SHORT STORY

I DIDN’T KNOW HIS NAME

                The fall air coming through the open window was drawing my attention to what was beyond. The soft flittering of the crisp white curtains seemed to be motioning me to look out. Walking to the window, the smell of the crisp fresh autumn air filled the room, and the sounds of the chirping birds became sharper. They would soon be gone, heading for their homes further south. The approaching hard winters of mid-Missouri were too much for many of them.

                As I turned from the window, the teapot on the stove began to whistle. The water had come to the temperature necessary to prepare that proper cup of the English tea I so loved. I scooped the tea into the metal ball, placing it in the teapot, and poured hot water over it, just like I had been taught. It would steep while I prepared my cup – one teaspoon of honey and a smidge of cream. When the tea was ready, I carefully poured it into the cup and watched as the black tea became a dark brown. I had my perfect cup of properly prepared tea. As I took my first sip, I glanced down at the scribbled notes that lay on the counter. Why do I make such notes and lists, they never seem to get completed. But today had to be different  - a short story had to be written.

                I had been promising myself for a couple of weeks that I would write for at least thirty minutes every day – another broken promise. As I continued sipping on the relaxing tea, I gazed out the window – as if to reach out there for an idea. Unsure where I even wanted to go with this story, I pondered ideas over and over. Nothing seemed to click. The notes were ideas, which I was hoping would turn into a story. I went over them with a sharp eye for just the right idea.

                My thoughts began drifting to something that had happened at school last week. I was amused as I thought, so I decided to write down some of my thoughts from this event – just for the future. This event happened while I sat in the sterile hallway of the Resource Building, waiting for a class to begin. I was always early so sitting there was somewhat relaxing for me between classes. This day provided a little more entertainment than usual. Seems one of the residents of the school might be lost in this lower level of the building. He seemed somewhat confused as to which room he should be going into, or out of.  It was becoming rather comical as he darted in and out. I almost wanted to shout out – “the other way.” I noticed he went into a vacant room, and stayed in there for some time. I was concerned that he might be hiding. So I turned my attention to a magazine on the table.

                Several minutes later, there he was again, this time walking very close to the walls. I shifted out of his way so that he could make it by my chair. He continued on, sometimes fast, other times at a slower pace. I lost him again; he had gone around the corner. Then without realizing it, he reappeared. This time he was standing in the middle of the room, looking like he wanted some help with directions. I wasn’t very good at it, I didn’t speak his language. Suddenly he whirled around by the janitor cleaning the bathrooms. He barely missed his demise. I became worried that there might be a very gruesome accident about to happen and I certainly didn’t want to be witness to the event. It just wasn’t my day for blood and guts to be splattered about the hallway. The janitor just looked at him, then me and smiled.

 

                 I took my eyes off of him for some time to talk to fellow students. They had also noticed the confusion of this resident. We laughed at how he seemed to be totally lost and confused, and there was little we could do to help him – we didn’t speak his language. As we watched him try one more time to cross the room and try to regain his composure, another student said he was going to help him. We watched as the student picked up this rather large water bug and carry him gently outside to a tree, where he placed him on the ground. Maybe now he would find his proper home, and become less confused. He seemed to be thanking us for saving him. We all watched as he turned and walked confidently through the blades of the green grass, and after a short time we lost sight of him. He must be headed in the right direction, or so we hoped.

               

Written by Marilyn Duncan – Buck

Copyright 2007