The Long Journey Home

THE LONG JOURNEY HOME

(Short Story by Hayley Mars)

Annie sat back in her seat.  The carriage was bursting at the seams.  Sardines came to mind and she smiled at her own cliche.  The pungent air caught in the back of her throat and she stifled a cough.  Nobody noticed. Annie’s gaze fell upon the bag lady, Annie’s nickname for the colourful, dishevelled old lady who appeared to keep the same timetable as Annie.  There were a sea of nameless faces, but the bag lady intrigued Annie. She was a colourful vibrant character whose presence illuminated the black and white of the long journey home.

The following evening Annie sat down at the back of her carriage and was relieved that the train appeared to lack the customary home time rush.  She glanced to her right, expecting to see the bag lady, but was disappointed to see her usual seat taken up by a weather stained man engrossed in the Daily Mail.  Just as Annie feared the worst a flash of colour caught her eye and there she was a field of cornflower yellow, approaching her.  Much to Annie’s delight bag lady plunged herself down next to her.

That’s how it began.  A wonderful friendship was born. Annie and Evie (aka the bag lady) journeyed home, same time, same carriage every night.  Annie soon discovered that Evie’s personality was just as colourful and vibrant as the clothes she wore.  She told Annie vivid tales that made her laugh out loud.  Evie’s laughter was intoxicating and Annie drank it up greedily.  Annie told Evie all about her life.  She shared stories of her childhood sweetheart Daniel and their twins Oliver and Emily.  She adored her family and as time went by she began to adore Evie.

Evie became her shoulder to cry on, a confidant with whom she could share her deepest fears and anxieties. Annie was always anxious.  With Evie she felt her troubles flow into the departed miles. Evie always had numerous bags, which were always empty.  Annie never asked why.   When the days were hard for Annie, once in Evie’s presence, the tension knotted up deep in the pit of her core would soften.

Soon the harshness of winter melted into Spring and as the days stretched wide Evie’s attire became more bizarre.  Together, rocking in time with the motion of the train, they would scrutinise their co-travellers. Imaging what lives they lead and what secrets they held.  Who they were going home to and the houses they lived in.  The spotty students who sat together in silence, each one surgically attached to their smartphones. The plump lady who had no contours and just seemed to thaw into her seat.  They whispered and giggled, judged and sympathised.

One beautiful spring evening, when the crimson blood red sky was partially cloaked by the dripping clouds, Evie didn’t appear.  Annie strained her panicked head taking in each and every colourless character collected in the carriage.  Evie was not here.  Annie was stricken.  What had happened?  Where was she?  Did she tell her she was going away and Annie had forgotten?  Anxiety quashed the lightness in her heart and smothered her . She suddenly felt adrift in a knitted fog of fear.

Evie didn’t return the next day, nor the day after.  Evie did not return for two weeks.  Annie felt helpless she missed her so much she ached.  She missed the beautiful pearls of wisdom that dripped so effortlessly from her lips.  She missed her colour, her spirit, her soulful soothing eyes.  Looking around her nobody knew of her anguish, nobody cared.  Annie appeased her troubled mind with self-reassurances that Evie had just changed routine, perhaps she had gone on an impromptu holiday, but deep in Annie’s heart she feared the worse because that was what Annie did. Her anxieties returned and her hope became a fragile seed.

After sixteen days Evie came back.  Annie was elated.  Evie didn’t say where she had been and Annie didn’t ask.  Annie was so overwhelmed with unimaginable relief she didn’t want to intrude.  Evie was behaving oddly and seemed distant.  For the first time it was Annie making the jokes, Annie instigating the conversation and when a mother with two young children boarded the train, Annie effortlessly fell into sentimental anecdotes of her own children's’ growth.

Evie looked at Annie and in a pensive voice began to tell Annie about the child she once had.  Annie was shocked yet fascinated, she relaxed into her seat as Evie revealed personal details about her life that she never had before.  Annie saw tears collect in Evie’s hypnotic eyes as she told Annie about how she never got to see her child grow.  Annie took Evie’s warm wrinkled hand and they continued on their journey in a reflective comfortable silence.

When they had reached Annie’s station, they both got off the train and walked together, still hand in hand. Annie didn’t question why, it seemed the most natural thing in the world. As they walked through the park towards Annie’s home, their eyes rested on children at play. Annie’s heart swelled with Evie’s grief.  They stood, silently watching them play until the air began to chill and Annie pulled gently on Evie’s hand.

As they reached Annie’s house Annie stopped and smiled.  Daniel was getting out of his old faithful Ford Escort.  His pride and joy.  Two heads appeared simultaneously from either side of the back seat and Annie’s heart leapt unrestrained into her open mouth.  She let out a small gasp and shouted their names.  Her melodic voice was carried away in the spring breeze unnoticed.  Oliver and Emily were unaware they were being observed.

Realisation soaked into every pore and Annie looked frantically at Evie who just gently nodded her head and Annie knew it was time.  Time to say goodbye. For two years she had made this journey.  For two years she had watched Daniel, Oliver and Emily grieve, unfold, repair and renew.  She would one day become just a withered memory and her death would no longer burden their existence.  Their lives would become rich, filled with adventure and passion, obtainable ambitions and nurturing families of their own.  Without her.  Annie looked at Evie and in those aquamarine pools she saw love, real love.  Annie turned and let her mother take her the long journey home.

CREATIVE WRITING

We have been planning a short story as part of our weekly classes.  How to do it?

Main Idea:-

• Title
• Plot
• Characters
• Settings
• Writing Techniques
• Extended Vocabulary
• Chapters

It makes sense, before I go hurtling into writing a 40000 word epic, how about trying a 1000 word short story and “The Long Journey Home” is my first attempt.  For anybody who knows me the inspiration came from my daily commute and the loss of my mother last year.  We are still planning but I am going to use the classes to assist me with my bigger project and hopefully my first draft will be sooner rather than later.  It  is not just about writing a story it’s about all of the above and more.  Before last week I had never heard of a rhetorical question.  My head is buzzing with metaphors, similes, adjectives, repetitions and much much more! I need to work on pushing my vocabulary and exploring all aspects of language techniques. It is all very exciting.

I have had another of my poems published.  The theme was where you live and here it is.

LIVING BY THE SEA

As the fading sun melts into the sea, I taste the salt

Clinging to me.

The vast dark waters swallow the glow

And into the tide the daytime does flow.

The rickety breakers lean and groan, with the weariness

Of tired old bones.

Buoyant against the surge of the sea, tossing the waves,

creating debris.

A sprinkle of twinkle against a black sky, as the wind roars

Back again they shy.

Murky waters plunge and swirl, treacherous threatening

With each rise and fall.

Absorbing the essence, inhaling the air, the raw sea spray

Lingers in my hair.

I am enraptured by the forces of nature at play,

Encapturing me.

Living by the sea.

Always keen to find inspiration to write I stumbled across this website www.creative-writing-now.com it offers a free ebook “30 Days of Inspiration” which basically sets you 30 challenges.  Definitely worth a look.