Weekly Writing Prompt No. 76. Tom gently pulled the bedroom door behind him, not wishing to wake anyone at such an early hour. He prided himself on his consideration for others, constantly checking and re-checking that he was not causing a problem or offence to anyone within his vicinity. He was the type who would dry himself in the shower or bath before stepping onto the bath mat so the next person would have a dry mat to themselves.
Leo sighed as he stepped onto the platform. The north bound train was disappearing in the distance. He had taken the stairs from the booking hall two at a time, pushing past the slower passengers, but to no avail. He was hot and shaking. There was nothing he could do but sit and wait. This was the worst thing about commuting to college. The terrible train system. His parents had wanted him to stay at home and help run the family farm. He had argued that he wanted more and made the decision to commute every day so he could still help at home. He found a seat where he could see the departure board and settled in for a half hour wait. The station was a dismal, but bustling place and he was glad of the company. There were news-stands, a café, shops where you could buy anything you had forgotten for your journey, and a florist where you could buy blooms to impress of cajole. He reflected on the discussions he had had with his parents. They hadn’t been keen on him leaving the village and commuting to what was a rough area of the city. He had laughed and said he could look after himself. That was until today. Now he sat alone in a state of shock. He had approached the station his usual way. By a short alley off the main road. Half way along he had been mugged. He supposed that as muggings went, he had got off lightly. There had been no beating. A knife had been drawn and the guy had taken his phone and wallet. Leo didn’t have a credit card and there wasn’t a great deal of money in his wallet. He put his hand in his pocket and was relieved that his railcard was there. He had taken it out ready to board the train. He decided that a cup of tea would steady his nerves and half stood before remembering he had no cash. He slumped back miserably on the bench to wait. His train eventually came in. Trundling to a stop in its unhurried way. He got in a corridor coach and found a compartment to himself. He thought about his day as he opened his lunch box and stared at the apple and banana left from lunch. He would soon be home, but it wouldn’t spoil dinner to have some fruit. Outside the late summer sun reflected off the fields as the train clanked its way northwards. Harvest was well under way and soon the trees would be turning an autumn gold. The train pulled into the platform as the guard shouted the station name. This was his stop. Leo alighted the train and shivered. Although it was sunny and hot the breeze already had that slight autumn chill to it. He passed through the turnstile and out onto the quite village lane. A couple of minutes’ walk and would be back on the farm. As he entered the yard he spied his mother in her garden. She was tending her Dahlias which were her pride and joy. They garden was huge and brightened up the area around the farmhouse. Keeping the mess from the farm at bay. He gave her a hug and kiss and she asked about his day. He told her it had been ok and he would tell her the details later. He knew she wouldn’t like the loss of the phone, but it was insured. His mum could tell that something was bothering him and told him she would make a pot of tea and he could tell her all about it. Leo when upstairs to his bedroom to change into some working clothes. He still had jobs to do on the farm. Looking out the window at the lovely garden and the fields beyond. He wondered if he had made the right decision to go to college. He could hear his mum making tea and heard his father’s voice asking about her day. It was time to go and talk to them. Time to decide.
Oh my, this really tugged at my heart strings as it stirred up the memories I have of school days, the unrequited love, the longing to be older which is now matched by a longing to be younger. Thank you Lesley, you always come up trumps.
I’m glad I THOUGHT to snip a DAHLIA from the GARDEN to brighten up her tray of a sandwich and APPLE juice. It looked lovely. I tried not to dwell on the inevitability of the ROAD we were both on as once again I’d walk from the KITCHEN, up the STAIRS, along the CORRIDOR to her BEDROOM. I did this over and over. So many times each day. Checking on her. Feeding her. Giving her her medicines. Sitting with her. I’d try to get her to REMEMBER the good times we’d spent together. Often there’d be no recollection as we went down yet another blind ALLEY, but sometimes - her eyes would sparkle and she’d have a BLOOM to her cheeks as she’d disappear down memory LANE and REFLECT on some happy time or other. Then it would vanish as quickly as it had arrived. I’d SIGH and clear away her previous tray with its BANANA skin and soup bowl and fading flower. I knew this time was precious. But it was painful too. I went and snipped another dahlia - just for me.
Time is the thief we all hope to lose, but it always catches us unawares when we gaze into the face of a loved one and know that it is short. Thanks Penny you reminded me of the time mum and I had just before she died.
Hi Penny - can I suggest that you post without capitalising the words from the square; it makes it very distracting to read when they're in capitals...so we miss the underlying story. Lx
I love a bit of doggerel Denarii especially when it reminds me of my other life as an artists model at the local college when I was at Uni. I often wonder what happened to the pictures and paintings of me starkers .. And that reminds me, Pam Ayres is coming to the Dorchester Literary Festival and I still have to get a ticket.
THE MUGGING.
Leo sighed as he stepped onto the platform. The north bound train was disappearing in the distance. He had taken the stairs from the booking hall two at a time, pushing past the slower passengers, but to no avail. He was hot and shaking. There was nothing he could do but sit and wait. This was the worst thing about commuting to college. The terrible train system. His parents had wanted him to stay at home and help run the family farm. He had argued that he wanted more and made the decision to commute every day so he could still help at home. He found a seat where he could see the departure board and settled in for a half hour wait. The station was a dismal, but bustling place and he was glad of the company. There were news-stands, a café, shops where you could buy anything you had forgotten for your journey, and a florist where you could buy blooms to impress of cajole. He reflected on the discussions he had had with his parents. They hadn’t been keen on him leaving the village and commuting to what was a rough area of the city. He had laughed and said he could look after himself. That was until today. Now he sat alone in a state of shock. He had approached the station his usual way. By a short alley off the main road. Half way along he had been mugged. He supposed that as muggings went, he had got off lightly. There had been no beating. A knife had been drawn and the guy had taken his phone and wallet. Leo didn’t have a credit card and there wasn’t a great deal of money in his wallet. He put his hand in his pocket and was relieved that his railcard was there. He had taken it out ready to board the train. He decided that a cup of tea would steady his nerves and half stood before remembering he had no cash. He slumped back miserably on the bench to wait. His train eventually came in. Trundling to a stop in its unhurried way. He got in a corridor coach and found a compartment to himself. He thought about his day as he opened his lunch box and stared at the apple and banana left from lunch. He would soon be home, but it wouldn’t spoil dinner to have some fruit. Outside the late summer sun reflected off the fields as the train clanked its way northwards. Harvest was well under way and soon the trees would be turning an autumn gold. The train pulled into the platform as the guard shouted the station name. This was his stop. Leo alighted the train and shivered. Although it was sunny and hot the breeze already had that slight autumn chill to it. He passed through the turnstile and out onto the quite village lane. A couple of minutes’ walk and would be back on the farm. As he entered the yard he spied his mother in her garden. She was tending her Dahlias which were her pride and joy. They garden was huge and brightened up the area around the farmhouse. Keeping the mess from the farm at bay. He gave her a hug and kiss and she asked about his day. He told her it had been ok and he would tell her the details later. He knew she wouldn’t like the loss of the phone, but it was insured. His mum could tell that something was bothering him and told him she would make a pot of tea and he could tell her all about it. Leo when upstairs to his bedroom to change into some working clothes. He still had jobs to do on the farm. Looking out the window at the lovely garden and the fields beyond. He wondered if he had made the right decision to go to college. He could hear his mum making tea and heard his father’s voice asking about her day. It was time to go and talk to them. Time to decide.
How much do you remember? How much do I?
Or do I make it up in memory the way I wish
that it had been.
Apples, sliced, for pies, served hot from the oven,
with raspberry ripple ice cream.
Bananas, sliced for breakfast sandwiches,
the only way I eat them now.
Corridors, school timetables, prefects
and no running on the stairs, the common room
where we donated chairs and dartboards.
The way ABC went wayward in our teens,
when I thought I was in love, led up that old
garden path, but somehow escaped the bedroom
escapade, left in blind alleys, weeping.
I sighed. Retreated to the kitchen,
placed cut dahlia blooms in vases wondering
that someone cared enough to send them
as a Valentine.
Elegance, positivity and growth – a message
that says I might love you one day, but not
right now, not as you are.
I’d rather have had a single rose, a sunflower.
How much do you remember?
I walk sometimes down that lane, to the gate.
I watch the trees reflected in the pool,
and wonder where your road took you.
Oh my, this really tugged at my heart strings as it stirred up the memories I have of school days, the unrequited love, the longing to be older which is now matched by a longing to be younger. Thank you Lesley, you always come up trumps.
I’m glad I THOUGHT to snip a DAHLIA from the GARDEN to brighten up her tray of a sandwich and APPLE juice. It looked lovely. I tried not to dwell on the inevitability of the ROAD we were both on as once again I’d walk from the KITCHEN, up the STAIRS, along the CORRIDOR to her BEDROOM. I did this over and over. So many times each day. Checking on her. Feeding her. Giving her her medicines. Sitting with her. I’d try to get her to REMEMBER the good times we’d spent together. Often there’d be no recollection as we went down yet another blind ALLEY, but sometimes - her eyes would sparkle and she’d have a BLOOM to her cheeks as she’d disappear down memory LANE and REFLECT on some happy time or other. Then it would vanish as quickly as it had arrived. I’d SIGH and clear away her previous tray with its BANANA skin and soup bowl and fading flower. I knew this time was precious. But it was painful too. I went and snipped another dahlia - just for me.
Time is the thief we all hope to lose, but it always catches us unawares when we gaze into the face of a loved one and know that it is short. Thanks Penny you reminded me of the time mum and I had just before she died.
Hi Penny - can I suggest that you post without capitalising the words from the square; it makes it very distracting to read when they're in capitals...so we miss the underlying story. Lx
Here's a little bit of doggerel using the word square. Hope you enjoy!
He offered me a banana,
This artist with golden hair.
He said, “Now, take your clothes off.
The bedroom’s just through there.”
I said, “Oh no, it’s not like that.”
He said he didn’t care
And I should plonk my bum down
Upon the kitchen stair.
I’d come to steal an apple
From the garden down the lane.
It made me sigh and to reflect,
For I knew the grower’s fame.
In the corridor I thought him rude
But all remember his best nude.
When people tread the road and alley
To make their way into this valley
They admire the picture in the room:
It’s me with a dahlia in bloom!
I love a bit of doggerel Denarii especially when it reminds me of my other life as an artists model at the local college when I was at Uni. I often wonder what happened to the pictures and paintings of me starkers .. And that reminds me, Pam Ayres is coming to the Dorchester Literary Festival and I still have to get a ticket.