Author: Alexander Fawn

The box was full of stuff ready to throw out.

His wife had been sorting bits and pieces, with a view to clearing unwanted stuff out. He found it on the kitchen table and was idly sifting through it, picking up the odd item before dropping it back in. He noticed a piece of blu cloth and tugged it out. He couldn’t believe what he was looking at! It was one of his favourite t-shirts of all time! It was the one he’d worn when they took that long summer holiday, the one that always goes so well with his light blue cargos, the one with the handy pocket. It has to be a mistake. Just as well he found it. He went looking for her.

She was in the laundry. He walked in holding it up. He said, “I just found this.”

“Yes, from the box, I suppose.”

“That’s where I found it,” he said, hugging it to his chest.

She sighed. “And you’ve come in here to talk about it have you?”

“Well, of course. This is just about the best t-shirt I’ve ever owned.”

“Not any more it isn’t.”

“What?”

“Just look at it. It’s so old. It’s got stains under the armpits I’ve never been able to get out. It’s so thin around the neck that it all sags out of shape, and it has five small holes in it, I’ve counted them.”

He held it up to the light. “They’re very small holes,” he said. He shook it and spread it across his chest and asked, “What do you think?”

She pulled a face. “I think it’s a rag.” He went to speak. She carried on, “Honey, you have to face it. Right now, what you’re holding is a piece of rag. It is so thin that you’d have to say that it’s not even a useful piece of rag. There is no way you can wear that.”

He looked crestfallen, but seemed to be resigned.

She gave him a loving smile and said softly, “That’s life for you, sweetheart. Get used to it, my darling.” She stiffened. “Just pop it back in the box, there’s a love.”

He nodded and slunk away.

Poems rarely get personal.

It’s not in their nature at all.

But a few of those least favourite things,

Are not at all hard to recall.

–

Like those people that drive too close,

Or dogs that bark in the night.

Those with beards, not kept trim,

Or a joke that gives one a fright.

–

People in big hats, looking silly,

Having nowhere to park,

Unsubscribing over and over,

Treading on a snail in the dark.

–

Shop assistants with faces glum,

Fast food that’s horribly slow,

A Polly telling a bare faced lie,

A screw left over with nowhere to go.

–

Eggplant, spinach and cabbage,

A lack of detail in TV mags,

Biscuits that don’t have chocolate,

False smiles and holes in bags.

Plastic forks and stairs without rails,

Late trains and very long queues.

Personal, but there all the same,

Simply things I wouldn’t choose.

It had been the worst three years of his life.

Things had kind of piled up on him during his youth. Then, finally, it had all caught up with him. The conviction… it was this that had brought home to him the undeniable fact that he had taken the wrong path, but now… he was out! Out from the cage that the authorities had held him in. During those final few months, he had made up his mind to leave his old life behind. Could he really turn it all around? These were the thoughts that swamped him as he rode the bus into town. The world beyond the window looked so good, so inviting. Could he stay out there, living an honest life, knowing right from wrong, choosing the right path?

As he stepped down from the bus, he was amazed at how busy the streets were, with people hurrying along, all going about their daily lives. Lives that didn’t involve crime. Simple, happy lives. He enjoyed being jostled along by them; being with them, being part of a normal society. His head was swimming with such thoughts, together with the joy he felt for his new found freedom as he turned the corner. So much so, that he hadn’t seen the elderly woman fall while the contents of her shopping trolley tumble out into the gutter.

Helping her up was easy. She was frail and light. He managed to weave their way through the foot traffic to the steps of a building. She sat their patiently while he retrieved her trolley and gathered up all of the scattered items.

It was several minutes before he returned to her. The old woman was beside herself with praise for his prompt action. He was beginning to feel almost uncomfortable with the constant thanks he was receiving from the old dear.

Finally, she was up and on her feet, on her way, pulling her trolley behind her, waving over her shoulder.

He stood watching her for a while, as she disappeared, mingling with the crowd. He reflected on how easy and natural the whole thing had been.

He was surprised at this … together with his newfound moral judgement.

Conviction.

He woke up on this particular morning with a desire to improve his before school routine.

The aim was to build something that would make the business of making absolutely sure that each day he had everything he needed in his school satchel before leaving home. His initial thought was that it wasn’t a big ask. Anyway, that’s how it started. Over a period of several weeks, he gradually gathered together what he needed. It wasn’t always easy and he had to take a few liberties in the doing of it. That, in itself, wasn’t a problem. He enjoyed the furtive aspect of the accumulation process. He was well aware of the fact that most would find it a sheer nonsense. That in no way deterred him.

So, between the bathroom, the laundry, the kitchen drawers, his mother’s wardrobe, his father’s toolbox, his uncle’s shed, and the skip behind the local hardware shop, he managed to put together what he needed.

He found two strips of blue tack, a wire coat hanger, three fridge magnets, a plastic thimble, an assortment of tyre pump washers, the spring from a clothes peg, half a dozen bamboo kebab sticks, the lid from a large instant coffee tin, a packet of tintacks, a heavy duty elastic band, tweezers, safety pins, pop sticks, a nailfile, an empty yogurt container, several large nails, a small quantity of talcum powder in a pot, a number of emery boards, a lemon, a sachet of mayonnaise, a brown paper bag, rubber gloves, an old toothbrush, and a huge number of paperclips, too many really.

Of course, it really was sheer nonsense, and needless to say… it didn’t work.

It was the full impact of this sudden and shocking realisation that woke him up!

It so often came down to the two.

In this case it was between the green and the yellow. Time seemed to be drawing out, but he knew the clock was ticking. His brain began to fog with the colours; green and yellow. In the movies it was usually a choice between the last of all the other wires that had been traced. The two remaining were typically blue or red. Now, with green or yellow… which one should he cut; which one would neutralise the device. Green or yellow, not blue or red. He felt the sweat building up beneath his full body bomb suit. This wasn’t a movie, he told himself; this was real life. What he did next was critical. Surely, he thought, his wealth of knowledge and experience from his time disarming these things should afford him some high degree of innate preference, when it came down to just the two.

She poked him awake. She stood in front of him holding the two dresses up on their hangers.

He sat blinking.

She bent down. “I don’t think you’re really trying,” she whispered.

He sighed.

She had driven for three days straight.

For two nights she had pulled over, finding a quiet spot to spend the night. Sleeping in the car wasn’t the best, but it was heaven compared with the bed she’d left behind. Now, pulling into a motel’s carpark, randomly chosen, she’ll use cash to get a good night’s sleep and in the morning plan for the future, whatever that might be. She would disappear. For now, a long awaited shower and something from the café. She was drying her hair when she heard it. A shudder went through her. The buzzing of a phone; her phone. She thought she had covered everything… but this, the most obvious. By the time she reached it the ringing had stopped. She stared at the screen; of course, it had been him!

These things were traceable, she knew that. She opened it and removed the tiny card. She snapped it apart and sat down with it, thinking. Even if it was broken, could it give off a signal? She had no idea. Once this was gone, all ties would be severed. From her window she could see a stormwater drain in the parking area. She kept breaking the thing into smaller and smaller pieces. Then, she wrapped them in sections of toilet paper, over and over until she had a small ball. This she put into the corner of a plastic bag and tied it off with a knot. It had to fit through the grid of the drain and it had to float. She thought about it drifting out into the waterways and eventually to the sea.

The light was failing as she made her way to the café, pausing a moment to push it through the slot. In that moment, despite not being at all confident about the logic of what she was doing, the sense of disconnection was powerful. Regardless of how long it would last, with it came the euphoria of severance!

The car parked across their driveway at an odd angle told her they had a visitor.

She parked in the street and carried the shopping in. As she entered, she heard voices in the back. After spending a few minutes putting things away in the kitchen, she went through to the lounge. No one there. They were out the back. Two male voices talking and laughing. It was then that she saw the jacket, thrown across the back of the settee. She stood looking at it, feeling shivers running up her back. She recognised it for what it was. It was his! She had never liked the man; he was creepy. Her husband had never seemed to understand the feelings she had about him. This was the man that had always made her feel uncomfortable, the whole time he’d been their neighbour.

There was something about the way he would leer at her. It was as though he had a perfect right to spend far too long looking her over whenever they met. Another thing; it was as if he was continually posing in his old leather bomber jacket. She hated the thing. He reckoned it was a leftover from his military days, but she didn’t believe it. He would make unwanted remarks about her dress or how nice her hair looked. Her husband only saw any of these as compliments; her take on it was very different. Then came the day, just before he thankfully moved away, when he had been so completely blatant with her, asking her if she was really satisfied with her husband. That was the clincher! She never passed it on.

She took one last look at the ugly jacket, before making her way back out to the car. In the café she sent off a text.

‘Let me know when he’s gone.’

Life wasn’t going at all well for her.

Time just seemed to drag by and she’d been living with a sense of desperation. She knew that a great yearning was building inside her with each day that passed. It got to the point where she was about to take matters into her own hands. She looked out at her car sitting on the driveway. There would be consequences, she knew that. If that was the price she had to pay, then so be it. She picked up her keys and went out. In the car, she thought about a particular section of town, always busy, always patrolled. She headed there. When she arrived, she drove up and down the main street, all the time looking out for police cars. Finally, she got lucky. She managed to get in front of the patrol car as they approached the lights. They turned red and she stopped, but only for a moment. She jammed her foot down hard on the accelerator and shot across the intersection.

It didn’t take long for the car to catch up with lights flashing and siren blaring. What a wonderful sound. She pulled over and stopped. She sat watching the police car in her side mirror. It pulled in behind her and after a moment the door swung open. That in itself was a beautiful sight. As the officer emerged from the vehicle she could feel her pulse racing. She took a few deep breaths as he walked towards her. She tried hard not to show her excitement as she wound down the window.

She had been alone in the vast wasteland known as Covid-19.

Now, at last, someone to talk to!

[The poor man’s Desiderata in less than one hundred words]

 Look for somewhere quiet.

Get on with people.

Avoid fibbing.

Be patient with dorks.

Give louts the elbow.

Don’t be a smartarse.

Don’t just think, do.

Hang on to your job.

Watch out for crooks.

There are some good people out there.

Don’t come the old acid.

Either you like someone or you don’t.

All you need is love.

Listen to your elders.

Grow up.

Get real.

Be nice to yourself.

You belong here.

Everything’s hunky dory.

Be nice to the Almighty.

Stay cool.

This place isn’t that bad.

Cheer up.

Enjoy.

It was a busy household with a large family and a number of children.

Despite it being a country in the third world, it was a happy place. He was a live-in lodger, come dogsbody, who was mostly the occasional driver, house cleaner and gardener. It all fell to him, this particular mid-morning, when the calamity struck. Much to the horror of those sitting around watching it, the tv screen went completely black! Naturally, he was asked to fix it. Looking at the set-up, with its complexity of partly hidden cables, it was hard to say whether the problem was with the Blu-ray unit, the Personal Video Recorder or the television itself. All young eyes were upon him, as he sat checking each piece of electrical equipment. Their expressions were mostly friendly.

The fact that tv shows returned to normal soon after was due mostly to his earning a university place at the end of his school years. It was there that he gained a Bachelor degree in Electronic Engineering, together with the realisation that it was not a field the he wanted to work in. Mostly, he was content with merging into this family’s life, with its car, house and garden.

From the family’s patriarch, an extra carton of cigarettes and a smile, his reward.

This kind of thing sat well with him… mostly.