she did.”
“I see. And then what happened?” I was curious and not a little frightened to hear the answer.
“They came and took me away. Been nearly twenty years. They let me out a couple of years back and I’ve roamed about the streets every since. Sometimes I meet up with somebody and I tell ‘em the story. Just so they won’t forget me.” He peered at me. “You won’t will you? Forget me I mean?”
“No of course not.” I shook my head and began to tremble when I saw that he was moving to stand up.
“This here’s me stop. I gotta go now. Take care ma’am.”
He made a sort of salute as he pushed past me. He walked down the aisle to the exit door. I watched him leave the bus and walk down the street. I would not soon forget, oh no.
More to come….