From Station To Station

Two innocent souls, from a chance meeting, quickly form an intense friendship. Several days later, following a sweaty bonding of bodies driven by mutual carnal desire, they had come to regard each other as lovebirds.
We join them, yet another day later, at Obsomba station, located on the Northern Criss-Cross Line. In the golden hour before the setting of the sun, we find ourselves needing to ask, has someone had a change of heart?

Continue reading “From Station To Station”

A Stroll Along the Quay

“Mike!” Alona shouted, her voice cutting through the mewing seagulls overhead. “You’ve got to pull yourself together. Come on, let’s take a stroll, I need fresh air.”
Separated by an intentional gap, they headed across the car park towards the quayside. There, under watchful eyes of mothers, a huddle of children leant over the edge dangling lines baited with bread to lure crabs. Equipped with small red nets attached to bamboo canes, fathers stood nearby, ready to catch the crabs when clear of the water’s surface. Under the terms of an unspoken truce, Mike and Alona peered into a rainbow-coloured plastic bucket containing water. Various sized dancing crustaceans waited impatiently for their return to the sea, ready for the next hunter-gatherers.
They continued walking in silence. The Nelson stood on the far edge of the quay, backlit by an intense pink sunset. Eager customers lined the picnic tables outside. The aroma of deep-fried fish drifted through the air.
“I know it’s all my fault.” Mike said.
“Stop biting your fingernails, Mike. Please … not in public.” Sharp glances traded between the couple. “Retain some … dignity, won’t you? Anyway, explain to me, what’s all your fault?”
“From when we first met – six months ago – I placed you upon a pedestal.”
Infatuation?”
“No! Okay yes, sort of.” Mike stopped, turned and gripped the safety rail, casting his gaze out across the harbour to where yachts and fishing boats bobbed on the water. “You’re beautiful, kind-hearted by your actions, more intelligent than me, you brim with self-confidence. I saw you as perfect. You fulfilled my ideal vision of a woman and life-long companion. Honestly Alona, I’d convinced myself I saw an aura glowing around you, each time we made love.”
“Then why,” Alona drew alongside Mike and placed a hand over his, “does it feel like this relationship’s crashed emotionally? Don’t you want this any more?” She studied his expression, searching for clues,
“I feel awful saying this and you’re not going to like it.” Mike bit on his lower lip. “Recently, I’ve come around to seeing your faults.” Mike looked at Alona, noticing her eyes widening and her posture stiffen, as she sighed deeply. “How you sometimes make insensitive comments, forget to clear up after yourself and possess few money-management skills. As the mistakes racked up, one after the other, you went from representing my whole world to a meteor, vaporising upon entry into my planet’s atmosphere.”
“You mean, I fell from the pedestal you’d placed me on, falling from a very great height.”
“Yes, Alona.”

Mike felt his hand grasped firmly, his arm tugged. “Right, Mike Montagne, you come with me.” For her height and size, her physical strength surprised him. He felt small and insignificant, resistance seemed pointless.
“Where’re we going?” He asked.
You’ll see.” Alona snapped back, without turning her head.
Without warning, she changed direction sharply and descended the concrete steps built into the harbour wall, onto the jetty below.
“Get down on all fours!” She demanded.
“What … why? What’s going to happen to me?” He said, lowering himself shakily onto both knees. Alona’s hand pressed onto the back of his head, pushing him down to the seawater.
Don’t struggle.” Her words, just before his face made contact.
Quickly, he drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes. The shock of the cold water numbed his lips, cheeks and forehead. Against the vermillion background of his eyelids, small, bright blue ovals drifted in random directions. The harshness of sound dampened, as water filled his ears. After a stream of bubbles escaped his mouth, Alona pulled him out.
Breathe.” She told him, before pushing him downwards one more time.

“How are you feeling now?” Alona asked.
“I think, I feel alright.” Mike replied, sitting down. The harbour wall served as a backrest; drawing up his legs, he rested his chin onto his knees.
“Calm?”
“Yes, actually I feel quite serene.” He said, managing a smile.
“You’ve just experienced a remnant of the mammalian diving reflex.”
“I have?” Mike ran his fingers through his wet hair and gave his head a shake.
“It’s a response we share with most mammals. When cold water hits the face, physiological changes occur.”
“What changes?”
Alona adjusted her summer shift dress and sat down in front of Mike. “Well, the important aspect for humans relates to blood flow, concentrating in vital organs: the heart, brain, spleen and so on. Increased levels of oxygen accompany the blood flow, producing a calming effect.”
“So,” Mike held Alona’s hand, “whenever I feel anxious, find a wash basin and dip my head in cold water.”
“Yes, even the simple act of splashing cold water onto your face helps. But immersion, like just now, works best.” Alona shuffled along on her bottom, closer to Mike. “In this calm state, I want you to understand; I love you. Okay? Also, forgive me my little foibles, allow me some leeway. There exists dark and light aspects to my character; I love myself, perfection holds no interest to me. You and I will move forward if we are happy, trusting, secure and wishing to grow together. You need to accept me as I am. Okay?”

©Brinkinfield 2020 All Rights Reserved
Part of the Ekphrasis Project (story inspired by picture)
With special thanks to the Covid-19 Lockdown

Will He Ask Again?

Stationary on the driveway, Hattie killed the gentle purr of the electric motor housed under the bonnet of the newly converted and refurbished red Pontiac, 1969 GTO. Seconds before, she’d seen Wyatt watering the flower borders of the front yard outside his house. Despite attempts to avoid eye contact, it had happened. She watched as the old man retreated to an outside tap located underneath the kitchen window, turning off the supply with several twists of the squeaky brass handle.
As Hattie unloaded grocery bags from the trunk of the car, she saw him strutting down the paved driveway in her direction. Although still early springtime, the weekend’s weather had been fine and she felt the warmth of the sunshine on her skin. She noted how Wyatt appeared unaffected by the climate, wearing his stetson, sheep skin jacket, threaded jeans and dusty old boots, same as always. He’s coming over to talk to me, she thought, is he really going to ask again?
It wouldn’t be for the second time, nor third or fourth. Hattie had lost count of how many times Wyatt had asked her the same question, after learning of her breakup with Ed three months ago. Initially, she assumed he’d been joking … a little insensitively so, perhaps.
“Miss Hattie, what a beautiful day.” Wyatt tapped a curved finger under the rim of his hat. “I see you’ve been getting in provisions for your ma and pa, just like last week. They must give thanks for your help around the house, with you living back at home.”
“That’s most kind for you to say, Wyatt.” She said, lifting the bags up and out, placing them together on the ground against her legs. “Of course, it’s me who’s grateful to them, here in my moment of need.” She looked towards the house and thought fondly of the two people inside.
“I’m rightly sure you are Hattie, rightly sure you are.”
With the lid of the trunk slammed shut, she bent down to pick up several of the bags. She sensed an admiring gaze, scanning her body as he might do, she thought, a favoured horse. Judging the weight of the groceries, the chance of an early escape from the conversation beckoned. “Well Wyatt, I’ll let you get on with the watering of those lovely flowers of yours.”
“Hattie,” he interrupted, slipping his hat off, holding it against his chest, “I wanted to ask, have you given further consideration to my recent proposal? After this day, understand, I won’t be asking again.” Extracting a polka dot patterned handkerchief, Wyatt wiped away glistening beads of sweat from his balding head, before returning it to his jean’s pocket.
“Wyatt.”
“Yes Hattie?”
“Just how old are you?”
“I turned sixty-six in April.”
“Okay, do you know how old I am?”
“Well, I recall the celebration of your eighteenth with a lively and well-attended party. Let me see, that was … eight years ago, which makes you … twenty-five, no wait, twenty-six years old by my reckoning.”
Hattie stood looking at Wyatt, waiting to see if an expression registering comprehension might suddenly materialise. It didn’t. His features remained placid and unchanged.
“Wyatt, that’s a forty-year age gap.”
“That’s right Hattie, I can do the math. It changes nothing. I remain a widower, with no children, no known surviving relatives and no debts. With the situation as it stands, when I go, the proceeds of my estate are headed off to some sure as hell lucky pet rescue home.” Wyatt chuckled to himself, reached inside his jacket and withdrew a packet of cigarettes. “Unless, you’ve reconsidered, Hattie? After all, when your folks pass, whatever inheritance becomes available, you know that’s going to be split several ways between you, your brothers and your sisters. Ain’t that right?” Tearing off the foil from the top of the packet, Wyatt flicked at the underside with his thumb, a single cigarette appeared, which he offered to Hattie.
“Okay, let’s get this straight Wyatt.” She said, taking the cigarette. “Essentially, what you’re proposing amounts to a marriage of convenience.”
“That’s right Hattie, I make no bones about it.” He threw a shiny metal lighter upwards into the air, which Hattie caught, used and threw back. “I’ve been alone a long time, I have few additional needs outside of companionship. Those needs I have, I am confident you can fulfil. Meanwhile, it can’t go unnoticed, I’m no longer a man in the peak of physical health. I am not going to be around forever, sure as eggs is eggs.”
For a moment, Hattie stared blankly at the groceries returned to the ground next to the side of the car. She blew a plume of bluish grey smoke out through her lips, dropped the cigarette and crushed it under the toe of her sneaker on the kerbstone. “There’ll be a prenuptial then?” She said, asking her first ever question regarding the proposition.
Wyatt reached into his sheepskin jacket a second time and quick enough located an unsealed envelope, containing a folded document. “Naturally so, legal and binding, providing mutual protection. Divorce, and you will receive a settlement.” He handed her the somewhat creased envelope. “Although generous, it’ll not be enough to support financial independence beyond a handful of years. Let’s just say it will serve as a token of my appreciation for your sacrifice, prepared as you were to give the marriage a try. Alternatively, God damn,” momentarily irritated he brushed a fly off his nose, “see me through and you get everything, the property, investments, my savings and the like. No debt, no mortgage even. You’ll be set for the rest of your life Hattie.”
“During the meanwhile, I’ll be cooking for you, cleaning for you, darning your socks and satisfying your wont between the bed sheets I don’t doubt!” Hattie’s anger unleashed unexpectedly, her eyes narrowed into a piercing stare. Wyatt, nonchalant, shook his head, slowly raised his hands signalling surrender, his stetson held in one hand.
“Miss Hattie, instead of getting all flustered, why not read the contract? Everything’s there, check through the details. Lend me half your attention if you will and I’ll summarise.” As Hattie unfolded the papers, Wyatt continued. “You will have the area formerly serving as two bedrooms, today converted into one, which includes an ensuite. Think of the accommodation as a studio apartment set-up, your own private quarters. Of course, the rest of the house and gardens are available to you also, on top of which we’ll share a holiday cabin located upstate in the woods.” Wyatt’s statement matched the plain wording of the contract, drafted by a local, prominent and respected lawyer’s firm. “I have my own room and a study. We share the cooking, straight down the middle. Mrs Jackson will come to visit each Wednesday, same as she’s always done, taking care of all the cleaning and washing. The groceries, you’ll have noticed, are delivered. Which leaves sex, because there ain’t no mistaking, that is, a thing.”
“I was wondering when we’d get to that.” Hattie located the heading, midway down the second page of the paperwork, ‘The Sexual Relationship’.
“I ain’t no monster, I don’t have unusual needs nor wild fantasies, nothing that will turn you off or gross you out. No,” Wyatt appealed earnestly to Hattie, “I’m a simple man, who – due to the sale of a significantly sized and lucky plot of Texan land – finds himself in an enviable position. I live a life free from worry. However, for the last ten years, I’ve been living life alone. Besides your companionship, what you read under that heading, that’s all I’ll be wanting, with regularity as specified. But, not against your will Hattie. You understand?” Hattie’s gaze rested upon her name printed in italics at the bottom of the page, followed by a dotted line and a space underneath for a witness’ signature.

©Brinkinfield 2020 All Rights Reserved
Part of the Ekphrasis Project (story inspired by picture)
With special thanks to the Covid-19 Lockdown