Carol also has an author page on facebook, a regular blog and contributed a recent guest article about ‘deep point of view’.
A BOUQUET OF FLOWERS
She sits there everyday on that park bench, every day. Sometimes she has bread with her and she will carefully break it into small pieces before throwing it for the greedy pigeons. Mostly, she just sits there, quiet, unmoving for hours on end.
I don’t know who she is or where she comes from but I do know she has become an integral part of my working day. I can look out of the office window every morning at 10-o-clock and know that she will be sitting there.
I’m not sure how old she is, but I think she is a pensioner. In the winter she will wear a heavy, grey coat with a flowery scarf on her sparse grey hair. Now, in summer, she wears a floral, old-fashioned dress together with the same red cardigan every day. Whatever the weather or time of year she will be wearing grubby white trainers and grey, wrinkled socks.
One afternoon, my attention was caught as a young man walk past with a woman. I guessed she was his girlfriend. The young woman was gesticulating furiously and it seemed a ferocious row was going on between them. He held a large, colourful bunch of flowers, which he seemed to be trying to give her. She kept pushing them away and appeared to be shouting at him.
After a few moments I watched him stop still while the woman continued walking on. He walked on a little way. His stooped posture was of dejection and hurt. He turned and walked away. I watched him hesitate and then walk back towards the park bench where the old lady sat. He sat down beside her and I saw him graciously offer her the bouquet.
Even from my office I could see her face light up and she pushed her nose into the myriad of colours and scents. The young man smiled, stood up and walked away in the opposite direction.
A CARD IN A MILLION
The postcard arrived drifting gently down like a lonely snowflake caught on a slight breeze. I was sitting in the garden, reading, enjoying the last warm rays of a summer evening. The slight movement caught my eye. I waited until the card was within reach and then raising my hand I managed to grasp hold of it. Puzzled, I looked around for where it might have come from, suspecting someone might be coming, running after it. I stood up but there was no one in sight.
“How odd.”
I glanced at the picture on the front. It was a celestial scene, showing stars and constellations. It struck me this was an unusual picture for the front of a postcard. I flipped the card over to read it and discover which address it had been intended for. My astonishment caused me to gasp and my hand flew to my mouth.
‘Darling . Got here the other day, the view is beautiful, much like the picture on the card. To be honest, I’m not sure where I am or what it is called. However, I found a dear little soul giving away these cards and ensuring delivery. What can I say, except, WISH YOU WERE HERE. Marissa.’
Marissa, my nemesis, my archenemy. How on earth? Where on earth? Or actually, not so much where on earth, as where in Heaven’s name, was she?
I sat down and tried to remember the last time I had seen her. It had been a few days before. As usual we had been snapping and snarling at each other. In my opinion, Marissa always believed herself to be one better than anyone else. Everything I did, she had done better. Everywhere I went, she had already been, in style. She claimed to know lots of famous people. She always scorned my clothes, most of which came out of Charity shops.
That day she had gone one step too far. Going on about how wonderful life was for her in front of me was one thing but doing it in front of Alison was another thing altogether. Alison was my best friend and had had an awful life, abused, beaten and neglected. In the last few years she had really turned her life around, had got a good job, found somewhere to live and was happy with her life although she still had very little money.
We had gone out shopping together a few days before; well to be honest with Alison it was more window-shopping. Whilst browsing around a bric-a-brac shop she spotted a lovely little, copper oil lamp. It was so unusual and she was loved it. I returned to the shop later and bought it for her as an early birthday treat.
I was holding it, admiring it and giving it a rub with my sleeve, as it was rather grimy and in need of a good polish. I heard Marissa’s voice as she wandered up the path followed by her usual admiring entourage. She was going on about her latest, fabulous holiday in the Maldives, when some of us had never even managed a seaside break at home.
She sneered at the object in my hand. “Oh, you’ve been shopping I see. One of those junk shops buys that you like. Or, is it that they’re the only ones you can afford?”
Her group of admirers all sniggered.
Unable to listen any further I just looked away and muttered,
“I wish you were a million miles away.”
Thinking about it I can’t claim I noticed anything different at that time. I was preoccupied rubbing at the tarnish on the lamp. Marissa’s voice went quiet, but I thought she had wandered off bored with our company. Her friends were walking back on the road discussing something, but I wasn’t the least bit interested in anything they had to say. I was just pleased she had decided to clear off and leave us alone.
The realisation dawned on me slowly; there had been no sound, no puff of smoke, nothing. However, it now seemed that Marissa was indeed a million miles away. Surely I was dreaming? The shock started to wear off. Laughing I began to see the possibilities that lay in store.
Slipping the postcard into my bag, I decided I had better go to Alison’s house and explain what I believed had happened. She’d probably think I had lost my marbles somewhere. But, once I had convinced her, we needed to plan carefully, very carefully, how we could use her little oil lamp.
WHOPPEE!
