I was given an assignment in my creative writing class
recently. The parameters of the assignment were to "Write a short (one
page) story as a child. Then, write a short story as a seventy-year-old man.
Both characters should be on an airplane or train or in a car. These should be
two different stories, and you will assume first person in each." Hope you enjoy.
Blissful Naivety
By Dustin Anderson
I didn’t know where we were going
only that the part of town we were in was very scary. I wanted to go play right
after school, but mom had to make a stop before we got home. I had never been
on one of mom’s stops before I only knew that when she got back home I wouldn’t
see her for the rest of the day, and that I was in charge of dinner. We pulled
up to a house that had wood in the windows, blocking out anyone from
accidentally glancing inside. The outside of the house was painted a dark brown
and some of the paint was coming off revealing white spots underneath. The yard
had a bunch of trash lying around it aluminum cans, tires, tools, a bunch of
grown up stuff. All of the other houses in the neighborhood had trash in their
yards too, I was surprised their moms hadn’t told them to pick all of this up.
“Wait here,” mom said “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”
Mom left the car running and the
radio on as I watched her walk up to the scary looking house, in the scary
looking neighborhood. She made it to the door and knocked. A tall man in a tank
top and saggy jeans answered the door and craned his neck for her to come
inside. I wanted to get out and ask about his tattoos, but I followed moms
orders. Tattoos were so cool. I bopped my head to the pop song playing on the
radio as mom disappeared inside the house. I looked around to see if there were
any kids in this neighborhood I could play with if we ever came back, since mom
was keeping me from playing with my friends. I saw a little trike in the front
yard of the house next to us, it was too little for me but I didn’t mind
playing with younger kids.
I continued to look around for toys
until my eyes fixed on a man running towards our car from the back of the scary
house. He didn’t seem scared of anything, he seemed more exciting like he has
playing a game of tag. It was definitely a game of tag since he kept looking
over his shoulder back at the house. Even though he looked really happy mom
always told me to lock the car if I see anyone trying to get in, so I made sure
it was locked. The man looked a lot like the man that told my mom to come
inside the house. He didn’t have a shirt on and his pants were really baggy. It
looked like he needed new pants anyway there were holes in the knees. He
knocked on the window with a big smile on his face, and I lowered it a crack.
“Hey kid, you’re Roxanne’s son,
Right?” The mysterious man said through a grin. I nodded in response making
sure to adhere to my mom’s other command of never talking to strangers. “That’s
great, your mom is a real nice lady, and I close friend of mine.” I nodded
again, not knowing what else to do in response.
“What’s your name kid? He asked, but I said nothing in response.
He grinned wider, like a clown “Do you like our cool house?”
I shook my head yes in response.
“Hey does your mommy ever talk to anyone important?” I gave
him a strange look, and he spoke again, realizing his mistake. “Like does your
mom ever talk to any policemen? Has she ever gone to the hospital after coming
here?” Unsure of what he meant I was about to ask a question in response, but
was quickly cut off by seeing my mom come from the house. She had a brown bag
with her and an angry look on her face as she stared at the man who had been
talking to me. The man turned around to meet my mother before she came back to
the car, and it seemed like they were arguing. I got nervous and turned up the
radio to make sure I couldn’t hear my mom’s yelling. The two screamed, their
hands were flying around in every direction as they spoke, and it seemed like
mom was going to hit him until she walked off in a huff.
I unlocked the car for mom to get
in and turned the radio down so she wouldn’t yell at me for having it too loud.
She ripped open the door and put her brown bag down between us. She looked at
me sternly “I told you never to talk to strangers,” she said in her mean voice.
“I didn’t he asked me questions but I never said anything,
then you came back.” I said fearing discipline.
“What did he ask?” she said concerned.
“He asked me name and if I liked coming here and if you had
been put in the hospital or talked to any police officers.”
“What did you say?”
“Nothing, you came back.”
The man was still looking at us from the spot mom left him.
His arms were crossed and he was still smiling. My mom made a gesture I didn’t recognize
at him, and took off from the house fast. As we left for home, I started to notice
how much the bag smelled. I was going to ask mom about it but she seemed way to
angry and I didn’t want to provoke her. Instead I listened to my music and
hoped I was still allowed to go play with my friends when we got back home.
Wasted Experience
By Dustin Anderson
I sat
in the plane contemplating the all-encompassing truth that I have grown far too
familiar with. I was looking at a child, being painfully reminded of the 70
years that I seemed to have wasted. What was I going to right now anyway? Was I
going to be confronted, yet again, by the friends who had secured a vast amount
of success while I wither away in retirement from a fast food joint? The plane
rumbled a bit as the gravity defying machine met an incursion of strong winds
from a storm. The child’s parents buckled his seatbelt as the light flared to
life above us, I followed suit as I continued to stare at him envious of the
future he has. Would things have been different if I planned more when I was
his age? The friends I was going to see were all businessmen, lawyers, or
doctors. They had large houses with full front and back yards. I had an
apartment in Florida that I was still struggling to make payments on. They all
moved to different parts of the country seeking their fortune and obtaining it.
I stayed in the same place the rest of my life because I could never bring
myself to take a leap of faith.
The kid
moved around in his seat, the restraining seatbelt was making him
uncomfortable. The plane shook more violently then before, and the kid became
still.
It wasn’t just their monetary
success that got under my withered skin, they had beautiful families. They had
grown a successful life surrounded by loved ones. In every way I was their
opposite. I had always wanted kids, always wanted that constant stream of love
and attention. No woman would see fit to marry a poor Burger King manager who
constantly came home smelling of onion rings. Why was I born into this pauper’s
life? I was smart in my youth, I was constantly on the Honor Roll. All of my
friends thought that I was going to grow up to be some big shot. Why didn’t I
ever do anything with that? Maybe that’s why I hated these yearly
get-togethers. Beyond siphoning more money from my pockets it became a constant
reminder of how inferior I was to them. Damn this kid. Damn this kid for making
me feel like this.
The
plane shook violently again and more people began to get nervous. The flight
attendants raced, in a hurried walk, back to their seats.
I had
to admit this turbulence was a bit strange for me. I was largely unconcerned
with it, having made peace with whatever fate I could suffer, but what about
this kid? If we were to go down right now, he would never be able to be a big
shot like my friends. He would never be able to move away from his friends and
grow completely uninterested with the people he left behind. He would never get
to feel the kind of love my friends do every day. He would never have children,
grand-children, great grand-children that would carry on his legacy until the
end of time. Does the world need another story like that? Does the world need
another unassuming kid that eventually grows into an uncaring adult?
The
plane shakes to the point where some passengers are lifted from their seats,
and the lights on the plane begin to flicker. The passengers mumble things to
each other as I notice something that flew from the overhead compartment. A
coloring book. That takes me back. I would
always color while my friends would play games. I noticed that the kid in the
chair was grabbing for it. This dumb kid was completely unaware to the world
around him right now, the most important thing to him was that stupid coloring
book. In all fairness this is what I would be most concerned about at his age.
The world could wait as long as I had my coloring book. The plane shook even
more violently, the emergency lights came on and some people started to scream
as our future seemed to be as dark as the clouds that surrounded us. The
captain mumbled something inaudible to these half deaf ears of mine as I looked
at the kid beginning to cry. Was he crying about the circumstance or because he
couldn’t get to his book? In any case, if I was going to die with life
unfinished at least I could get this kid his coloring book. I unbuckled my
seatbelt and crawled to the coloring book.
“Sir! Please return to your seat!” I heard from
ahead as a flight attendant stared me down. I didn’t stop. What could she have
done killed me before the fall did? I grabbed the book and place it in the lap
of the crying kid. His parents eyed me, confused as to why I thought their son
cared so much about his coloring book. The kid’s eyes were closed to what he
had in his lap and didn’t he stop crying. I didn’t know how much I helped but
at least that kid could die with something he truly cared for. As I returned to
my seat day began to break through the windows at the front of the plane. A
calm of relief came over the passengers as some punk began to clap for the
recent weather improvement. I rolled my eyes and looked at the kid. His parents
calmed him down enough so that he would open his eyes, and when he opened them
he saw the kindness I left on his lap. He hugged the book and began looking
around for crayons. His parents looked as confused as mine would have been in
the same situation. The kid may 